She grins. “You did something weird in front of Davis, didn’t you?”
“No!”
Ada laughs her throaty laugh, and I realise it’s been days since I’ve heard it.
“I’m glad you’re getting joy out of my misery,” I say, torn between humiliation and warmth. “Davis thinks I’m a total freak.”
“As if.” Ada strides around me and opens the door. “You could park a truck on his mum, and he’d still love you.”
My cheeks burn even hotter. “Shut up.”
“‘Mrs Cece Sanderson.’I’ve seen him doodling it on bar napkins.”
“You’re such a bitch! And a liar! Davis is probably in love withyou!”
Ada’s smile becomes fixed again. “Oh, Cece. You know you’re the only one who loves me.”
She’s not joking, but before I can respond, my office door snaps shut, and she’s gone.
3
Ada
Irush into Cece’s spare room at top speed, grabbing my tote bag and tossing a lip gloss, concealer, and a spare vape in. I need to be fast. Time is of the essence when you’re running a game, and I don’t know how much I have left. The stags were planning on ditching Stabbies after a single round, and I was forced to fall, tits first, into Henry Bellinger’s lap, squealing about seeing all of them again.
They barely seemed to remember me, but that didn’t stop my ex-schoolmates from staying for a good old-fashioned game of Waterfall. Still, without my cleavage in the frame, there’s every chance they’ll leave.
I find my bottle of B12 and tip a half-dozen tablets into a mint tin. I crush a pill with the end of a pen and dust it around so everything looks sufficiently suspect. I swear if I can make these pricks snort vitamin powder, I’ll die a happy woman.
Tucking the tin into my tote, I catch sight of myself in Cece’s dresser mirror. The girl staring back at me seems like a stranger, all wide-eyed with a downturned mouth. I force myself to smile, and the stranger grows more sinister.
“What’s your endgame here?” she asks.
But fucked if my reflection knows. I give myself the finger. I’m on a mission. I don’t need moralising, especially from the likes of me. This is the first good opportunity to cross my path in months, and I’m not wasting it. Boys might be boys, and they might even torture girls, but there’s no rule that says I can’t torture them back now I’m all grown up.
I grab the flask I keep tucked down the side of my bed, a twenty-first birthday present from Cece, and shove it into my bag as well.
“It’s go time,” I tell my reflection. “Don’t wait up.”
I don’t stay to see what she says.
I run downstairs to the main bar, compiling lists of possibilities in my head. Anton, the Cirque Du Soleil clown who taught me how to count cards and swipe wallets, didn’t stop there. He introduced me to all manner of chicanery, including how togivepeople things without them noticing. Cece might not approve of revenge, but she keeps a ‘refresher table’ in Stabbies bathroom that’s been extremely helpful to the cause.
Do you know if you squirt moisturiser into a condom and tie it off, it looks disgustingly used? And that said condom can be safely returned to the torn packet as though stuffed there by a gross, careless guy? And would you be interested to discover I’ve already placed three such re-bagged condoms into the pockets of my brand-new drinking buddies?
Of course, said buddies might simply find them and throw them away. But they might also stumble home drunk, tear off their clothes and leave whatever’s in their pockets for their wives and girlfriends to find because they’re lazy, entitled fucks… I mean, either or, right?
Snickering, I jump down the last two stairs, push back my shoulders and plaster a big smile all over my face.Hello boys, I think, striding forward.Prepare to meet your… What the hell?
The booth where I left my prey is almost empty. Instead of a murderers’ row of dickheads, there’s just one guy. Jake Galvinson-Hardy-Boys or whatever thefuck his name is. He’s staring into his phone, and judging by the empty pint glasses around him, he’s not waiting on anyone.
I groan as I feel my established revenge plans go up in smoke. I’ll have to hunt down the stags, pray they haven’t been sidetracked by some other pair of tits and?—
The Jake guy looks up. I step back into the shadows and observe him. He’s taken off his pink novelty headband, and he’s even better looking without it.
I might not have known his name, but I did notice him before. I didn’t want to, but I did. He’s got a killer body and the kind of hard, no-nonsense face that’s always been my thing. Still, I wasn’t lying to Cece; I didn’t recognise him from school or anywhere else. But those massive shoulders and tatty ears could only belong to a rugby player. I don’t like the game, but you can’t deny the bodies it builds. On the subject of rugby player asses, New Zealand and I are in complete agreement: They’re top-tier.
His gaze returns to his phone. I could ask him where the stags went, but I don’t want to engage him in conversation. Too complicated, and too much effort, for a guy who didn’t actively bully me. I’m better off looking for Henry Bellinger and Co on my own, but first, I need backup in the form of tequila.
