“Aren’t you two friends?” Dr. Oliver asks, clearly confused by the undercurrents swirling around his dinner table.
“I’m not friends with Dudley,” Gage is quick to clarify, taking a bite of his vegetables with more force than strictly necessary.
“We heavily dislike most school faculty,” Logan says with a shrug. “We’re teenagers.”
I shoot him a look, too, because teenagers are the last people to admit they’re teenagers.
I clear my throat. “What Logan meant to say is, we have a complicated relationship with faculty.”
“Speaking of complicated relationships,” Emma says, seizing her opening like Marshall cornering Michelle Miller in his bedroom—not that she’s playing hard to get. “I think it’s wonderful that you’re expanding your social circle, Gage. The Bishop girl seems very vivacious and full of life—that is, after your father pumped her full of Skyla’s blood.” She belts out a laugh as if to punctuate the cosmic joke.
Oh good, we’re discussing how my blood literally runs through my romantic rival’s veins. This isn’t awkward at all. Maybe for dessert, we can discuss how she also has my hand. Nothing says family dinner like,Hey, remember when I was Chloe’s personal blood bank? And now she gets to give my boyfriend a hand job with my own appendage?
That’s right, rub it in. I’m the reason Chloe Bishop has breath in her lungs—at least for this go around. I shoot Dr. O a dirty look for his part in the malfeasance.
“Vivacious,” I muse. “Now that’s one word to describe Chloe.”
“Oh,Skyla,” Emma says with a mocking tone, “I hope you’re not going to be one of those girls who can’t be happy for her friend’s new relationship.”
“No, I’m thrilled,” I say through gritted teeth as I look at Gage. “Absolutely ecstatic for you, myfriend.”
“Good, because jealousy is such an unattractive quality,” Emma continues, serving herself more vegetables with the enthusiasm of awoman who is really enjoying the hell out of herself. “Besides, you have Logan now, so there’s really no reason to be concerned about what Gage does with his personal time—or with whom.”
Something tells me that if Emma caught Gage and Chloe going at it, she wouldn’t run away screaming, she’d grab the popcorn, or better yet, grab her camera and snap a few pictures for that bloated scrapbook collection of hers. Gage alone has thirty-two volumes and counting.
Logan cringes a little as he dares to glance my way. I knew it was a bad idea to come here. We should have gone to Ellis’. At least then we’d be comfortably stoned and working on our second beers. And believe me, I’d rather be stoned and drunk while trying to go at it on a pool table with Logan than sitting through dinner with Emma, no matter what timeline I’m in.
Dr. Oliver looks between us as if he’s watching a tennis match played with passive-aggressive missiles. “You know, maybe we should talk about something else. How about those Cerberus Dawgs? You boys are looking good out there.”
“Football is so boring,” Emma is quick to dismiss the beloved pastime of this country. “I much prefer talking about real life. Real relationships. Real feelings.”
Real feelings? Oh, Emma, you don’t want my real feelings. My real feelings would melt the silverware and set the curtains on fire. My real feelings would get me permanently banned from every Oliver family event from now until the heat death of the universe.
Please. If she only knew how fake Chloe Bishop was, she’d have an aneurysm.How’s that for reality?
For a second, I envision Emma unconscious with a dribble of blood oozing from one nostril.
A smile plays on my lips, and I do my best to suppress it. I can’t help it. Dark thoughts make me happy sometimes. Okay, so that was bad even for me.
“Some feelings are better left private,” Logan says quietly, and I could kiss him for trying to rescue me.
“Oh, nonsense,” Emma waves her hand dismissively. “Communication is absolutely key to a good relationship. Don’t you think so, Gage?”
“I do think so, Mom,” Gage parrots right back like a good little boy. “In fact, I think people should be completely honest about what they want and who they want it with.” He shoots a cold glance at both Logan and me.
The tension in the room reaches critical mass—the kind that usually ends with someone storming out or knocking over furniture. I’m calculating the distance to the nearest exit when Gage’s phone buzzes against the table.
He glances at it, and his whole body language shifts. “I need to take this,” he says, already standing up. “Chloe wants to talk.”
And just like that, I see red. Not metaphorically—like actual spots of crimson fury dancing at the edges of my vision, blinding me with rage.
Chloe.
Of all the people in the world for Gage to run to, he chooses the one person guaranteed to make my blood boil like lava. Gage chose the one person who’d happily dance on my grave in designer heels. The one person who’s made destroying me her full-time hobby.
“How lovely,” Emma says with a gasp of satisfaction. “It really is so nice that you’re branching out socially.”
Gage shoots her a look that could freeze hell twice over, but he’s already heading for the door. “Thanks for dinner.”
