I shrug. It’s beyond obvious my best friend has fallen for her stepbrother. “All the more reason to tell him.”
“He’sleaving, Leni. There’s no need to complicate things. It wouldn’t be fair to him.”
“What’s not fair,” I argue, “is not giving him the chance to decide.”
We both jump when her bedroom door flies open and Luca steps into her room. “Give me the chance to decide what?”
Willow gasps, her hand flying up to her mouth.
Luca’s eyes widen when he spots me sitting on her bed.
“Red Devil,” he mutters under his breath.
I take that as my cue to leave.
“I’m going to leave you two to talk,” I say, shooting Willow a pointed look. “Play nice.”
Closing the door behind me, I rush down the stairs and out the front door, praying my bestie gets the happily ever after she deserves. I know it potentially means losing her, but she was planning on moving to LA to follow her music dreams when we graduated, anyway, and there are plenty of recording studios and opportunities in the UK. She needs to get away from her toxic mother, and if she gets the guy as well? Even better.
Not wanting to go home to deal with my own complicated love life or toxic mother, I decide to hike up Eagle Peak. It’s surprisingly quiet for a Saturday afternoon, and I’m grateful for the peace as I sit underneath my favourite oak tree and stare out over the landscape. From here, the peak faces away from Beckford; all I can see is the endless sprawl of untouched forest. There’s no sign of civilisation. Just sky, shadow, and silence. I dig my fingers into the dirt, grounding myself in the earth and trying to clear my mind.
No matter how much I try, though, my thoughts keep drifting back to Ethan’s messages.
To Ethan.
Even his name sends a shiver of pleasure down my spine.
My lips tingle with the memory of his all-consuming, soul-destroying kisses.
I pull out my phone and open our message thread. My fingers itch to reply to him, to tell him I don’t give a fuck about his complications, but I’m being stupid. I know I was nothing more than a rebound, a taste of fun before he moves on with a woman his own age. A woman who has her shit together and isn’t damaged.
He was so adamant he wasn’t good enough for me, but the truth is… I’m not good enough for anyone.
With a sigh, I log out of the app and put my phone away. That ship has sailed. It was fun while it lasted, but reality is calling, and in the real world, I’m destined to be alone.
Chapter 17
Ethan
It feels like déjà vu as I sit at my desk on Monday staring at my phone, only this time, I know what she tastes like and how she felt in my arms. She hasn’t replied to the messages I sent when I was tossing and turning, unable to get her out of my head.
Leni.
As much as I know I have to forget her and walk away—for both our sakes—it’s not that easy. She consumed my every waking thought all weekend. When I should have been finding a way to get my son to open up and talk about what’s going on with him, I was reliving every moment of her body wrapped around mine.
Fuck.
My head was all over the shop during my lecture on terrorism and the media this morning, and it was all because of her. Halfway through explaining the symbiotic relationship between fear and spectacle, I skipped an entire section on propaganda videos without meaning to. Somehow, I stumbled my way through the rest of thelecture and the information for the upcoming primary source analysis assignment, but I won’t be surprised if I get half a dozen emails asking about the assignment. I was a mess.
I should be going over my notes for this afternoon’s lecture, or finishing marking the assignments I have to hand back in tomorrow’s classes, but I find myself opening the Euphoria app and scrolling through our DMs. I really want to tell her how much she’s consuming my every waking thought, but I can’t. It’s pointless. I’m leaving, and it’s not fair to pursue something with her. All I need to do now is forget her.
Easier said than done.
A knock on my office door causes me to look up as Andy stumbles in, looking like death warmed up.
“Christ,” I say, getting to my feet and helping him onto the couch in my office, his work bag dropping to the floor with a thud. “What’s wrong with you?”
He groans, sweat beading on his forehead. “I feel like I’ve been hit by a bus.”
