And much to my dismay, he was right. It was either standing up and baring my assets to the world, or risk sitting on him. Inwardly cringing, I perched stiffly on his knee, back ramrod straight.
“Now that don’t look too comfortable,” he stated, jiggling his leg and upsetting my precarious position. When I began to fall, he caught me, setting me a bit farther up his lap than made me comfortable. “Relax . . .” he urged with an accompanying mini-massage that only managed to stiffen me up more.
I tried to relax out of my statue pose, finally leaning on his boulder of a shoulder but remained frozen as some of the looks on the girls’ faces. Conversation began flowing again while Ron gradually shifted my booty more deeply into his crotch. The heat and proximity of his nether regions made me feel claustrophobic and nauseated at once. But it was a struggle to move, because two slabs of meaty muscle were hooked tightly around me.
Ashley-Leigh shot me an annoyed look from her throne at the head of the table—a spot traditionally reserved for the birthday girl. She leaned forward enough that a dangerous amount of cleavage spilled out, and provocatively asked if any of the boys had heard about the new guy. This sparked a new buzz about whether or not he would play football.
After a minute more of watching Ron paw on me, followed by my futile attempts to wriggle away, and Ashley-Leigh had finally had enough. “Knock it off, Ronnie!” she snapped, quieting the table.
“What? What am I doing?” he challenged.
“Being an asshole, as usual,” she cooed, making it sound like a compliment. I had to admire her social skills.
I could see the dilemma present itself to her: She wanted him to let me go but she couldn’t really be the queen bitch with him since he was just as popular in his own right. Plus, he was from arguably the wealthiest family in town, which made him especially formidable. And they had a history together. So I wasn’t sure if she was intervening because she knew how uncomfortable I felt, or because she couldn’t stand to have her ex’s hands all over me right in front of everyone’s noses. I suspected it was a little of both.
The gears seemed to click into place. “Leave the poor baby alone, Ronnie,” she purred. “It’s her birthday today.”
“Really? . . . Happy Birthday, Katie!” he breathed on me, making me aware he’d imbibed on beer earlier in the evening.
“Yeah, it is,” Ashley-Leigh continued, a dangerous edge sharpening her voice. “Well, technically, tomorrow’s her birthday . . . ” She went for the cut: “So this is her last night to be sweet sixteen and never been kissed!”
Humiliation poured out of me.
Never one to miss her mark, Madison Swain, Ashley-Leigh’s lackey, jeered, “You cannot be serious!”
“What?” dropped Ashley-Leigh, all sugar and spice now. “I think it’s sweet.” She gave a high-pitched giggle, and predictably, all of her henchmen began cackling like blackbirds again.
“B-but that’s not even true!” I spluttered, wrenching away to stand up.
“Oh really? Have you been keepin’ secrets from me, Connelly?”
Heads turned from Ashley back to me. My play. “Uhh, sort of. Not really.” I shrugged and furiously blushed again. If this was a typical night on the town, then next time I’d take a big fat pass. Getting attacked with unwanted attention, while wearing next to nothing, in the middle of a crowded restaurant, was pretty much the exact opposite of how I would spend my birthday. Suddenly, I’d had enough of the shenanigans, as my father would say.
“Excuse me,” I said, dodging around chairs.
“Uh-oh,” Madison chimed up. “I think you hurt her little feelers.”
Before I could escape, Ashley-Leigh nabbed my arm. I yanked away to a loud chorus of “ooohs!” “Shut up, you guys! . . . I think she’s really upset.” She hugged me to her, the mean-girl facade fading from her face. “I’m really sorry, Katie-Kat. Don’t go.”
I could tell she really was contrite but I was still prickling with anger. “Please don’t be mad,” she apologized in my ear while my resolve weakened. “I was just tryin’ to help you escape that gorilla, Ron.”
I huffed out some hurt. Ashley could feel me relent—as I always did— and turned back to the table triumphantly, frowny face turned upside down in another victory.
“Guys, Katie’s not like us—she really is still sweet and innocent. And I, for one, think it’s great!” Now she sounded like a Miss America contestant.
“Come back and sit with me, Katie. I’ll make it all better!” Ron flirted, oblivious.
“No way! She’s all mine. Here . . .”—she kicked the chair out—“share seats with me, like old times.”
So I plunked down, once again resigned to my night of torture. At least I was out of the hot seat. I would never complain again about reading Batman to Mikey for the thousandth time. The table gradually started up their insipid gossiping again, and it led repeatedly back to the new guy. Tana just described him as definitely athletic.
Ron cut in, “What position does he play?”
“What am I . . . telepathic?” she asked.
“More like telepathetic.” Ron received instant gratification from the laughter track table for that one.
Tana protested prettily, shoving his heavy mass and batting her tarantula eyelashes at him. I was happy to see him turn his ADD-attention toward her. The bantering continued for a while, and I yawned out of sheer boredom. I wanted to slide on out, but couldn’t find an opening (or a ride home).
Meanwhile, Ashley-Leigh had come up with a master plan. “Don’t worry, Katie. We’ll find a cute boy for you to kiss tonight.”
I literally shuttered at the thought of who she’d pick.
“Hmmm. Maybe my college hottie will have a cute roomie this semester?” She enthusiastically planned our future again, without input from me.
I just continued listening, not needing to add a thing to the conversation but ears. Daddy would never go for it anyway, but it was an intriguing idea. One of the hazards of growing up in such close proximity to the same people is: you remembered each awkward stage.
I looked over at Ron and could exactly picture him sitting there, in his dungarees, picking his nose like he used to when he was in my second-grade reading group. I could see it like it was yesterday. He even wore his hair in the same super-short style. The only differences I could see were a few more muscles and a little too much hair gel. I felt a little disloyal towards my fellow peers for feeling this way, because some of the boys were cute and several were very sweet, but unfortunately, none of them gave me that weak-in-the-knees feeling I’d only read about.
My thoughts flew back to summer camp, my cheeks warming a bit. I had already been kissed. A real kiss too, not the truth-or-dare kind you have in seventh-grade where you press your lips together in the closet while your friends giggle on the other side. His name was Ryan and he was super-cute. Cool, too. I’d been friends with his sister, Reese first. We were assigned the same team, “the winning team,” as she liked to rub in to her brother. We’d all ended up going to the banquet together as a foursome—Ryan and me and Reese and her date. She could tell I felt as out of place as my father at a country club, so she’d lent me a fashionable dress and teased me that he wasn’t nearly as clever or suave as we both thought he was.