“You don’t need to,” she says. “We know you.”
She slides off the tailgate and saunters closer, beer can dangling from her fingers. Coconut oil and cheap lager hits me like a slap. She’s close enough to make this personal.
“New girls always think it’s different,” she continues. “They think they’re the exception.”
My stomach tightens.
“I’m not,” I start, but I don’t even know how to finish.
Not special. Not stupid. Not the kind of girl who catches feelings for a married man with a patch and a wife who bites.
Another one, a redhead with a nose ring and chipped black nail polish, laughs and leans back on her palms.
“Flavor of the week,” she says. “That’s how I started out too, honey.”
That one hits like a punch.
Because I saw the way Oaks looked at me last night. Because I felt the way he held me afterward like he couldn’t help it. Because this morning he walked past me like I was a stranger.
The words he spoke in the heat of passion ring in my head, “You’re mine tonight.”
Tonight.
I fucking qualifier.
The brunette steps even closer, softening her voice like she’s being kind.
“You think Beth ever cared before?” she asks. “Baby, she thanks us.”
The redhead snorts. “Sends gift baskets.”
They laugh, cruel and easy.
“She only lost her mind with you,” the brunette continues. “Wanna know why?”
I don’t dare answer.
She leans in, voice low, like she’s sharing a secret.
“Because for a second, she thought he cared.”
Silence stretches.
And there it is.
The knife.
“You ain’t special,” she finishes. “You just made her nervous.”
The others nod like that settles it. Like they have explained my whole existence in two sentences.
I force my shoulders back. I make my voice steady.
“Are you done?” I ask.
The redhead lifts her beer in a mock toast.
“Here’s to our new bunny.”
