At the time, I blamed my choice on Lo, telling everyone that he hadn’t been accepted to Princeton. Of course, he was, but how could I enjoy my freedom and live in close proximity to Rose? I couldn’t. She would find out about all the boys. She’d be repulsed by me and cut me from her life for good. I can’t take that rejection or criticism. Not from her. Not from someone I truly adore.
Very softly, I say, “I’m sorry.” I feel like all I do is apologize.
Rose looks blank. Completely shut off. “It’s fine. I’m going to try on that black dress.” She slips into her curtained room, leaving me alone. Well not totally alone.
I glance back at the other Victorian chaise.
My heart sinks. Empty. He’s gone. Great, now I don’t even have someone to ogle.
My phone vibrates in my jeans. I pluck it out and frown at the unknown number. Hmm. I open the text.
Want to hang out? –215-555-0177
Must be a guy I drunkenly gave my number to after we hooked up. I usually keep personal information to myself, considering it provokes attachment and stalking.
My lips grow into a smile, wondering who could be on the other line. The excitement actually takes me by surprise. If I was drunk when we met, I probably won’t remember him. Anonymous. Technically, it’ll be like a first encounter.
I make my choice.
Where do you want to meet?
CHAPTER EIGHT
The next morning,I wake to a splitting headache and the spins. Turns out, I vaguely remembered the guy from my text, not enough to warrant a good mental picture. He likes booze and peer pressured me into doing tequila shots. But I still remember the thrum in my chest, the beat pulsing as I reached his door, as I knocked and waited for him to answer, to let me in and doitas many ways as his body would allow. Anonymous sex—not knowing what the guy will look like on the other side—hooked me so, so very much.
As I lie still, coming down from a serious high and left with a hellish hangover, I wonder about Lo. I haven’t seen him since my porn blared across the lecture hall. I spent my lunch break cramming for a quiz and couldn’t meet him on campus, and Saturday was filled with dresses, shoes and sisters. I don’t even know what he did or where he was, not uncommon. We’re not togetherallthe time, anyway. We do separate on occasion. I think.
I drag my body from the bed, throw on a baggy T-shirt and jeans shorts. I want to ask him about that girl he brought home. Maybe he’ll tell me what he did to her. Would that be weird?
As I exit into the hallway, I stop at the sound of faint laughter, emanating from the kitchen.Girllaughter.
My frown deepens. Is this the same girl? No, it can’t be. My stomach knots. Is it? Hesitantly, I move closer and then go still at the doorway.
“You’re a good cook,” the girl says, her voice familiar.
I don’t know why I assumed he would have a one-night stand like me. Why would I assume that? So she stayed the night. FridayandSaturday.
Lo mills around the kitchen, fixing two bloody marys and scrambling eggs on the stove. I scrutinize the girl who sits cross-legged on the bar stool, wearing his muscle Clash T-shirt. Her big breasts peek out on either side, and I can see her red panties beneath the charcoal-gray fabric.
She’s a natural blonde, her hair wet like she just showered. And even without makeup, she resembles a girl next door, someone you’d bang and then take home to your parents.
I feel even more nauseous.
Lo scrapes the eggs onto two plates. When he looks up, he finally notices me lingering like a creep. “Hey, Lily.” He points to the blonde. “This is Cassie.”
Cassie gives me a small wave. “Hi.”
I smile back, but I shrink inside like a wilted flower. She’s nice, too.
“Do you want breakfast?” Lo asks. He acts as though this is a normal routine. Him, bringing home a girl. On a first name basis with her. Since when do we know the names of our guests? Never. Okay, well that’s more my rule, but I thought it would extend to Lo too. It has since we’ve been in college.
“No,” I mutter. I gesture to the hall behind me. “I’m going to…”—go shrivel in self-pity—“take a shower.” I dart into the depths of the hallway, retreating to the safety of my room. Okay, that was weird. I was weird. The whole situation was extremely weird. Is that how Lo feels about me when I bring men home? I shake the thought off. Of course not. I don’t display the guys and test them out to see if they’re boyfriend material. I ditch them almost immediately.
Only one thing can take my mind off Lo. I change quickly into a black day dress and comb my hair that thankfully doesn’t look too greasy. After spraying perfume and slipping into a pair of wedges, I grab my phone and let three texts, all anonymous numbers, guide my fate.
Unfortunately, I must enter the kitchen to reach the foyer and then the front door. I try to put invisible blinders up as I walk through, my target on the exit.Go, go, go!
“Where are you going?” Lo asks, his frown apparent in his voice.
