“No,butI was wasted and moody, and you gave me a…”
He raises a hand to his neck, and I remember biting him hard there in the Uber. But I can’t let myself be sidetracked by flashbacks.
“So, what?” I ask Jake. “You didn’t tell them we fucked, you just wordlessly confirmed it, then let your mates hold a panel discussion on how much I love cock and whether I’d ride theirs too?”
“Jesus,Ada?—”
“Just answer the question.”
“No.I told them to shut the fuck up about you if they knew what’s good for them.”
“So how did Thrasher hear I’m a ‘real freak’?”
“I don’t know! Probably because of the…” He gestures furiously at the side of his neck. “I’ll end the lot of them. Jealous, immature, little?—”
“So, you don’t think I’m a freak, huh? I’m just some random girl you poked on a stag weekend?”
“No. You’re the best fuck I ever had, but I’m not gonna—” He cuts himself off, jabs two fingers in my direction. “Quit messing with me, Renaldo. I’m at my limit.”
Another laugh creeps up my throat. He’s the funny kind of mad, the kind that makes me want to push harder. It’s an insight into how we’d argue as a couple, and it’s a bad one because I’m finding him extremely cute right now. And I believe him about not telling anyone about us. He’s not that kind of guy.
So, what kind is he?a slippery voice enquires.
I shove it away. JakeGraves-Holland isn’t the sheriff fromDeadwood, or Sam fromHoles,and he’s definitely not Pukekohe-brand Aragorn. Actually, he’s exactly Pukekohe-brand Aragorn. He sucks.
“I’m not messing with you,Graves-Holland.” I frown; it’s hard to sass someone with a double-barreled last name.
“Yes, you are, just like you’re dick-teasing half the school for some fucking reason.”
“Moi?” I press my fingertips to my cleavage. “How very dare you?”
The muscle in his jaw goes haywire. “I told you to stop pissing me off. Why’d you keep posting like you work here?”
“Idowork here.”
“Really? Because, according to Cece, you just drink, vape, and bitch.”
Goddammit Cece. Clearly, an alliance has formed between my best friend and this extremely inconvenient man. I peer around Jake and find Cece still talking to Davis.DistractingDavis. It clicks. She didn’t ‘go missing’ while I was drinking with Thrasher, nor fail to come to my rescue. Instead, the slippery bitch called in heavy artillery. I stare daggers at the side of her Judas face.
Et tu, Cecelia?
“While we’re on the subject of things I’m not supposed to know,” Jake says, pulling my attention back to him. “You made out like you’re still living in Europe, but you’ve been crashing here for months, haven’t you?”
I frown. “Was I supposed to tell you or something?”
“Yes. I thought you were leaving.”
“And that’s my problem… How?”
For a second, I think he’s going to storm out, but he leans in closer. The scent of his peppery cologne hits, and my pussy flutters like it’s got its own heartbeat.
“Hi,” I say, batting my lashes at him. “Buy you a drink?”
Jake doesn’t smile. “You can tell me why a girl who bailed before graduation without saying goodbye to anyone wants to show up for a big, fuck-off reunion. Then you can tell me how that fits into a lowlife cunt like Thrasher Thompson thinking he’s got a shot with her.”
How? How is Jake Graves-Holland piecing together my revengeblueprint? It can’t be through Cece; she doesn’t know the details, and Davis wouldn’t snitch. I scramble for an alibi, a truth I can fold into my lies like egg whites into soufflé.
“Cece,” I announce. “She wants Will, and I’m going to the reunion to help her land him.”
