Free The A-List by Zoey Dean

What if Cammie and Ben were Cyn and Scott all over again? But then Anna smiled. She was the one with Ben, not Cammie. This time
she’d
gotten the guy.
    As the three girls continued their banter, Anna leaned gently toward Ben. He eased an arm around her waist. If her earlier confession about the girl on the plane not being the “real Anna” had fazed him, he didn’t show it at all. Anna hoped that was because he’d taken it all in stride.
    “So, Anna. We’re all dying to know how you and Ben met,” Dee gushed.
    “At Princeton,” Ben said instantly. “There was a kegger at the Lambda Chi house after the Yale football game. Some drunk linebacker was hitting on her—”
    “And Ben came to my rescue,” Anna said, delighted to play along with the new and improved how-we-met story. It was like a secret code that only they shared. “We ditched the party, took off in his Jeep, and drove to the beach.”
    “Long Beach,” Ben added.
    “To watched the sunrise,” Anna concluded.
    Dee sighed. “Stuff like that never happens to me.”
    “Ben Birnbaum, I am truly impressed,” purred Cammie. “I’ve always known you to be more the take-no-prisoners/do-her-against-the-wall type.”
    Cammie was referring to an experience she and Ben had shared one night backstage at the Viper Room. Too much Cuervo Gold could make a girl lose her inhibitions. Not, Cammie realized, that she had very many of those to begin with. Ben had been quite a different Ben back then. At least, so it seemed to Cammie.
    “I guess Anna brings out a different side of me,” Ben said.
    “That’s so sweet, Anna,” Cammie oozed, then mentally added,
Die, bitch.
    “How long have you two been together?” Dee asked.
    Ben cocked his head at Anna. “What is it, three months now?”
    “Two and a half,” Anna corrected. “But it feels like—”
    “Dee, baby!” A short guy in his midthirties, clad in a black leather tuxedo jacket and black jeans, interrupted them. He held out his arms to Dee, who squealed, took a running leap, and jumped into them.
    “I heard Bobby and Whitney were being psycho again. Daddy didn’t think you’d make it,” Dee said, hugging the man again. “I’m so glad you’re here!”
    Which was more than either Anna or Ben could say. Anna’s jaw headed south as she watched Ben’s face go as white as his French-cuffed shirt. Because Dee was in the arms of none other than Anna’s seatmate from hell, Rick Resnick.
    Then Rick saw Anna and Ben. A malicious grin split his face. “Well, well, well, if this isn’t a friggin’ movie moment. Annie-bo-bannie and the frat brat!”
    Dee looked confused. “Do you guys know each other?”
    Rick wagged a finger at Anna. “I met her on the plane from New York.”
    “Look, don’t be an asshole about this,” Ben muttered.
    “
Me
an asshole?” Rick asked. He turned to Dee. “That’s when the frat brat met her, too.”
    “Wrong,” Sam said. “They go to Princeton together.”
    “My lily-white ass they do,” Rick hooted. “I’m telling you, they met on my plane. She was sloshed and looking for a good time, he made a move; next thing I know, badda-bing, badda-bam, they’re going at it in the first-class john.” He pumped his fist for graphic emphasis.
    Heat rose to Anna’s face. “That’s not what happened. We didn’t … I didn’t …”
    Cammie’s face lit up. “Oh my God, it’s true.”
    “We don’t owe them any explanations,” Ben muttered to Anna.
    “Ben, how
could
you?” Sam cried, milking the moment for all she was worth. She put her hand to her heart. “You brought some B-list slut to my father’s wedding? God, she probably did you for the invite!”
    If there was one thing Anna knew she was not, it was a “B-list slut.” She also knew that anything she or Ben might say in their defense would make only make them look guiltier. She’d thought getting caught on the plane was humiliating, but it was nothing compared to this moment.
    An image sprang into