“I knew it.I freakingknewit! Was it amazing? No—wait, don’t answer that. Yes, answer it,” she says when she calms down. “NO, sorry. That’s…I’m still processing. So…how mad are you?”
“I don’t know.” I lean against my dresser, towel still clinging. “Like…ninety percent so mad I want to never see him again. But then ten percent of me keeps remembering what he did to my body last night and wants to cry in gratitude.”
“Okay, fair.”
“I just—helied,April. Heknewwho I was. And I told him things. Real things. And I thought I could trust him.”
“Did he explain why?”
“He said he ‘tried.’ He said he wanted me to seehimwithout the Holloway name attached.”
April exhales. “That’s…actually kind of deep. But still. I’d want to throw a roll of silverware at him.”
“I work a shift tonight,” I say. “What the hell am I supposed to do?”
“Well, option one: seduce him in the keg closet for closure.”
“Not helping.”
“Okay. Option two: act cool, wear your hottest jeans, and pretend the orgasm he gave you never happened.”
“…what’s option three?”
“Admit you like him and give him a chance. A real one. No masks, no games.”
I go quiet.
“You’re thinking about it,” she says.
“I’m thinking about killing him,” I mutter.
April laughs. “Same thing, sometimes.”
* * *
I stareat my closet like it’s personally responsible for the chaos in my brain.
Sensible jeans? No. T-shirt? God, no. I pull out a silky black tank with lace trim that dips just low enough to make eye contact awkward. Paired with high-waisted dark denim that hugseverything,and my cowboy boots with the tiny gold stitching I never wear because I think they’re “too much.” Tonight, “too much” is exactly the vibe.
I dry my hair with extra attention, leaving it down and tousled. A little eyeliner, a touch of gloss, perfume at the pulse points. And for the final, petty flourish: a dainty gold necklace with a tiny heart charm.
I look like a woman who doesnotregret last night.
Even if I’m spiraling inside.
Game on, Thor.
Or Hunter.
Whatever.
I roll into Holloway’s Hideout like I’ve never heard the word “modesty” in my life. The evening sun hits my skin as I swing open the back door, and Daphne turns from where she’s stacking menus.
She freezes. Eyes me from head to toe.
“Whoareyou and what have you done with Pastor Easton’s daughter?”
I smirk. “Faith Easton couldn’t make it tonight. I’m her cooler, hotter, IDGAF twin.”
