So Damn Beautiful (A New Adult Romance) Page 3

  I don’t remember what happened, but from the way my heart was beating when I woke up, I can’t imagine it was anything good. As I batted at my alarm clock, I was more than a bit annoyed. Even the mere thought of Chase was enough to put me on edge. He was chasing me not just out of the warm, familiar landscapes of my past but also out of the cozy, comforting ones of my artistic fantasies.

  As long as he’s on my mind, I won’t feel at home anywhere, I told myself, frowning as I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes and gazed up at the ceiling.

  At that point, Kendra burst into our dorm room—a twelve-by-twelve-foot shoe box that somehow managed to house all of her outfits and my books. She was already all sunshine and birdsong, wearing a simple yet stylish wrap dress and Jimmy Choo sandals. She had two cups of coffee in her hands, I noted appreciatively, as she shoved one into mine. I drank and breathed in the fumes, already feeling myself perk up.

  “Wake up, lazybones! Today is going to be killer!”

  I groaned. “Why? Is there a test I forgot about?”

  “Stop being so cynical. It gives you premature wrinkles! It’s our lucky day. We both got invitations to Harrison Waters’s party!”

  “Harrison who?” I rubbed my head, trying to shake off the sticky cobwebs of my nightmares in the process. I was losing track of all of Kendra’s big men on campus, mostly because they invariably had porn star–sounding names that made it hard to remember the particulars.

  Kendra snorted in playful disgust. She had grown all too accustomed to my complete lack of interest in NYU’s social scene. Aside from picking up a few informational flyers on Spirit Day from the Curators Coffee Klatch (the only club on campus that made you an automatic shoo-in for major internships in the local and international museum world, might I add), I spent most of my time in the library. Admittedly, part of me envied girls like Kendra, who were already making phones ring off the hook with calls from cute boys and upperclassmen. I wasn’t exactly a complete bookworm, and I wanted to have as much fun as my bubbly roommate, but I knew what I would ultimately be sacrificing if I went in for the world of all-night DJ parties and beer hangovers.

  Kendra’s words distracted me from my momentary envy.

  “Harrison Waters, my dear, is only the hottest guy on campus. He’s the president of Sigma Phi Kappa, on the crew team, and he comes from one of the most respected alumni families.” She paused for a second. “I’m totally blanking on whether they’re in entertainment or banking . . . anyway, I saw him at the student lounge just minutes ago, and we talked for a bit—no biggie, more of a hi-bye situation than anything else—but he said that you and I should stop by the house tonight because it’s gonna be their first major party of the season!”

  She actually squealed. No joke.

  I stretched my arms up and swung my pj-clad legs from beneath the covers and onto the ground.

  “Kendra, I’m not going to lose my new best friend to a sorority, am I?”

  She tossed back her dark hair and laughed. “No way. Sororities are so 2010! But old money? Now, that never dies!”

  Despite myself, I giggled. I could somewhat appreciate Kendra’s simultaneous contempt and opportunism when it came to rubbing shoulders with the hoi polloi of NYU. Besides, as allergic as she seemed to the books that I had strewn all over the dorm room, I had to admit that she had proven herself to be just as ambitious as I was, albeit in a completely different way.

  “Kendra, I wish you knew some interesting gallery owners you could introduce me to. I’m not really into the whole college-party thing,” I mumbled, as I grabbed my toothbrush and walked over to the teeny sink in our room.

  “Trust me, I’m working on it. And, contrary to what you think, frats are, like, less than six degrees from some of those artsy bigwigs. It’s not about the scene you run in here, lady—it’s about this!” She rubbed her fingers together in the universal gesture for greed and money.

  I frowned as I turned on my Spinbrush. Sometimes, admittedly, it was hard to think that most of the world, and definitely the academic one I was a part of, operated on economics rather than homegrown family values. Most of my tuition was being paid for by scholarships, grants, and the money my mom had scrounged up from a bunch of night-shift waitressing jobs she’d taken on over the years to make sure there was enough money for college.

  Who did Chase Adams think he was, accusing me of being a privileged princess? If only he knew the truth—that my dad had walked out on me and Mom when I was still in diapers, and that while I had grown up mostly on TV dinners and babysitters, she’d been working herself to the bone to make sure I’d never end up in the same position as she: poor, uneducated, and completely without support. I definitely wasn’t born with a silver spoon in my mouth, but I didn’t see a point in being all rebellious and resentful about it, either.

  “People like Chase Adams just need to grow the fuck up!” I exclaimed, after rinsing my mouth out and spitting into the sink.

  “Huh?”

  Oops. I’d forgotten Kendra was still there.

  “Um, nothing, I just . . .”

  “OMG, Annie! Are you still obsessing over that asshole? After the shit he said to us?”

  “I’m not obsessing. It’s just . . . why did he think he had the right to lambast me for being some rich and prissy college girl? I mean, I’ve told you about my background, Kendra. It wasn’t all dairy farms and cornfields, the way most people seem to think, but it wasn’t exactly glamour and glitz, either. I worked really hard to get to where I am today!” Despite myself, I could feel tears pricking at the corners of my eyes.

  Kendra walked over and put a hand awkwardly on my back. “Annie, don’t take it too personally. Guys like Chase feel they have something to prove because they’re ultimately insecure dumbasses. I mean, if he wasn’t fighting with you over the legitimacy of art institutions versus street art, I’m sure he’d be in some pissing contest with someone else over . . . I don’t know, dick size or something!”

  Despite myself, I had to giggle. I turned around and enveloped my friend in a giant hug. “Thanks, Kendra. I really needed a laugh.”

  “No problem, girl. But seriously, it’s cutthroat out there. If you’re gonna get all sensitive over the words of shitheads like Chase, just know there will be way more to contend with when you’re duking it out with heiresses like Elsie.”

  “I’m not worried about Elsie. Like my mom always told me, and now Ms. Blake, the only person I’m in competition with is myself.”

  Kendra snorted. “That’s . . . sweet and all, but we both know it isn’t true. Have you seen the way Elsie shoots daggers at you in art class? She knows you’re competition, and if you don’t stand your ground and put her in her place, she’s totes going to eat you for lunch.”

  “Way to help me get my day started, Ken!” I stuck my tongue out at her as I rummaged through my closet for something cute and autumnal to wear.

  “I’m telling you because I love you. Now, are you coming with me tonight or not?”

  “Tonight? Oh, you mean to the Henderson Rivers thing?”

  “Harrison Waters!”

  “Okay, okay! I have some midterms I need to study for, but I guess it won’t hurt to stop by for a few minutes.”

  Kendra slipped past me and grabbed a soft green shift dress that had been on its hanger since I’d first bought it. “I like this one a lot—doesn’t really seem like your style. No pearl buttons or pockets!”

  I fake-punched her arm. “As we all know, clothes make the girl, and I want people like Professor Claremont to know I’m serious about getting ahead—and I mean far ahead—in my time here.”

  Kendra rolled her eyes. “So you’re going to dress up like a faux librarian? Get with the times, girl! Besides, if you want to stand out, you’ve got to show off that killer waist.” She tossed the green dress on the bed. “I’m serious—at least, if you want to be seen with me tonight.” She winked at me and headed out the door before I could deliver a smart retort.

  I look
ed at myself in the full-length mirror on my closet door as I put the dress up against my body. Sucking in my cheeks, I considered myself. I’d always thought I was pretty cute, but I was here because of my brains, not because I looked hot in a little dress. Still, as I smoothed the soft, thin material down against my body, I imagined the heads of every guy in that frat house turning when I walked into the room tonight. I closed my eyes and could practically see it . . .

  “Chase Adams, you may be the jerk of the century, but these guys will eat their hearts out when they see me tonight!”

  Chapter Four

  While Kendra had promised something that sounded like a cross between a spring-break rager and an elegant cocktail party with plenty of eligible (and, might I add, rich and well-connected) bachelors, there were no kegs or hors d’oeuvres in sight. Clusters of college girls and boys were scattered throughout various parts of the Sigma Phi Kappa house, an opulent Grecian space (with pillars and everything) that sprawled over a sizable span of trendy Bleecker Street. People seemed to know each other very well, and, despite the fact that Kendra was Miss Social, nobody’s head turned when we walked in.

  As we scoped out the massive foyer, Kendra quipped, “Well, I guess people are at the local watering hole. It’s New York City, after all. The Greek life ain’t all that bumping around here, you know?”

  I tugged self-consciously at my green dress, which was a little shorter than I’d remembered. “Are you kidding me? Kendra, I have a curatorship essay I could have been working on! You told me this was the party of the year, and now you’re changing your tune?”

  Kendra rolled her eyes. “Don’t be dramatic, Annie. I didn’t say we had to hang out all night, remember? I just wanted a chance to talk to Harrison one on one, because he’s supposedly very well connected. And I may not be gunning for a museum internship, but you’re not the only one looking out for your future, you know!”

  I instantly felt bad. Kendra had been kind enough to listen to me go on and on about all my trials and tribulations over the last several weeks. She’d been the one who’d suggested we check out the local scene, mainly because she knew how important it was for me to get on Professor Claremont’s good side. And while that hadn’t worked out too well, given our run-in with Chase, Kendra had been unimaginably patient. I didn’t know too many people who could manage that. Even my friends from high school, who were sweet, generally got glazed-over eyes whenever I tried to talk about art.

  Perhaps that’s why, over the last few weeks, I’d come across so many people who made fun of small towns in middle America. It was a bit of a culture shock to me, but I definitely sensed that the part of me that had always felt like an outsider in Apple Creek, Ohio, was right at home in New York City. Kendra was smart and sassy and worldly; I felt genuinely lucky to have her as my roommate, and I wanted her to know that.

  “Kendra, I’m sorry for being such a brat. You’ve been so supportive of me, and I . . .”

  Her eyes widened. “Oh no, silly! I’m not upset with you! Seriously! I mean, besides, if I want to be truly successful in the PR world, I need to learn how to work with all types—even the overly cerebral, artsy ones!”

  That was the moment Harrison Waters walked over. Or at least that’s who I imagined he was. He was one of those guys who look exactly like their name. Tall, tan, and wearing clothes that made him seem like he’d stepped straight out of a J.Crew catalog (casually rumpled chinos and a plain, midnight blue T-shirt that still managed to look expensive), Harrison had bronze hair that was both coiffed and messy (kind of like a less pasty version of Robert Pattinson), deep-brown eyes, and a chiseled face that made him look like a generic cartoon version of a Greek god. Not that he wasn’t handsome—he was just as hot as Kendra had described him—but there was something . . . muted about his brand of hotness. No secret smoldering behind those brown eyes, no swagger in his step. He was in every way the exact person I’d imagined when Kendra had told me about him.

  I felt almost guilty, sizing up the guy before he’d even had a chance to open his mouth, but, for some inexplicable reason, I found myself comparing him with . . . Chase Adams. Supernaturally gorgeous, obviously dangerous, and completely maddening Chase Adams.

  What the hell is wrong with me? I thought to myself as I attempted to smile, even though my lips felt like they were glued together.

  Harrison was holding bottles of beer, which he offered to Kendra and me. “Kendra, so great to see you. Thanks for coming.” He turned to me, and his smile widened. “And, hello, uh—”

  “This is Annie Green, my roommate. Thanks so much for having us, Harrison!” They hugged briefly, as if they’d known each other for years.

  “Yes, uh, it’s great to be here,” I said, as I took his hand and shook it somewhat stiffly.

  “You’re both freshmen, right?”

  “Yeah, but the way Annie hits the books, you’d think she was studying for the GRE or something,” Kendra laughed and nodded at me, her head cocked a bit and her eyes narrowed, as if we were sharing a private joke.

  Uh-oh, I groaned inwardly. When Kendra made silly jokes that were meant to deflect attention from her to other people, it was usually either because she was cutting them down, Valley girl–style, or because she was trying to set them up.

  I looked at Harrison Waters, and from the attentive expression on his face, I realized that Kendra’s outing me about my nerd status wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.

  Damn, she’s good! I thought.

  “So, are you, like, biochem or something?” he asked me.

  “No, I’m art history.”

  “Art history? I didn’t realize that major required making a lot of social sacrifices.”

  Harrison looked so much like a Ken doll, plastic and perfect, that I realized he was kidding only when Kendra started laughing—a little too hard, in my humble opinion.

  “Well, since I was a little girl, I’ve always wanted to be a curator, and this is one of the only schools in the country that offers freshmen a foot in the door with major internships, so I figure that I probably need to work my ass off when it comes to the competition.”

  I felt a little foolish being placed on the spot and talking about my ambitions at a frat party, but Harrison seemed genuinely interested.

  “It’s really cool that you’re so enthusiastic about what you’re majoring in. Most of the underclassmen I know have no clue what they’re going to end up doing. It’s always been my philosophy that you come to places like NYU to find out about your passions, rather than getting frozen into some idea of what they should be.”

  I contemplated that for a second. It was true I sometimes wondered if I was selling myself short by not exploring things that peripherally fascinated me: botany, astrophysics, anthropology, perhaps. But ever since my mother had taken me to the Cleveland Museum of Art when I was a kid, and I’d walked around marveling at luminous pieces by artists like Gauguin, Picasso, and Turner, I had been hooked. I had never thought of myself as having much talent myself as an artist, but it had always been my dream to be able to collect art, sell art, and bring people together so they could celebrate the beauty that humans are capable of creating.

  For me, it seemed a lot nobler a job than, say, local politics.

  “What’s your major, Harrison?”

  “Political science,” he replied. I cringed.

  “Is that a passion of yours? Politics?”

  “No, not really, but that’s what my dad majored in. He’s kind of my role model.” At that, Harrison laughed, almost a bit uncomfortably. “I know that’s cheesy, but I feel like everything I know to be true comes from my dad. So I guess I always thought I’d follow in his footsteps, you know?”

  Kendra tried to sound casual when she said, “And what are those footsteps, Harrison?” I guess in between classes, a pedicure, and Zumba classes, Kendra hadn’t had much time to snoop into Harrison’s background.

  “Tobacco farming, actually.”

  I was taken aback. “But I t
hought you were a New Yorker. That doesn’t seem very . . . New York.”

  “Actually, my mom’s side of the family is from New York, but my dad’s from Illinois, and the business has been around for four generations,” Harrison explained. “Go figure—nobody in our family actually smokes, but I guess irony goes hand in hand with our line of work.”

  High-pitched girls’ laughter echoed across the cavernous hall. I looked around. The room had begun to fill up, and people were now pouring into other pockets of the massive frat house. At that point, Kendra made it a point to dig into her clutch for her iPhone. As she glanced at the screen, she said a little too loudly, “Oh my, excuse me, guys. I really need to take this.” As she leaned over to faux-kiss my cheek, she whisper-hissed in my ear, “Tobacco? Ew! He’s all yours. Go get him, tiger!” Then she sauntered off to some other part of the house. I could already hear her greeting another group in a distant corner of the foyer as I was left alone with Harrison.

  I suddenly felt a little sheepish. Popularity, good looks, and money had never made a terribly big impression on me—my mom had always taught me to value humility and hard work, and, as corny as it sounded, I was definitely my mother’s daughter—but even I had to admit that my palms were beginning to sweat a little in Harrison Waters’s presence. The fact that he hadn’t excused himself when Kendra left definitely meant she knew I was in good hands. Kendra was like a romance psychic that way.

  It was flattering to think that Harrison at least considered me cute. I’d had only one fairly serious boyfriend in the past—Peter Hawkins, whom I’d known since elementary school. He’d been nice enough, and I guess at one point I’d even believed I was honest-to-goodness in love with him. He was tall, cute, and gentlemanly and had an unmistakable talent for basketball . . . and flirting with other girls. I’d broken up with him toward the end of our senior year of high school, after I’d caught him sexting Brittany Logan, one of the girls on the cheerleading squad. At first I’d been heartbroken; after years of writing our names together in bubbly cursive on the backs of notebooks, how could I not have been? And while Peter had tried to explain it away—even resorting to blaming me for being cold, distant, and overly occupied with studying for the SATs and touring colleges on weekends—I knew on some deep level it just wasn’t meant to be. Peter was smart and likable, but he didn’t think about his future the way I did about mine.