“Enzo!” She grabbed the lapels of my suit jacket and shook me. “You stupid, stupid boy, no!”
I chuckled and let her pull me close. I still wasn’t touching her, letting her be in control.
“This is serious.” She tugged at my jacket. “Dad wants nothing to do with your father or Mr. Morelli!”
“I know. But I’m here legitimately. He can’t hurt me, fiore.”
At the name, the one I started calling her because she always wore flowers when we were kids, her eyes fluttered closed. “Lord, I’ve missed the hell out of you.”
“Have you?” I prompted, words husky.
She nodded. “I wanted to jump up in math class on Monday and hug you so badly.”
So, I hadn’t been imagining it. She still wanted to be around me. She was still my friend.
“Good. Can I walk you home?”
She shook her head. “I have a driver now.”
“I saw.”
Her blue gaze bled into mine. I caught the moment the wheels of her mind started spinning. “I’ll cancel him for tomorrow, saying I have to stay behind for extracurriculars.”
There she is.My beautiful schemer.
“I can’t wait,” I promised.
Without another word, she bent under me and took off jogging back to the parking lot. I leaned against the tree, letting the world play around me as I stared after her. Amanda was still my friend. Still the same, beautiful golden girl that I grew up with. Mine. All mine.
Chapter 17 –Amanda
My mouth felt as though I’d eaten cotton. The top of my tongue was sand, and I tried to swallow, only to realize it was rough and dry. When I tried again, swallowing made my throat ache. As awareness trickled to the surface, my entire body pulsed with one tidal wave of agony. I rolled over with a groan, flailing for the glass of water I kept on the nightstand. It was there, along with the bottle of sleeping pills.
Crap, how many did I take?
I pushed onto my elbow, picked up the glass, and forced myself to drain it. It took a tremendous effort to stagger out of bed and into the bathroom.
Funny, for how dehydrated I felt my bladder was full.
I smacked at the toilet tissue, and something looked off in the blue glow of my nightlight. After washing my hands, I turned on the light. There, in the crook of my arm, was an ugly bruise. The kind that mean nurses gave when they couldn’t find the vein.
Horror washed through me.
“What day is it?” I croaked.
I didn’t remember last night. Had I gone to the club and fallen in with a bad crowd? What was pulsing through my system at this moment? Drugs most likely.
Staggering back to my bed, I picked up my phone. Dead. It wasn’t sitting on the pad, go figure. I moved as fast as my body would allow, going to the kitchen and sagging with relief when the clock on the stove said 1:06. I still had hours to sleep before my alarm rang at five.
Plugging my phone in, I went for another glass of water. It was a good thing I drained it and set the glass down before my phone restarted.
It wasn’t morning.
It was afternoon. Tuesday afternoon. Whichmeant—
“The trial!” I fumbled with the device.
Missed calls, messages, and emails flooded the screen. My chest cracked in agony as I desperately tried to undo the mistakes of last night.
