“Not a game,” I force out. “Let’s just call it… curiosity.” Unbidden, my hand rests on my stomach, and I swear I can feel the length of the scar pulsing hot and angry under my shirt.
CJ’s shock fades fast. She’s a champ at hating me, after all, and she proves that by refastening her jeans with jerky motions, glaring at me the whole time.
“Unbelievable.” She shakes her head in disgust. “Nothing’s changed. We really are nothing to each other. Guess you weren’t lying after all.”
I want to contradict her, but another wave of nausea rolls through me as I break into a cold sweat, and all I can think is, I can’t. I can’t. I can’t.
The last bit of light in her eyes dies, and she straightens to point at the door, white-faced and furious.
“Get out of my office. Then get out of my house. And if Jonesy or Gabe or anyone suggests coming back here ever again, do what you do best and lie.” Her lower lip quivers once, but she flattens it just as quickly. “I never want to see you again.”
I’m sick, guilty, and trembling as I stumble out of the office and mutter my excuses to the group. And on the drive home, I hate myself more than I ever have.
Seventeen
Now
CJ
* * *
I’m scrubbing off the last traces of my server camouflage makeup when there’s a knock and the office door creaks open.
“Hey,” I say. "Thanks for helping m?—“
The words die on my lips because that’s sure as hell not Liv or Becks here to help with my zipper.
My best friend did me so dirty.
“Um.” I clutch the makeup wipe to my chest, which is still covered in the cursed elf sweater. “Where's the nice Jones?"
"Hollis is busy," Wyatt says.
"The nice girl Jones," I amend testily.
"Are you saying you prefer one of my sisters over the other?"
"Actually,” I toss the makeup-streaked cloth into the wastebasket next to the mirror. “I changed my mind. I’ll just stay an elf until I die.”
He wanders into the room like he owns the place and runs his thumb along the frame of the nearest painting, leaning close to peer at the watercolor lilies.
“Becks was clearing tables,” he says. “So was Drea.”
“And Liv?”
“Didn’t seem to be up to anything in particular.” He ambles to the desk now, rotating the pencil cup, then spinning it back into its original position. “But far be it from me to argue with my future sister-in-law when she makes a request.”
“Gee, what a nice guy.” I grab my micellar water and turn back to the mirror. While I attack the remnants of my clumpy mascara, I remind myself not to get weird about Wyatt seeing me without any makeup on. He almost certainly doesn’t care either way, so neither should I.
Once my skin is shiny, pink, and naked as the day I was born, I turn around… and nearly swallow my tongue.
“Who taught you how to sit?” I choke out.
He stares at me in confusion, but fuck. He’s invaded, conquered, and thoroughly occupied the office couch, parking his fine ass right in the middle, resting his ankle on his knee, and sprawling back to stretch his arms across the sofa back on either side. His tux jacket’s open, and his shirt clings to his stupidly attractive torso, from thick chest to trim waist. And all I want to do is crawl into his lap, pop open every button hiding that body from me, and lick my way down, then back up, then down again.
It’s too much for my poor brain, and I whip around to face the wall, praying he didn’t hear my whimper.
“CJ?” he says in a low rumble. “What’s got you turning red?”
