Reunion Flirts! 5 Romantic Short Stories Read online

  Reunion Flirts!

  5 Romantic Short Stories

  by Lisa Scott

  “Second Chance”

  “Class Flirt”

  “Crush”

  “My Best Friend’s Girlfriend”

  “Homecoming Queen”

  Smashwords Edition

  Copyright © 2013 Lisa Scott Macdonough

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without prior written permission of the Author. Your support of author’s rights is appreciated.

  All characters in this short story collection are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Table of Contents:

  Second Chance

  Class Flirt

  Crush

  My Best Friend’s Girlfriend

  Homecoming Queen

  About the Author

  Second Chance

  Brandi Parkman pounded her beer bottle on the bar like a gavel. “Here, here! The first meeting of the Jefferson High tenth-reunion committee is now in order.”

  The three other women surrounding her held their drinks up in a cheer.

  Then Chelsea Hallman frowned. “Remind me again why we aren’t just setting this up on the Internet?”

  Brandi jabbed a finger into Chelsea’s arm. “Because this way I can poke you in person, not just on Facebook. When’s the last time we’ve seen each other? We can make a party out of it.”

  Chelsea shifted on the barstool, wondering if they’d forgive her if she made a desperate dash for the door. Probably not. She set her elbow on the bar and slouched. “I never would’ve run for class secretary if I’d known it meant the student government would be planning class reunions for the rest of our lives.”

  “Aren’t you looking forward to it?” Cathy Blake asked. “Don’t you want to see everyone?”

  Oh, Chelsea wanted to see everyone, all right. Everyone but one person: Tripp McCall. She forced a smile. “Of course I want to see everyone. But I’m not even sure I can come. I think we have a family reunion that weekend.”

  Brandi gave Chelsea a look. “How could you know that? We haven’t even settled on a weekend yet.”

  “I just mean chances are it will fall on the same weekend.” Chelsea downed the rest of her drink. Bottom line, if Tripp McCall was coming, she wasn’t. But there was a very good chance Tripp would be too busy running his empire to make it to their rinky-dink reunion.

  “Speaking of dates, we can put up a poll on our Facebook reunion page and let classmates vote on the best weekend,” Brandi said. “And we’ll let everyone decide where to have it and give them three locations to choose from.”

  “Then the real work begins: picking the menu, the band…” Cathy said.

  Alyssa White laughed. “We won’t be able to afford a band. We have to keep ticket prices down, the way the economy is. Fifty-fifty raffles only go so far. We’ll just get someone to put together a mix on their iPod.”

  Brandi waved a dismissive hand. “That’s all logistical stuff that’ll take care of itself. The key to a good reunion is getting the right people there. We need to create a list of must-come alumni. And I know who’s top on the list—Tripp McCall.”

  Chelsea bit her tongue.

  Alyssa rolled her eyes. “Brandi, he’s not going to come back to Boston. He’s running like, a gajillion-dollar company. Isn’t he dating a model? That’s gotta keep him busy, all the sex they’re probably having on tropical islands.”

  A groan got caught in Chelsea’s throat.

  “No, I read that they broke up,” Brandi said. “He’s single. We could probably get every girl in the class to come if they know Tripp will be there.”

  “He was class clown,” Cathy said. “How in the hell did he turn out so successful? I wonder if he has a secret twin.” She tapped a finger on her chin thoughtfully.

  “He doesn’t have a twin,” Chelsea said. She’d spent enough time at his house to know if they’d been hiding a savant brother in the basement.

  “Oh, yeah. You two went out, didn’t you?” Brandi asked, looping her hands around her knees. “You dumped him, right?”

  How wonderful to still have a frenemy after all these years. They all knew the whole story by heart. No one needed a rehash, but everyone was watching Chelsea expectantly. The only thing worse than not having a multimillionaire boyfriend was having had him—and lost him. That’s a tale people wanted to hear again and again. Who wouldn’t feel better about their own sorry life after hearing that? Chelsea tried to sound chipper. “Ten months. It wasn’t really serious.”

  “Still, imagine if you’d stayed together,” Brandi said, looking up at the ceiling dreamily. “You’d probably be on his private jet to go shopping in Dubai right now, or polishing your gems. Someone would probably be massaging you.” Brandi nodded. “I’m sure you’d have your own personal masseuse.” She ran her finger down the condensation on her beer bottle. “Of course, I had him first. He kissed me in second grade. Maybe he’ll be interested in another shot with me.”

  Chelsea ignored her. “Who else is on this VIP wish list of yours?”

  Brandi smiled like she’d just devised the plan of the century. “Lucy Jordan.”

  Chelsea let out a derisive snort. “I’m pretty sure she’s the very last person who would come. She’s a famous singer, she’s been in hiding since that accident, and oh yeah, the jerks in our class voted her homecoming queen as a joke. I’m sure she can’t wait to come and see everyone.”

  “No, she won’t come,” Cathy said.

  Brandi held up a hand. “She’ll show up if we do something to honor Leah.”

  “We totally have to do something to honor Leah. That was so sad,” Alyssa said.

  “Cathy, you want to handle that?” Brandi asked.

  “Sure, only if you promise not to invite Marti Klein. She’ll flirt with all the guys. I won’t miss her at all,” Cathy said.

  “We can’t not invite someone,” Brandi said. “Everyone’s invited. And Marti needs to be there, too. That way all the guys will want to come.” Brandi bounced on her barstool. “Then with Tripp and Lucy there, too, our reunion will be talked about for years. I wonder if the tabloids will cover it?” She squealed. “I should probably get Botox. We could have a Botox party before the reunion.”

  While the girls chattered about that, the knot in Chelsea’s stomach was tightening. “Wow. Lucy Jordan. I really hope I can make it.” She tried to be enthusiastic, but it sounded more like she was waiting for a mouth full of Novocain to wear off.

  “Okay, so we get the polls running online and send out personal invitations to the people we want most.” Brandi looked at Chelsea. “You’re in charge of that. You don’t have a problem contacting Tripp, do you?”

  Chelsea’s beer sloshed in her stomach. “What? Me? Tripp? No, that won’t be a problem. It was so long ago. It was like, nothing. I almost forgot we dated. I’ll be in touch with him, Lucy, and Marti.” She snapped her fingers. “Consider it done.”

  Brandi clapped and bounced in her seat again. “Excellent. This is going to be the best reunion ever.”

  Chelsea expected Brandi to pull out a pair of pompons like she was still a cheerleader. Brandi finished off her beer instead. Well, at least some things never change, Chelsea thought.

  “And let’s have a special ceremony for all the class favorites,” Brandi suggested.

  “Including you? Best Dressed?” Chelsea asked, trying to forget that she’d been a class favorite, too.

  “Wel
l, yes. Everyone who was voted something,” Brandi said, flipping back her hair. “It’ll be fun.”

  “I don’t know,” Alyssa said. “Some people might not want to be reminded.”

  Cathy scrunched her nose. “Maybe we don’t need that?”

  “Well, we can decide that later.” Brandi clapped. “Good meeting, girls, good meeting.”

  They finished up, reminiscing about goofy teachers and favorite memories. Then the group broke up and they left. Alyssa caught up with Chelsea in the parking lot as she walked to her car. “Don’t worry. You’re not the only one who doesn’t want to go.”

  Chelsea paused, shivering in the chilly spring air. “Who said I didn’t want to go?”

  Alyssa looked at her funny. “Who would want to go to a reunion when they’d have to face the catch of a lifetime they let get away? Reunions are for showing off and showing people up. You can’t do that, but Tripp can. He’s worth millions. Or is it billions? That’s going to suck for you to see him.” Alyssa made a sympathetic face.

  Chelsea pressed her eyes shut. She didn’t want to explain that it wasn’t Tripp’s fortune she regretted missing out on. It was him—his humor, his gray eyes, and his soft lips that would kiss her ear and call her Pooky—the name of her ornery pet cat at the time, and Tripp’s nickname for Chelsea when she was being crabby. Those were her regrets. “I do want to go.”

  “Even though you were voted most likely to succeed and…” Alyssa didn’t finish the sentence. She didn’t have to. Everyone knew Chelsea had planned to become a doctor and was working as an office manager instead. It sounded like a better job than it was. It was just her company’s fancy title for “Secretary and assistant to everyone, and the one responsible for buying cakes on employee birthdays.”

  Chelsea forced a great big smile. “Oh, I doubt people remember or care about all that class-favorites nonsense. Really, I want to come. But the family reunion thing might be a conflict, and I have to go. My grandpa hasn’t been well. Something with his hip… socket. Quite serious from what I understand.” She felt a tickle in her throat and coughed. Oh, she’d always been such a bad liar. Grandpa was fine; he led the fitness class at his senior living center. “So, yeah. Poor Grandpa. I just can’t miss the reunion. The family reunion, that is.”

  Alyssa tilted her head and crossed her arms. “I sure hope you can come. It’d be nice to hang around with someone else who doesn’t want to be there. We can support each other.”

  Chelsea sighed, not willing to protest anymore. “Why don’t you want to go?”

  Alyssa gave her a look that screamed duh. “I’m fairly certain I’m the only one in the entire class who’s been divorced by our ten-year reunion. Not at all embarrassing. Everyone thought Kevin and I were such a perfect couple.” She sighed.

  Chelsea reached out and squeezed Alyssa’s arm. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. It happens.”

  “I feel like a failure,” Alyssa said, her voice cracking.

  “Don’t.” Chelsea shrugged. “Hey, maybe you could hook up with Tripp.”

  That got a smile from Alyssa. “You’re right. Thanks, Chelsea.” She dashed off to her car.

  “I was kidding,” Chelsea said to herself. But she’d better face the truth; if Tripp was single, he’d be hooking up with some lucky girl that night. Probably more than one, knowing the girls in her class. If even half the stories were true about those damn Janson triplets, Tripp would be having a very good time.

  ***

  Once Chelsea got home, she changed into her pajamas and made some cookies—eating half of the raw dough and baking the other half. She and Tripp always used to make cookies and eat most of the dough while they waited for the first batch to cook. But raw dough was still yummy and she wasn’t going to deprive herself of that treat just because she and Tripp had enjoyed it once upon a time.

  Licking the final dregs of batter from the bowl while eyeing the plate of warm cookies she’d just taken out of the oven, she decided to find her box of high school memorabilia wedged in the back of her closet. Maybe she was building this up in her head too much. Looking at pictures of Tripp might immunize her emotions when she saw him. If she went to the reunion, that is.

  She pulled out the box and spread everything out on her bed. She started with the yearbook, flipping through the pages she hadn’t looked at in years. There was a picture of her and Tripp at homecoming. He had rabbit ears on his head and held two fingers up behind her head. He’d gotten every single person at that dance to the do the bunny hop like they all used to do back in kindergarten. Even the chaperones. Everyone had always loved Tripp McCall. She flipped through the rest of the book, and Tripp smiled back at her from several pages, mostly in goofy poses. Tripp hadn’t been in any clubs or sports teams. She’d been in too many to mention. She reached in the box and pulled out a few cards he’d sent her when they were dating and funny notes he’d tucked in the slats of her locker. He used to make customized fortune-cookie messages for her, too. She unfolded one of the yellowed slips of paper and read the message. You’ll need to be flexible this weekend. She couldn’t hold back her laughter. Most of them were naughty double entendres.

  She flopped back on her bed with the memorabilia lying around her like some emotional crime scene. If only a heartbreak CSI team could come over and clean up the dried rose petals and love notes, maybe this would be easier. Tripp really had been a great boyfriend. It was going to be so hard seeing him again. Couldn’t she just tell the committee she tried to reach him but he didn’t get back to her? How would they be able to prove she was lying?

  But after the fourth cookie, Chelsea realized that was a bad idea because she knew she had to face him someday and let him taunt her. That’s what she would’ve done if someone dumped her and she went on to be a gorgeous, filthy-rich young entrepreneur. He’d made People’s 100 Most Beautiful People list. How fair was that? He was rich and famous and desired by women around the world. And Chelsea was a glorified receptionist who got attention from the UPS guy only when she wore tight shirts.

  She sat up from the bed, peeled off a winter-formal photo stuck to her forearm, and popped open her laptop. Maybe she could find him on Facebook, shoot him a quick message, and be done with it. But a search found no Tripp McCall, just a page for his company, McCall Me Inc., plastered with people posting pictures of themselves using his Internet calling service in crazy places around the world. Somehow, taking a picture of yourself with the McCall Me icon on your laptop or tablet in the weirdest places had become cooler than snapping a shot of yourself planking. She’d done neither, thank you very much. Nor had she taken a topless picture of herself like Marti Klein had. That picture had ended up on the Girls Get It On website. Would Marti be stripping down again at the reunion? Or would she be too mortified to come? But Tripp? He was class clown. He’d probably love to see everyone. Especially Chelsea so he could show her how wrong she’d been about him.

  Chelsea pushed aside the plate of cookies and logged on to his company website. She looked for Tripp’s e-mail address. No such luck. She would just have to call the company the next morning and try to get through to him. Or at least leave a message with his assistant and be done with it.

  ***

  Chelsea dressed up for work in her cutest suit, like Tripp might see her over the phone. People teased her all day long. “Is the UPS guy making an extra-special delivery today?” She did so much eye rolling at the comments that she ended up with a headache. But who knew? Maybe McCall Me Inc. was working on a spy-camera app and he might decide to try it out on her. She had to look good.

  On her lunch break she put on lipstick, and fluffed her hair, then dialed McCall Me headquarters. And she didn’t use his service to do it, either. She used an old-fashioned landline and that made her feel a tiny bit better. He hadn’t dominated the entire world. Yet.

  After being patched through to several people, she relaxed a bit. She didn’t think there was any chance she’d get to talk to Tripp. Finally, his assistant ans
wered. “Mr. McCall’s office.”

  “Oh, hello. Hi. Yes, this is Chelsea. Chelsea Hallman.” She sat up straight and smoothed her skirt. “I’m calling from Jefferson High’s ten-year reunion committee, and I was wondering if I could leave a message for Mr. McCall.”

  “Oh, he’s right here, darlin’, I’ll patch you through,” she said in the sexiest Texas accent. She was probably a bombshell, too. Probably sleeping with him. Probably had secret babies and designer puppies with him and had sex in an executive marble bathroom that was undoubtedly bigger than Chelsea’s apartment.

  Chelsea tried to protest that she did not need to actually speak to Mr. McCall, but the receptionist had already put her through and the phone started ringing. Chelsea thought about hanging up, but he answered on the second ring. “Tripp McCall.”

  She cleared her throat and opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

  “Hello?” Tripp said.

  “Um, yes.”

  “Can I help you?” he asked.

  She really should’ve ditched the call, but no doubt he had caller ID and several minions who could find out in a minute who’d hung up on him. “Hi, Tripp. It’s Chelsea Hallman. From Jefferson High.”

  “Chelsea Hallman from Jefferson High…” He laughed. “Oh, that Chelsea Hallman. I know so many, it might’ve been awkward if I’d guessed the wrong Chelsea Hallman.”

  Chelsea laughed, and it was a real laugh. Clearly, money hadn’t ruined his funny. “Right. Should we call me Chelsea Hallman Number One? Or were there other Chelsea’s before me? There were, weren’t there?” She sniffed. “I should’ve known.”

  “Nope. You were the first. And okay, I’ll admit it. The only.”

  Hello, goose bumps. She cleared her throat again. “So, you’re probably wondering why I’m calling.”

  “I’m wondering why you haven’t called sooner.”

  Chelsea sucked in a breath. “Really? Well…”

  Tripp laughed. “Kidding. Actually, my first thought was, ‘Is she using McCall Me?’”

  She cringed. “I’m not. I’m on my break at work and I just picked up the phone.”

  “Ouch. I don’t know if you’ve heard, but I own this company that offers cheap Internet calling service and a host of upgrades and add-ons.”