Read Online Meet Me in Manhattan (True Vows) by Judith Arnold - Free Book Online
Authors: Judith Arnold
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wouldn't be standing so close
to Ted. She was too conscious of him. Too drawn to him. When
she'd shown him her feet, his eyes had narrowed with the same
intensity she'd perceived when she'd seen him wrestle, the intensity that seemed to trip a switch inside her.
Had he been planning to wrestle her to the ground? Pin her?
Wrap his legs around hers the way he'd wrapped them around his
opponent?
The idea of Ted Skala pinning her, pressing her shoulders to
the floor, straddling her, and gazing down into her face with his
dazzling green eyes reignited that tingling sensation low in her
belly.
The crowd swallowed her and Peter up and the music washed
over them, twanging guitars, thumping drums, and Jon Bon
Jovi's harrowing wail. At the song's chorus, everyone belted out
the words-You were born to be my baby.
We're not babies anymore, Erika thought. They were mere days
away from being high school graduates.
Someone jostled her and she opened her eyes. The dance floor
had grown much more crowded, which she kind of liked, actually.
She had always felt somewhat like an outsider at Mendham High
School, having moved to the town barely two and a half years ago.
But right now, surrounded by her classmates, she didn't feel like
an outsider. She danced with them, was a part of them, moved in
sync with them. Sang Bon Jovi lyrics with them.
As long as no one stomped on her pedicured feet she'd be fine.
The song ended and another one began: Bruce Springsteen,
Human Touch. Erika briefly wondered whether the deejay
intended to play only songs by New Jersey rockers for the entire
prom. She started to laugh, and then stopped when she saw Ted out on the floor, separated from her by only a couple of people.
His gaze met hers and he smiled.
She smiled back.
This wasn't good, she thought. She shouldn't take such delight
in his smile, in his appreciative gaze. She shouldn't be thinking
about whether there was a discreet way to maneuver past the two
people who stood between her and Ted, dancing their hearts out.
It shouldn't matter to her that he looked cute in a tax. After
tonight, she would never see him in formal apparel again, unless
they both got invited to a classmate's wedding sometime down
the road and he happened to be one of the ushers.
Ted Skala shouldn't matter to her. But he did.
Was there some law that said you had to do the prom thing? Had
to spend tons of money, dress in a stupid penguin suit with
adjustable waistband trousers that didn't quite adjust snugly
enough, so you kept feeling as if your pants were going to slide down
over your butt? Had to act like you wanted to preserve every precious
moment of the night in your mental memory scrapbook? Did they
withhold your diploma if you used the wrong fork to eat your salad,
assuming you could call a few limp green weeds and a single cherry
tomato drowning in oil and vinegar a salad?
Hell. The prom was fine. Nothing really wrong with it. Nothing
wrong with posing for a bunch of photos and chatting politely with
Kate's parents-and a few hundred of her closest neighbors, who'd
all trooped over to her house to ooh and ahh over how nice the
young couple looked. Nothing wrong with sneaking just a few drops
ofAdam's vodka into your Coke. You weren't driving. You'd paid all
that freaking money for the limo, after all.
No, the problem wasn't the prom. The problem was that you were
standing at a doorway, about to open it and cross the threshold into the next stage of your life, and all you could think of was missed
opportunities, things left undone, and the cruel truth that once you
exited this room you would never be allowed back into it.
There were so many things in the room you were leaving that you
had never bothered to appreciate. So many knickknacks you'd never
stopped to admire, so many leaks around the window you should
have taken the time to seal. Maybe you could have learned to sit still
more often, and pay attention, and
to Ted. She was too conscious of him. Too drawn to him. When
she'd shown him her feet, his eyes had narrowed with the same
intensity she'd perceived when she'd seen him wrestle, the intensity that seemed to trip a switch inside her.
Had he been planning to wrestle her to the ground? Pin her?
Wrap his legs around hers the way he'd wrapped them around his
opponent?
The idea of Ted Skala pinning her, pressing her shoulders to
the floor, straddling her, and gazing down into her face with his
dazzling green eyes reignited that tingling sensation low in her
belly.
The crowd swallowed her and Peter up and the music washed
over them, twanging guitars, thumping drums, and Jon Bon
Jovi's harrowing wail. At the song's chorus, everyone belted out
the words-You were born to be my baby.
We're not babies anymore, Erika thought. They were mere days
away from being high school graduates.
Someone jostled her and she opened her eyes. The dance floor
had grown much more crowded, which she kind of liked, actually.
She had always felt somewhat like an outsider at Mendham High
School, having moved to the town barely two and a half years ago.
But right now, surrounded by her classmates, she didn't feel like
an outsider. She danced with them, was a part of them, moved in
sync with them. Sang Bon Jovi lyrics with them.
As long as no one stomped on her pedicured feet she'd be fine.
The song ended and another one began: Bruce Springsteen,
Human Touch. Erika briefly wondered whether the deejay
intended to play only songs by New Jersey rockers for the entire
prom. She started to laugh, and then stopped when she saw Ted out on the floor, separated from her by only a couple of people.
His gaze met hers and he smiled.
She smiled back.
This wasn't good, she thought. She shouldn't take such delight
in his smile, in his appreciative gaze. She shouldn't be thinking
about whether there was a discreet way to maneuver past the two
people who stood between her and Ted, dancing their hearts out.
It shouldn't matter to her that he looked cute in a tax. After
tonight, she would never see him in formal apparel again, unless
they both got invited to a classmate's wedding sometime down
the road and he happened to be one of the ushers.
Ted Skala shouldn't matter to her. But he did.
Was there some law that said you had to do the prom thing? Had
to spend tons of money, dress in a stupid penguin suit with
adjustable waistband trousers that didn't quite adjust snugly
enough, so you kept feeling as if your pants were going to slide down
over your butt? Had to act like you wanted to preserve every precious
moment of the night in your mental memory scrapbook? Did they
withhold your diploma if you used the wrong fork to eat your salad,
assuming you could call a few limp green weeds and a single cherry
tomato drowning in oil and vinegar a salad?
Hell. The prom was fine. Nothing really wrong with it. Nothing
wrong with posing for a bunch of photos and chatting politely with
Kate's parents-and a few hundred of her closest neighbors, who'd
all trooped over to her house to ooh and ahh over how nice the
young couple looked. Nothing wrong with sneaking just a few drops
ofAdam's vodka into your Coke. You weren't driving. You'd paid all
that freaking money for the limo, after all.
No, the problem wasn't the prom. The problem was that you were
standing at a doorway, about to open it and cross the threshold into the next stage of your life, and all you could think of was missed
opportunities, things left undone, and the cruel truth that once you
exited this room you would never be allowed back into it.
There were so many things in the room you were leaving that you
had never bothered to appreciate. So many knickknacks you'd never
stopped to admire, so many leaks around the window you should
have taken the time to seal. Maybe you could have learned to sit still
more often, and pay attention, and
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