Then mango milkshake it is, babe. —Liam
There goes my heart, imagining fake scenarios with a best friend I have never seen. Imagining his looks, his height, his laugh, his smile, his eyes, and…you get the idea.
Kennedy gives me a meaningful look as she wipes the counter with a cloth. “So there’s a mixer coming up this Friday. It’s hosted by the Women in Business association at Vesta. We should go.”
My thumbs stop moving on my phone screen and I arch an eyebrow. I was about to send Liam a funny GIF. “Uh, since when do I go out?”
It’s sad, but I’m kind of an introvert. Along with my two friends, family, and cat, all I need are romance books, RnB music, and Disney movies to keep me happy.
“You never do, but don’t you think it’s time to leave the past in the past?” Ken bites her lip and gives me a gentle expression. “Things are different now.”
My throat feels thick. It hurts to swallow.
Technically, things are different now.
Buthowdifferent?
When I was a junior in high school, I went to a big party in South Side, Montardor, and met a charming, blond hockey player. He spent the night sweet-talking me and handing me drinks until I got shitfaced. When he said to meet him upstairs in one of the bedrooms to hook up, I remember being excited and desperate to get the awkward first time out of the way—to feel like an actual teenager for once—that I stumbled into the designated bedroom and waited for him in the dark.
I was such a fool thinking he was genuinely interested.
It was all a trap.
When he entered the room, we started kissing, only for me to realize it wasn’t him but one of his hockeyteammates…who heroofiedand led to the room under the false pretense that I was his girlfriend. Both of us were blindsided and when the teammate’srealgirlfriend burst through the door, looking fifty shades of pissed and heartbroken, I figured out too late in my drunken stupor that I’d been roped into a revenge plot. One that had nothing to do with me and everything to do with the entitled rich kids of South Side, Montardor, who had no qualms about hurting others for their own gain.
That night gave birth to my trust issues and my dislike towards rich, blond boys who acted like the world belonged to them.
Although he did send me a letter of apology afterwards, the damage was already done.
After that party, I refused to go to large social gatherings. Nor do I drink alcohol in public.
Still, I appreciate Kennedy looking out for me and trying to get me to live a little.
“Where is this so-called mixer?” I deserve a medal for trying.
Kennedy twirls one of her braids between her fingers. “It’s at MacGregor, the bar down the street. I think it could be a fun opportunity to kickstart the new semester and meet people.”
I swallow the lump in my throat and slurp my mango milkshake. “What time is it at?”
“Nine p.m.” Kennedy smiles hopefully. “Shannon switched shifts with me, so I’m not working closing time. I really want to go, May. Please?”
One bad experience shouldn’t erase the possibility of new positive ones. Perhaps this is exactly what I need to step out of my comfort zone and try to expand my social circle. I’d probably feel less lonely in my upcoming classes if I actually made friends at this mixer.
“Okay. You’re right. Let’s do it.” I use my silk scrunchie to tie my black hair—I was blond a while back before I dyed it back to my natural colour—into a ponytail. “I’ll come pick you up at eight thirty.”
“Oh my God. Do you really mean it?” Ken buzzes with excitement. “We’re literally going to have such a good time.”
If nothing comes of this, at least I made my best friend happy.
“Yeah, I’m down.” I close my laptop and place it in my bag. “It might be fun.”
“Why don’t you ask Liam if he wants to come?”
My smile falters. “I guess…I could.”
I mean, it won’t hurt to ask him to the mixer, right? What’s the worst that’ll happen? He’ll say no like always.
I tug up the strap of my bra—my tits, my favourite asset, give most bras a run for their money—and pull up Liam’s conversation. Before I can chicken out, I shoot my shot.
