I blinked a few times, forgetting for a few seconds that Slate and I were at the Wolf’s Den with all our friends sitting there watching us.
Four pairs of eyes were on us, and I hoped the dim lighting hid the pink I could feel rising in my cheeks. What had they seen when we’d been arguing? Did I look like some jealous girl who wished for more from Slate? Or did we look like some old married couple? Neither one was great.
Standing up, I said, “I’d love to dance.”
I needed some distance from Slate right now. I had so many different emotions going through me that I didn’t know what I was feeling. We’d gone from pretending to act like a couple, to possibly real flirting, to going back to being friends, to arguing about his lifestyle, which I had not so subtly shown I didn’t like. How was I supposed to wrap my brain around all that?
The three of us walked over to the dance floor, moving through to the center of the crowd. A fast song played, and blue and yellow lights flashed to the beat of the music, the bass from the speakers vibrating through the wooden floor.
We’d been dancing less than a minute before Scarlet started in on me. “So how is it going, being Slate’s girlfriend?” I knew she meant fake girlfriend, but she’d kept that part out in case we had listening ears.
“Good,” I said, not sure how to answer such a loaded question.
“Are you sure?” Olivia questioned, but I could tell she asked out of concern.
I kept dancing, hoping to prove I was dealing with it all just fine. “Yep. I remember why we chose to be together.”
How could I forget why we’d chosen to do this fake-dating thing in the first place? I was grateful to Slate for doing this for me so I could not be a laughingstock in front of the school, despite the fact that he was the reason we were in this predicament.
Olivia gently touched my arm. “Well, if you ever need to talk, we’re here.”
“Thank you,” I smiled.
“Can we at least talk about that kiss?” Scarlet asked, her southern accent coming out strong. “Holy cow, that was hot! And in front of Josh? OMG.”
I laughed. “I wish I could have seen Josh’s face.” But I’d been way too busy having the best kiss of my life.
“He looked like a volcano ready to explode,” she said.
Olivia swayed her hips to the music. “For a second, I thought he was going to walk over and yank you away from Slate.”
“If I had to guess, he’s too scared of Slate to do anything,” Scarlet said, waving her hands above her head to the music.
Continuing to move to the beat, I said, “Is it bad that I wouldn’t stop Slate from doing anything to him? Josh was a jerk who treated me like garbage for four years, and I was too naïve to see it.”
It still bothered me that I hadn’t seen our relationship for what it was—and that I hadn’t stuck up for myself.
Olivia stopped dancing and placed her hand on my shoulder, causing me to stop as well. “You weren’t naïve, Isla. He was manipulative, and he placated you with promises to keep you around.”
But didn’t not recognizing what he had been doing make me naïve? I had never questioned how he’d treated me. It was just how Josh was. I’d felt like it was easier to keep him happy than to rock the boat.
Instead of voicing my thoughts, I only nodded.
Scarlet wrapped her arms around me and Olivia. “This is some deep conversation for the dance floor.”
We all chuckled and made our way back to the table where we’d left the boys. When we got closer to the table, we saw the three of them leaning in close, like they didn’t want to be overheard. Slate’s face was serious, his jaw clenched. Glancing over at Wilder, I could see his lips were moving, and he was giving Slate a stern look. Rush looked between the two guys with concern etched in his features.
What were they talking about?
As we reached the table, they sat back, Wilder putting on a smile and pulling Olivia onto his lap, Rush giving Scarlet a wink and scooting her chair closer to his, and then there was Slate, who was looking at the floor, over at the bar, at his hands, anywhere but at me.
Okay, so I guessed that answered my question. They’d definitely been talking about me—or me and Slate.
Instead of sitting down, I said, “I think I’m going to head home.” I wasn’t in the mood to pretend anymore, whether it was pretending to be Slate’s girlfriend or pretending the guys hadn’t been talking about me and said something to make Slate avoid my gaze.
This got Slate to finally look at me. “By yourself? No. I’ll drive you.”
“Yes, by myself,” I said adamantly. “I can call an Uber just fine.”
