“Nope. She was literally in my bed watching some shitty romcom.”
“Jesus.”
I see the fire in his eyes. Looking at him properly, I can see why Brittany went for him. Dark hair peeks from under his baseball cap, broad shoulders, and an intense look that girls probably eat up. The guy’s handsome, I can admit that. Objectively, he’s probably got me beat in the looks department. There’s a voice in the back of my head saying if Brittany had to choose, she’d pick him. But that’s stupid. There is no choosing. This is over.
We talk for a bit, comparing schedules and stories that line up in the worst possible way. Chase pulls out his phone, and we scroll through our respective text threads with Brittany, finding the same pet names, the same promises, sometimes even the same exact phrases sent to both of us on different days.
“Sorry, man,” I say. “That you had to find out like this.”
“Yeah, well, I’m glad I did. Better now than later, right?” He finally takes a sip of his coffee. “So what now?”
“I don’t know.” I stare at the bracelet box. “Confront her?”
“Obviously.” He leans forward, lowering his voice. “But think about it. If we both do it separately, she’s just going to play us against each other. Tell us the other one is lying.”
“She’ll definitely try that. She’s clearly good at this.” The thought of her smooth, plausible lies makes my stomach turn. “So you want to… do it together?”
“I think that’s our only move.” He has this predatory look in his eyes now, the kind he probably gets on the football field before a big play. “We need to corner her. Show her she can’t talk her way out of this.”
I don’t love the idea. The thought of seeing Chase and Brittany together, seeing her look at him with those big, blue eyes I thought were just for me, makes me want to punch the cheap laminate table. But he’s right. If I try to handle this alone, she’ll twist things. She’s a pro at that, apparently.
“Okay,” I say. “Together. But when?”
“She’s supposed to come to my place tonight,” he says. “Eight o’clock.” He looks at me, a slow, dangerous smile spreading across his face. “Why don’t you come too? Bring the bracelet.”
2
Chase’s address is pulled up on my phone: Marshall Hall, room 312. I’ve been standing outside for five minutes, trying to decide if I’m really doing this. The bracelet box feels like a rock in my jacket pocket. My head is a mess of what-ifs and a dull, throbbing anger. I’m not a confrontational guy. I’m the one who plays guitar in the back of coffee shops, the one who’d rather walk away from a fight than start one.
And that’s what I should be doing. Walking away. Just send her a text: It’s over. Don’t contact me.
But then I think about Brittany in my bed last night, playing with my hair, telling me she was so lucky to have found me. All while she was fucking another dude across campus. A hot, popular football player. The humiliation burns hotter than the anger. She made a fool of me. A complete idiot. And as much as I want to disappear, I need her to see that she didn’t break me. That she didn’t win.
I take a deep breath and head up the stairs to the third floor. The dorm is exactly like mine: the same ugly brown carpet, the same half-dead plants lining the hallway, the same muffled sounds of video games behind closed doors.
I knock on 312.
The door swings open, and there’s Chase in a plain white t-shirt that’s pulled tight across his chest.Jesus.This dude is jacked, even more than I could see under that black hoodie he had on earlier. He gives me a short nod. “Hey, man. She just texted. She’s on her way.”
A wave of something hits me. Panic? Anger? Jealousy? This is real now. I’m standing in my girlfriend’s other boyfriend’s dorm room, about to ambush her.
He must see it on my face, because he claps a hand on my shoulder. His grip is iron. “Beer?” he asks, motioning toward the mini-fridge in the corner.
“Yeah, thanks.”
He tosses me a can. I pop it open and take a long swallow. It’s cheap and watery, but it gives my hands something to do while I look around the room. It’s exactly what I expected. Football posters on the wall, a giant stereo system, a pile of dirty laundry in the corner, a trash can overflowing with empty pizza boxes. I pull the bracelet box from my pocket and set it on the coffee table next to another black box—Chase’s necklace. The matching set that started all this.
On his desk, next to his laptop, is a framed photo. Brittany, in her cheerleading uniform, her arms wrapped around Chase’s neck, smiling so wide her eyes crinkle at the corners. I’ve seen that exact smile plenty of times, aimed at me.
“You okay?” Chase asks.
“Peachy,” I say, my voice tight. I take another swig of beer, trying to wash down the sour taste in my mouth.
“You know, I’ve been thinking,” he says, taking a seat on the edge of his bed. “We could just call her out. Both of us. Tell her we know everything, that she’s a liar, all that shit.”
“That’s the plan, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, but…” He runs a hand through his hair. “That way, she still gets to be the center of attention.”
