“Exactly.”
My buddy points at me, undistracted by the chips-to-houses revelation. “Fess up. How long have you two been together?”
Violet scoffs. “Seriously? You bought into it?”
Trent looks perplexed. “Of course. It seemed totally legit.”
Violet laughs harder and meets Holly’s gaze. “You could tell, right?”
Holly shakes her head. But Violet doesn’t let go of her stare. Something shifts in Holly’s expression, as if she’s picked up on a key data point. Girl code, maybe? “Yes, of course I could tell,” Holly says robotically, straightening her shoulders as she nods at Violet.
“You mean that was all a charade?” Trent asks. “The whole boyfriend-girlfriend thing?”
I lower my voice. “Look, what I’m about to say is not for public consumption, okay?”
Trent nods his understanding. Everyone leans in.
“The owner’s sister has been putting the moves on me. My contract’s up for negotiation, and I don’t need to make waves by being a dick to her and turning her down. So, Violet saved me. That’s all. Case closed.”
Trent scrubs his hand over his jaw. “You guys really aren’t dating? You sure?”
Violet sighs heavily as she lifts her wineglass. “I think I’d know if we were dating.”
“I have to say you had me fooled,” Holly chimes in, and Violet shoots her another laser-eyed look. Holly quickly amends her comment. “But of course, it makes sense that it was a joke. You love to tell jokes.”
“Just a joke to help my friend,” Violet says, emphasizing friend, as if she’s trying to imprint the word on everyone’s mind.
Why do I feel as if they’re speaking in tongues? Like these women are trying to remind each other of what they’re supposed to say?
But I can’t quite slide one puzzle piece into the other, so I’m left with curved edges that don’t align with round holes. This is why men fuck up relationships. Because sometimes, women make no sense.
Violet puts her hand on my shoulder. “Our man needed help. I helped him. That’s what we do. We’re a pack. Like when he took me to prom after Jamie ditched me. It seemed only fair.”
Ding, ding, ding! The bell rings. The buzzer sounds.
The situation is crystal clear. Tonight’s save-and-smooch was simply the return of a favor from years ago. I laugh quietly, a relieved sound, because I get it. At last, I understand what went down tonight. The kiss was part of the show, and the show was part of the rescue, and the rescue was her long-overdue thank you.
Even though I wasn’t banking on one. I was simply happy to have helped her when she needed it.
Her senior prom fell over Memorial Day weekend seven years ago, and I happened to be home from my freshman year of college, visiting my mom. Violet’s date bailed at the last minute, breaking up with her the day before to hook up with another girl.
Total dick move.
“Let me take you,” I’d said as soon as I heard.
She’d shaken her head, wiped tears off her face, and slapped on a plastic smile. “I’ll be fine. I have a pint of ice cream and a movie to watch.”
I scowled. “That’s ridiculous. You have me to dance with, cheesy photos to take, and a smoking-hot dress to wear. You’re going, and I’m your new date.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I know I don’t have to. I want to. Don’t you want to wear the dress?” I asked, because I suspected the fashionista in her would have had a hard time resisting getting dolled up as she’d intended. Focusing on the dress was the best way to get her to say yes, and I didn’t want her to remember prom as the day she was stood up.
Her smile turned real. “It’s a really pretty dress.”
“Then you need to wear it.”
Her dress was more than pretty. It was stunning. The lavender material hugged her trim waist and covered her breasts enough to be classy, but not so much to be prim. Her long brown hair was twisted up onto her head, held in place with a silver clip as soft strands framed her face.
We danced to fast songs and swayed to a few slow songs, then we hung out downtown, drinking diet sodas from the convenience store, and debating the best and worst prom songs, prom couples, and prom outfits. We grabbed a pint of ice cream and watched a movie in the cozy living room at my house. One of those fast and even more furious car movies that was mindless and a perfect popcorn flick for that night.
At the end of the movie, she put her head on my shoulder and murmured, “Thanks for taking me. Someday, if you ever need a date, I’ll be your fill-in girl.”
Now, back in the present, the fading memory only affirms what she said to me in her car on the way over. The kiss was weird, because we have history, because we’ve never been real, because we’re only friends. She was simply repaying a favor.