On My Way To Mr. Right

Chapter 40

James didn't get drunk that night. Not even tipsy. I guess it was because he got worried about me and thought I might do something stupid.

But I didn't. Just to clarify, I didn't do anything James thought I would've done. I stayed completely sane even after finding out that Adrian tricked me twice in my life now. That shithead.

See? Even thinking of it makes me furious.

That night, instead of making a scene and confronting Adrian, I went to James to ask for the car keys and told him I'd be waiting patiently in the car. I also told him not to be bothered or worried but, of course, James being James, he did and we ended up going home at ten-thirty. Mostly due to Clara being unfindable for half an hour. Then James found her in the closet near the basement, totally drunk and close to passing out. She wasn't even wearing her heels anymore.

In the end, James drove us home and Clara had to crash the night at my place because her parents were still up at that time of the night and she couldn't be seen that smashed.

I left the room and made my way to my last class for the day which I shared with Bea and Charles.

"She's OK; we've been seeing each other recently."

My heart begins to sink. My stomach tightens. I'm afraid I'm going to puke or pass out, or both, but I don't think it's because of breakfast.

I suppose it's been six years, and I shouldn't have expected him to be unmarried for so long. I've been dating for a while, and he should be able to do it as well. Even still, knowing it and hearing it from him seem to have been two completely different things. Hearing that my best friend and the person I've always loved is dating another of my friends hits me like a blow in the gut.

"Lottie, I-"

"It's fine," I cut him off.

It's not the time for him to try to be all friendly and charming with me right now.

"However, I'd like to attend the meeting," I say, making sure to square my shoulders and keep eye contact. I'm not going to let him see me sad as he did all those years ago.

"Excuse me?" says the speaker.

"Even though you manage it today, it's still a family business, and I'd like to see how things get done."

Your father went to tremendous lengths to keep you safe. Blindly following me, it's not a business you want to be a part of."

I give her a kind nod and my brightest smile. She narrows his eyes in response to my passionate race up the stairs. With a white sundress and a pair of brown strappy shoes, I keep things simple. I keep my hair loose in its typical wild waves that hang to the middle of my back, but I apply mascara and concealer under my eyes to make up for the lack of sleep I had the night before.

It takes more work than I normally put out. I'll say it, but after hearing about James, I feel compelled to raise my game. When I walk down the stairs, James is on the phone, still clothed in his outfit from the night before.

"I don't approve of this, Beatrice!" Mr. Baxter shouted, pointing a finger at a sulking Beatrice.

It took a moment for them to notice that I was watching in the doorway. Unable to move. I know I shouldn't be here right now.

"Do you mind, whoever you are?" His father turned to me, agitated.

I nodded my head and slammed the door harder than I was supposed to. I stayed glued to the door and unintentionally eavesdropped. I couldn't help it, curiosity is burning inside me and the thin barrier between me and the commotion inside is not helping.

"Dad, I know my f*****g rights. I'm turning eighteen very soon. And if you don't allow this," she paused.

"If I don't allow this what will you do, huh?" Her father challenged.

"I'm leaving this godforsaken house," she sniffled.

His dad let out a long sigh. "You think about what you're saying, Beatrice."

"Just go, dad."

I heard foot stomps getting louder which indicated that someone was about to go out. I quickly compose myself away from the door. Acting as if I was waiting patiently. As if.

"Sir," I nod politely at Mr. Baxter only to get ignored. This is part of the reason why dad hates him.

I got inside the room to see a very unhappy-looking Beatrice. She rolled around her bed, looking irritated. "What's the problem B?"

She stopped for a while and looked at me. "I freaking hate my father!" She screamed, her voice muffled by the pillow she was holding in front of her.

I creased my brows. "B, you know you could tell me, right?"

She let out a light chuckle, looking amused. "And risk you guys mocking me on my little problem? No thanks, Char. Besides, I got it solved. It's just that," she trailed off.

"Just what?"

"Dad's being rough on me about it." She sighed.

Then realized that my tummy's hungry. It's already making all sorts of funny noises.

"I could hear your hunger from here, Char," she laughed as she tied up her hair in a bun.

I rolled my eyes. "Mock me all you want, B. I took all my anger put on your lil' sis already."

She sighed. "What did you do?" I guess it is expected that I could never stray away from an annoying, conflict-seeking brat.

"Nothing you should concern yourself with," I beamed.

"Alright." We made our way to the dinner table, joking along the way.

"Hmph, so children, take your seat." Mrs. Baxter smiled as she put the turkey on the table.

Are we having a feast?

I took notice of the food on the table. This is a lot. Like a way lot. There were vegetables, seafood, steak, mash potato, steak, and a little more side dishes. But the turkey was the star of the table. Did Mrs. Baxter think she'd be serving our whole class?

"Wow, this is a lot, Mrs. Baxter," I said a little astonished as I sat down on the seat opposite Trixie. Not the best spot to sit but it was the only place vacant.

"Oh well, I didn't know what you kids would like," she explained.

The dinner went pretty well aside from constant kicks that I get from Trixie who also sends me a lot of glares. Also, Mr. Baxter, I noticed, doesn't like me that much. Bea introduced us and I still had to repeat my name twice because he keeps 'forgetting'. Then there was the awkward silence when he asked me something about my dad. Mrs. Baxter had to break the silence with a chef tip.

Trixie gets her genes from her dad, aside from the physical attributes, they also have the same amount of hatred against us, the Smiths. If the genes are not the reason, I don't know what is. Why does she hate me so much?

"Charlotte," Charles called as I was helping Mrs. Baxter wash the dishes.

"What?"

"We're going swimming now, wanna come?"

I glance at Mrs. Baxter who gave me an encouraging smile. "It's fine, dear. You came here to swim, after all." I grinned at her. Glad she gets it.

"Yeah, just give me a minute, Charles," I told him as I grabbed my bag from Bea's room.

We arrived at the pool where there were plenty of floaties and where Trixie and Bea were already splashing each other. I glance at James who was just sitting on the side of the pool.

Charles dived which caused water to fly everywhere. I sat on one of the chairs by the pool. I haven't changed in my bathing suit. I'm not feeling the swimming vibe. But it sure does look fun in the pool.

On the very next day, I found myself in a car with Adrian. How it happened, I could never tell. But suddenly, James Tucker was on the very least of the list of attractions.

My attitude has completely worsened by the time Adrian returns to the car and climbs into the driver's seat.

He's gently singing to himself, a cheeky smirk kissing the corners of his mouth. At the very least, one of us is happy. It's as though our attitudes have entirely switched places.

"Where and how do we go from here?" he says, his face beaming.

His hand wanders over to my knee, attempting to touch the languid patterns there. I tear my leg away and turn to face the window, hoping he won't see the frown that has taken up residence on my face. "Umm, did I miss something?" he asks, his voice rising significantly at the end.

If I didn't feel like smacking him in the face right now, this would have been charming. How could I have made such a blunder? I let myself be led by impulse and old sentiments, and he made no attempt to stop me. I'm tempted to yell at her, but I know he's not to a fault.

Yes, he may have had an affair with Clara. He may have steered me in the right direction, but I was the one who took the initiative.

I'm the one who's to blame.

"Just send me off at home," I grumble, pouting. "Your girlfriend looked very thrilled about your date."

He mutters something and slams his fist on the driving wheel. As he speeds out of the parking space, muttering a stream of expletives under his breath, I presume he won't answer. He maneuvers in and out of traffic, his mouth clenched and his gaze fixed on the road ahead.

He eventually says, "She's not my girlfriend."

It's so silent that I nearly think I'm hearing things.

"It makes no difference."

I'm sorry if I'm moping and acting juvenile, but I can't stop myself. In the grand scheme of things, I think I've handled being back rather well thus far.

Clara has had a thing for him for years, he knows. He has to understand that switching back and forth between us isn't going to work.

"I promise, we simply hang out now and then, hook up on occasion; she understands it's absolutely informal, and I can quit on her if you want."

His voice changes from angry to pleading Still, I won't budge

"Oh, please. You know she's had a crush on you for years. That girl is in love with you it may be casual on your end, but it's definitely not on hers. The gall and audacity you have to actually bring this up with me in the car is appalling. Just last week, she was begging- begging me to forgive you. And you are just a pig.”

She and I had that in common, but I wasn't about to sell myself out. He sighs deeply, his fingers drumming frantically across the steering wheel as we drive down my street.

As we approach my home, he turns to face me, and I unbuckle my seatbelt. He opens his mouth to speak, but I cut him off.

"Thanks for bringing me today. I'd like to be more involved in meetings from now on if that's okay. Have fun on your date!"

Before he gets a chance to answer, I leap out and slam the door shut. As I bound up the stairs, it takes everything I have not to glance back at him.

As soon as I go inside, he races away.

As I close the door, I can't stop the sob that escapes my throat. I'm already a shambles on my first full day back.

The remainder of the day is devoted to cleaning. I give in when almost any tabletop, corner, and cranny is immaculate. I'm not in the mood to be alone right now, so I dial the number of the one person I have ever met who is always up for a good time.

I took a glance at my reflection in the mirror.