Fuck you, I think.Fuck you all forever.
I hoist my Snow White smile back onto my face with difficulty. “Sorry, I was only in Pukekohe for a couple of years. We mustn’t have crossed paths.”
“You sat opposite me in English. You had a tartan pencil case. You got an ‘Excellence’ on your essay aboutThe Kite Runner.”
My Snow White act hits the floor like a stack of bricks. “Huh?”
He grins, a dimple appearing in his left cheek. “I asked you for a highlighter once, and you said you didn’t have any. While you were highlighting.”
I gape at the man in front of me. Why don’t I remember him? We clearly interacted because I one hundred percent told rugby players I didn’t have pens, paper or highlighters while flashing them around, but I honestly can’t remember Jake. Do I have face blindness? Actual amnesia?
“I’m very protective of my stationery,” I say, taking a deep swig of liquid refuge. “Sorry for not giving you a highlighter.”
His dimple gets deeper. “It’s fine. I just wanted to talk to you.”
Bullshit. Someone probably dared him to mess with me. But that is a matter that will soon be resolved with a bunch of doctored condoms.
“That’s so sweet. So you’re still mates with Henry?”
He shrugs his massive shoulders. “Not really, but you know how it is with the old school gang.”
I don’t, Jake Graves-Holland, but therein lies the difference between us.
“Totally. So where are the guys now?”
He looks off to the side, and my stomach sinks. “Strippers?”
He gives me a rueful smile, and my gut drops lower. Of the many places I could follow drunk men into, the strippers aren’t one of them. As a lone, scantily-clad female, I’ll probably be mistaken for a sex worker trying to drum up business. Although with Captain Popular at my side…
I bat my lashes at him. “Are you meeting everyone there?”
His gaze fastens on mine. “Why would I when I can look at you?”
Everything in my shorts flutters. I haven’t been with anyone since Name Forever Redacted, and I haven’tcome close to wanting to, but maybe I should have paid more attention to my non-alcohol needs because they’re clearly plotting their own revenge.
“I’m not getting on the pole,” I say, draining the last of my tequila.
Jake grins. “Night’s still young.”
I’m not, though. I’m almost thirty-three, and I’mnotending my celibate streak with some assholeI went tohigh school with.
So much for my Snow White persona. It might as well be in the toilet along with my fake-jizz condoms. I glance around for Krissy and an emergency drink to calm my pussy, but she and everyone else behind the bar is busy, because of course they are. It’s never my lucky night, just another stumbling block on the path to failure.
“How long have you been back in New Zealand?” Jake asks. “You’re living in Europe, now, right?”
Oh God, small talk. Lord above, please save me from small talk?
He doesn’t, and Jake Graves-Holland keeps looking at me all expectantly.
“Luxembourg,” I lie, scrabbling around my bag for my vape. “I’m just back for a bit. Seeing Cece and such.”
“Right. It’s cool you guys are still friends.”
“Always,” I say, trying to distinguish ElfBar from pen. “She’s the best.”
“She is. Can I ask you something?”
I resist the urge to say, ‘You just did, and that’s the limit.’ “Sure.”
