“You don’t evenknowme. How do you know you can’t trust me? The only people I told about our night are my aunt, Audrey, and Isla. They aren’t going to tell anyone else. I trust them.”
“I’m not Jack. I can’t be him. Becks is who people see and he’s who they get. I have my reasons, more than I’ve told you. You need to stay away from me. Just forget that night ever happened. It was a lapse in judgment on my part.”
I nod, biting the inside of my cheek so I don’t cry. “Well,Becks, I don’t like your attitude, your distrust of everyone, your ego, your manipulation, or your intimidation tactics. In other words, I don’t likeyou. So, I think we’re done here.”
I get up from the sofa and head for the door.
“Jillie…” he calls out.
With my hand on the doorknob, I look back over my shoulder.
He shakes his head. “Never mind.”
I nod at him, biting my cheek harder. When I open the door, Ellen’s standing on the other side, as if reaching for the handle.
“I’m looking for Leo.”
I angle my head. “He’s in there and he’s all yours.”
She doesn’t look smug or have the normal venom in her eyes. “I take it you couldn’t make peace.”
“You’d be correct.”
She lays a hand on my forearm. “Trust me. It’s better this way.”
I shrug off her hand. “If you say so.” I walk back outside and grab a Diet Coke before walking over to Elan. I note Audrey’s with Brent and Isla’s with Carlos. That makes me happy. They’re laughing and having fun.
“What happened?” Elan asks.
I shake my head. “I tried for peace, he insisted on being a dick.”
“Why would he want to talk to you if he planned on being a dick?”
“I don’t know, Elan, but it wasn’t fun.”
“What exactly wasn’t fun? The conversation or his truth?” he asks.
“Ouch,” I complain.
“Well…”
“His truth. I don’t like the person they call Becks. I don’t like him at all.”
Elan grins. “That works out just fine. You’ve got me. Your Hottie E.”
That brings out a smile. “That’s right, I do. Hottie E,” I purr, running a finger down his chest.
“Foxy J.” He winks.
I look up at him and I can see there’s pain there that he’s trying to bury. “Your turn. You know who mine is, who’s yours?”
He laughs mirthlessly. “You see too much, Foxy.”
“Spill.”
“Gianna Rothchild.”
My jaw drops, and I just stare. “Wait. Isn’t she…”?
