I spot Skyla and Logan in the kitchen and frown. They’re sharing brownies and laughing their heads off like they don’t have a single care in the world. Like she didn’t just ruin my chance with Gage and then treat me like I was less than the shit under her shoe.
Of course, they’re stuffing their pie holes. Skyla probably needs the calories to fuel all that indecision. Must be nice having your pick of desserts and boyfriends.
That little bitch is going to pay.
I’m about to take off when I catch sight of myself in the mirror above Emily’s mantel. For just a second, less than a heartbeat, I swear I see another reflection behind mine. A woman wearing a wedding dress, with tears streaming down her face.
Then it’s gone, leaving me staring at myself with my heart hammering against my ribs.
“What the hell?” I whisper as my heart begins to race.
I glance around, but she’s nowhere to be seen.
Must be the secondhand smoke from all of Ellis’ recreational herb collection. Or maybe I’m just exhausted from the train wreck tonight morphed into. But something about that image felt real. Too real.
I shake it off and head for the door, but not before taking one last look at where Gage stands—alone, miserable, and still obsessed with a girl who keeps him as her backup plan. Skyla collects boys the way serial killers collect victims—one is never enough. Lucky for me, Gage will eventually get tired of being part of her body count.
Tomorrow, I’ll try again. And again. And again, if I have to.
Because Chloe Bishop doesn’t give up. Especially not on Gage Oliver.
The fact that Skyla tried to take me down a notch just makes me more determined. She thinks she’s won, thinks she has both Oliver boys wrapped around her vagina. But I know something she doesn’t—Gage is getting tired of being second choice. I can see it in the way he watches her with Logan, the hurt that flashes across his face before he covers it with indifference.
All I need is patience. And timing. And eventually, he’ll realize that the girl who never gave up on him is worth more than the girl who can’t make up her mind.
I leave Emily’s house with my head held high, despite the humiliation still sizzling over my flesh. This isn’t over. Not by a long shot.
Gage Oliver will be mine.
It’s not a hope or a wish—it’s a certainty. I’ll make sure of it.
No matter what it takes.
Because Chloe Bishop always gets what she wants.
9
Skyla
The dim lights cast zebra-stripe shadows across Gage’s face while he weaves through the swaying bodies, right here in Emily’s haunted house, as he makes his way over to Logan and me.
The rock music has shifted to something far too moody, a haunting melody that floats over the chatter and laughter like a ghost with a vengeance, trying to make me dive-bomb my way into Gage Oliver’s pants.
Okay, the extreme excess of teenage hormones might have something to do with that. Scratch that. It has everything to do with that. Fine, I may be addicted to Gage just a little bit, with or without any influence of hormones. But who can blame me? Certainly not Chloe.
Good thing Logan and I aren’t holding hands. The last thing I need is to have a blowout with my husband while reliving our so-called glory days. Actually, Logan and I have never had a blowout. And when it comes to situations like this that concern the dimpled Oliver, Logan more or less rolls his eyes.
The air has grown thicker with each passing hour, booze and weed competing with Axe body spray and the unmistakable scentof those aforementioned teenage hormones—it’s a potent cocktail that brings back memories I thought I had long since buried. Come to think of it, this sort of smells like Ellis’ house now, too. But we’re not at the Harrisons’; we’re at the Morgans’, and Emily’s haunted hovel is less mausoleum and more quirky country store, if that country store sold tchotchke for witches with a dragon fetish.
Gage’s dimples dig in deep as he comes my way with his arms outstretched and eyes locked on me with an intensity that used to turn my teenage knees to jelly. And Lord Almighty, it still does in the very best way.
He wraps his arms around my waist possessively and pulls me to his chest in a way that screamsmineto everyone watching. And TMI, I may have just had my second Gage-gasm of the night. Hormones. It’s what’s for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.
“Are you ready to get out of here?” he asks, his breath warm against my ear. Gage holds the scent of mint, woodsy cologne, and straight-up wanting, a combo that I wholeheartedly approve of.
Logan clears his throat while looking equal parts amused and miffed at the somewhat lusty display. His eyes catch mine over Gage’s shoulder, and he frowns. Logan knows darn well we’re playing roles in a movie we’ve already starred in, and know the ending to, but here we are, required to deliver our lines anyway. Sort of. I think. Oh, who knows what we’re supposed to be doing anymore? Something to do with an anchor, saving children, and running wild in a time that long since expired like a bad carton of milk. It’s late, I’m heavily sleep-deprived, and I’d give Chloe’s right arm for a cup of coffee right about now.
“Um, in a minute,” I say to Gage, leaning back to get a better look at his blessed by God features.
