Fast Friends: Reunion Page 4

  “I'll be right back,” Tara said, picking up her drink and taking a gulp for fortification.

  “Good luck,” Christie said, sitting down again.

  Of course Christie would wish her luck. Like everybody else she thought Tara had stopped talking to Mark in middle school. She'd mentioned him to her over the years, but she'd never talked about how close they had been.

  By the time Tara got to where Mark was standing a couple of the girls from her old circle were chatting him up. Misty and Lana were still best frenemies, from the look of it. While Lana talked to Mark, Misty kept nudging her to the side and giving Mark flirty little smiles. Wasn't Misty married?

  “Ok, so you weren't on the basketball team and were in our year,” Lana was saying. “Hmm, Todd Fields?”

  “Nope,” Mark said, visibly suppressing laughter. “Keep trying.”

  Tara stood behind the girls and they exchanged a look of amusement. There he was, behind all that hotness. The smart aleck sense of humor she had always loved and the warmth too. Even though he was laughing at the girls there was a hint of gentleness there. There was nothing mean behind his laughter.

  “You had to have played sports,” Misty said. “It must have been one of the la-, I mean less popular ones.”

  “Hi, Mark,” Tara said, deciding to put everyone out of their misery. The women turned to look at her, recognition, pleasure and a bit of annoyance flashing across their faces.

  “Hi, Tara,” Lana, said. “Wow, you look...just like you did in high school.”

  Tara winced. She had clearly not chosen well. Or so she thought till she saw the way Mark's eyes skimmed over her figure.

  “Mark?” Misty said. “You can't be Mark Shay – you're too tall. That's means your Mark...”

  Her voice trailed off and she turned bright red. She must have been flashing back to the time in ninth grade she tripped Mark in the cafeteria. It made such a mess of his new shirt he had to go home and change. He had saved up to buy that shirt – it was one of the brands kids were crazy for that year – and even though they'd tried to get the stains out of it, he was never able to wear it to school again.

  Misty touched Tara's arm.

  “Why don't we go get some drinks,” she said, tightly.

  “I'm good,” Tara said, holding up her almost full glass.

  Misty narrowed her eyes, mumbling something that might have been “whatever” under her breath and stalked away, Lana trailing behind her.

  Tara's eyes met Mark's. They were still full of bright amusement. Another connection to the Mark she knew – mesmerizing gray eyes.

  “You look beautiful,” he said, stepping closer to give her a quick hug. He smelled of expensive cologne, applied sparingly, and soap. She stopped herself from breathing in too deeply. He would notice, the way his eyes kept skimming her face and body.

  “Thanks,” Tara said, smiling. “You don't look so bad yourself.”

  “Not too much?” he asked, plucking at the lapel of his jacket. He made the gesture work, where another man would have looked silly.

  “Not for this crowd,” she said, nodding towards a woman on the dance floor who was wearing something that would have looked right at home on the red carpet.

  “I left my friend over there,” Tara said. “Mind if we go say hi?”

  “Sure,” Mark said.

  Mark wondered what he was in for. He remembered Tara's friends from high school. They were basically copies of Misty and Lana; not a decent human being among them from what he could recall. Well, not completely. Teddy had turned out to be an all right guy. He'd been stand up enough to ask Mark if things were over with him and Amanda before asking her out again after she broke up with Mark. The two of them had actually ended up together. Last he heard they were married and living in California.

  Mark couldn't help staring at Tara's ass as she walked ahead of him. She wasn't as skinny as she had been in high school, but she had filled out in all the right places as far as he was concerned. Her breasts were still pretty small, but they were proportionate to her figure. He wasn't a breast man anyway. He liked ass, and hers was heart-shaped and firm. The way her dress fit he could see every shift of muscle. The high heels added a sensual roll to her hips that kept his eyes glued.

  Her style hadn't changed, which kind of shocked him. He'd always thought her retro look was an affectation to get attention. Even the shade of red lipstick looked like the same she worn in high school. Was this a sign that she hadn't grown up, hadn't moved on from that insular little world? Not that the look didn't suit her. Her shiny blonde hair was piled on top of her head in the front, while the back was loose over her shoulders.

  “Mark,” Tara said, bringing him back to the present, “your remember Christie Marsh.”

  “Of course,” Mark said. Christie had been a bad ass in high school. She'd once been suspended for spray painting “WRLD HIST IS FASCIST” in the hallway outside her home room. The rumor was that she was having an affair with the history teacher and had vandalized the hallway in revenge when he broke it off. The simpler explanation was that they had an outdated curriculum, but people preferred to gossip.

  Christie was barely recognizable without thick eyeliner and dyed black hair. He'd never even realized she was a redhead. Not that hair color was the biggest change from the last time he'd seen her hanging out by the lockers. She was so pregnant it looked as if she'd swallowed several beach balls. She also looked the picture of health.

  “Hi, Mark,” Christie said, smiling. “I'd stand up, but in my condition that could take a while. Wanna grab a chair?”

  Mark and Tara sat down on either side Christie. Christie was giving Mark that look he was used to from women, the 'oh my gosh he's so hot' look. Tara had given him that look too, but at least she wasn't openly ogling him. He liked to think Christie wouldn't have been so obvious if she wasn't married and pregnant, but he wasn't sure.

  “So you decided to grace us with your presence,” Christie said. “I have to say I wondered what became of you after high school, running off to the east coast while the rest of us were stuck here boring ourselves to death.”

  “From the looks of things,” Mark said, glancing at her stomach “your time wasn't completely wasted.”

  “Oh, you mean the preggersness?” Christie asked. “That may be the surest sign of all. I had so little to keep my mind busy I thought, why not bring a child into the world to share my ennui. You know how misery loves company.”

  “Oh come on, Christie,” Tara said. “You're always telling me how awesome your life is. Stop being so dramatic.”

  “You're right,” Christie said. “I'm happy as a clam. Big as house, but happy as a clam. I still wanna hear all about you, though, Mark.”

  “Not much to tell,” Mark said. “I went to college, got a job, the usual.”

  “What do you do?”

  “I'm a chemical engineer,” he said.

  “I hate to sound stupid,” Christie said, “but what do you do?”

  Mark smiled. He was used to that reaction.

  “Polymers. I mainly work on industrial stuff. It's boring, really.”

  “There has to be something interesting in your life,” Christie said, giving him a meaningful look. “Any lady friends?”

  “No one special,” he said. Other than going to the clubs he hadn't had much of a sex life in the past year. He kind of liked it that way. No drama. Well, not much drama.

  “Hobbies?”

  “Is this twenty questions,” Tara asked, rolling her eyes. Despite her chastisement, her eyes were full of affection for Christie. Mark wondered when they'd gotten so close. Back in high school he couldn't remember Tara lowering herself to talk to people like Christie. She'd been too worried about what all the other popular kids would think.

  “Photography,” Mark volunteered. “I travel a lot for work. It seemed like a waste not to have a record of all the things I've seen, so I bought a camera and started learning .”

  “You any good?”
Christie asked.

  “I like to think I am,” Mark said. “I have a few photographs I'm proud of, sure.”

  “You should take some pictures tonight,” Christie suggested. Mark realized it hadn't even occurred to him to bring his camera, but looking at Tara he wished he had. He'd love to capture the way she looked right now, leaning forward in her chair, a half smile on her lips.

  “I only have my phone, unfortunately,” Mark said, shrugging.

  “So what,” Christie said. “Take a snapshot of us.”

  Mark liked the idea. The girls posed next to each other, smiling like fools and Mark snapped a few pictures with his phone. They weren't as good as the ones he would have gotten with his Nikon, but the girls looked cute. He sneaked a picture of just Tara. They way she was looking up at him he wanted to sweep her away to a dark corner and see if she felt as good as she looked. What was he thinking? They were just friends. He needed to get a grip.

  The three of them chatted for a while, Christie filling him in on her life since high school and Tara saying little. She kept glancing out onto the dance floor and when Christie excused herself to go to the restroom he took advantage of the opening. There was one way to get his hands on her without crossing any lines. He stood up and shot her his most charming smile.

  “Wanna dance?” Mark asked.

  “Sure,” Tara said, taking his hand. So Mark had gotten over his stupid adolescent aversion to dancing. A good thing in Tara's book. While he and Christie caught up, Tara'd been thinking about joining the revelers on the dance floor. He must have read her mind.

  They squeezed into the throng. The DJ was playing mostly hits from the late 1990's and early 2000's. It was a little awkward at first, but then a song came on they'd both really liked and before they knew it they were doing the goofy, almost coordinated dancing they used to do in his living room when they were twelve. They used to have this whole routine to “Pony” by Ginuwine until they realized what the song was really about and got too embarrassed to do the dance anymore. A few people were staring at them but Tara really didn't give a crap. They were having fun, which was the point of the reunion, right?

  After a series of fast songs things slowed down. Mark put his arm around her waist and pulled her close. The DJ had put on a Radiohead song they both knew really well.

  “This is a little weird,” Tara said, putting her arms lightly around his neck. The coat fit snugly across his shoulders and she could feel the hard muscle underneath. Solid.

  “What is?” Mark asked.

  “Dancing with you,” she said.

  “Weird good or weird bad?”

  “Weird good,” she said. “Surreal.”

  “Strong word,” he said. His warmth breath against her ear made her shiver. “You ok?”

  “Yeah,” she said. “Never better.”

  He tipped her chin up and looked into her face, a slight frown marring his forehead. She wondered what he was thinking. His expression was cryptic.

  “What's going on here?” he asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I don't know,” he said, releasing her face.

  “I don't know either,” she said, dropping her head to his shoulder. It felt as if they were the only ones in the room. The noise of the party faded away and all she was aware of was the warmth of his body and the rapid beat of her own heart.

  His hand spread across the small of her back, making her aware of parts south. They swayed together. As her hips rocked gently to the music, his steps matched hers.

  “I want to have control,” he whispered into her hair, mouthing the lyrics. She closed her eyes, letting her body relax into his. She wanted control too, but she felt like she was on the edge of losing it. The dance went on for what seemed like an eternity, but it couldn't have been more than four minutes.

  The moment the song ended he stepped back and grabbed her hand.

  “Let's go outside,” he said, heading for the door.

  “Leaving already?” Lisa asked as they went past.

  “We'll be back,” Mark said, flashing a smile at her. “Don't have too much fun without us.” Lisa blushed. Tara tried not to roll her eyes. She doubted Lisa would have even noticed Mark if he still looked the way he used to.

  They went out one of the side doors towards the tennis courts. It was eerily quiet after the cacophony of the party. The sky was almost black, dotted with scattered points of light. It was a bit cool, and without asking Mark took off his jacket and handed it to her. She put it on.

  They sat on one of the court side benches, facing each other. Mark lifted his hand as if he was going to run it through his hair, then lowered it again.

  “Vanity?” Tara teased.

  “Huh?”

  “You don't want to mess your hair up,” Tara explained.

  “Oh yeah.” He laughed. “I guess some things do change.”

  “A lot of things,” Tara said. “Like everything about the way you look.”

  “You must have realized I'd get my braces off at some point,” he joked.

  “And your glasses?”

  “Lasik.” He shrugged. “Is my new look really what we want to talk about? We haven't seen each other in ten years.”

  “You're right,” Tara said. “But it's not like we haven't talked to each other in ten years. I talked to you two days ago. When did you get in?”

  “Around 10,” he said, crossing his ankles and leaning his weight backwards onto his hands. “Slept for a few hours and had dinner with the family.”

  “How's your dad?” she asked.

  “Better,” he said. “I mean he told me how hard he was working to get in shape, but I couldn't believe how much weight he lost. I think that heart-attack scare really got through to him.”

  “That's great,” she said. “I wish my dad would take his health seriously. Every time I see him he's eating something fried, smothered in butter or salty enough to burn your tongue. I think he thinks as long as he's not huge he's ok.”

  Mark didn't say anything to that. Out past the courts they could see a couple of people running around on the football field.

  “Did you see any of your friends yet?” she asked. She realized she'd been a bit selfish grabbing him as soon as he walked in the door. Which reminded her that she needed to go check in with Christie when they got back inside. They'd just disappeared on her when she went to the restroom.

  “I saw Brad Namath,” he said.

  “How's he doing?” Tara asked. She didn't really care. She wasn't usually shy, but she didn't know how to start with explaining what was on her mind. At this point it all seemed a bit murky. What did she want? And after she said her piece where would that leave them? He still lived on the other side of the country.

  “That skank,” she heard someone say. She glanced around, but she couldn't see where the voice was coming from. That little half-smile came back to Mark's face as he gestured to the left with his chin. Turning around, Tara could make out Misty and Lana near the door to the building, lighting up.

  “Did you see the way she was rubbing up against him?” Misty said, taking a drag from her cigarette. “It's like she thinks she's still the queen bee and gets her pick of every hot guy around.”

  “Seriously,” Lana agreed. “She looks like she's still stuck in high school. That hair is awful.”

  “Word,” Misty said. “If that guy has half a brain he'll remember what a bitch she was in high school.”

  “Oh hear this,” Lana said. “Lisa said she claimed they were best friends in high school. Well, when I'm best friends with somebody I don't ignore them in public or let my friends crack on them constantly.”

  Tara winced. Mark's face had hardened. If his expression was cryptic before, it was now completely inscrutable.

  “I bet she wouldn't have been all over him like that if he still looked like a freakazoid,” Misty said, laughing nastily.

  “Let's go inside,” Tara said, reaching for Mark's hand. He pulled it back.

  �
��You think any of this is news to me,” Mark said softly, standing up.

  “Oh, shit,” one of the women swore. Tara didn't notice if, or when, they went back inside.

  “It's not true Mark,” Tara said.

  “It's not true that you treated me like shit in high school?”

  Tara looked away. She couldn't face the dismissal in his eyes.

  “It's not true that I care how you look,” she said. “It would have been the same no matter what.”

  “Right,” he said, laughing bitterly. “I don't even know why I'm here. What was I expecting?”

  Tara felt a rising sense of panic. Things had gone from cool to crash and burn in less than a minute. She had come tonight with the intention of showing Mark what should have been. She'd worn the dress and done her hair like she did in high school to let everyone know that she and Mark were close – then and now. It just sucked that he'd changed – the outside now matched the inside. Well, it didn't suck, but it had turned her gesture to ashes.

  “I'm sorry, Mark,” she said. Taking a deep breath, not even sure where the idea came from, she slid to her knees at his feet. Folding her hands in her lap, she lowered her head. “Forgive me.”

  “What are you doing?” he asked, stepping back. She couldn't see his face, but there was both shock and confusion in his voice.

  “I'm sorry, Mark,” she repeated. “I was a bad friend to you. I owe you world's biggest apology and I'll do anything to make you understand how sorry I am.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Mark couldn't believe what he was seeing. Here was Tara Phillips, the queen of George Washington High School, on her knees at his feet. He recognized the pose. The last person he'd seen like this was a submissive one of the other club members loaned him for the evening. She'd been just like this, only wearing a lot less clothing. The pose was meant to communicate surrender, obeisance. He let seconds pass, and she held the pose, her head down, waiting for him to command her. His cock filled with blood. What kind of saint would turn down an offer like this? He wasn't that guy. He'd wanted Tara for most of his life and seeing her tonight had only reaffirmed those desires. Feeling her pressed against him on the dance floor he'd had a hard time not letting his hands roam. His mind raced through a gallery of the things he could do to her, the ways he could use that deliciously curved body. Using her, that wasn't a pretty thought, but wasn't that what she was asking for by assuming that pose. Hadn't she just said she would do anything to prove her contrition?