She marches in my direction with her curls whipping behind her from the light fall breeze.
I look in every direction but hers when she bounds up to me, crossing her arms like a woman scorned. “Phat coming back to work? Tell her the professional thing to do is give a two-week notice since the rest of us have been covering her shifts.”
I jerk my head back at the wild ambush until I remember how shit works down on Earth when you don’t live up to the imagined idea people have of you in their heads—especially the imagined idea that jersey chasers have.
“I don’t know.” I shrug. “Shit, call her and ask her.”
“Oh, so you’re still playing this little game like everybody on campus hasn’t read the article and saw those pictures from your dad’s gala?”
I bite into my lip and roll my eyes toward the HPE.
Thanks to Gus, I’m an hour early for our game and right on time for Brandy to unleash everything she’s been holding in. Phat ran away from home and she thinks I give a fuck about a two-week notice.
My shoulders hunch up in a shrug. “So you read a bullshit article? Okay.”
“Bullshit article?” Her lip curls. “Oh, so it’s like that?”
“It was always like that.”
“You know, I thought you were different.”
“Man, what are you talking about?”
“It’s sick of you to play with people’s feelings.”
Her eyes soften and there’s an aching in my chest because even if she reminded me of the shit Mom hated about LA, Mom would still tell me she was a lady and to treat her like one.
“Look, Brandy…I didn’t mean to—”
“Lead her on. I get it.”
I frown. “Her?”
“Yeah,Phat.”
My mouth falls open to cut between the rest of whatever bullshit she has to say until she leans in closer to me.
“Have you been drinking?” She balls her lips to the side. “You know what? That’s not even important right now.”
She shakes her head like the smell isn’t oozing out of my pores and keeps talking.
“I mean, we all know she’s not model-material, but God, Ace, did you have to embarrass her like this? The poor girl hasn’t been on campus in days. You’re supposed to be her host-brother. I know things are different from what you’re used to, but to flirt with her, have it exposed, and then be so callous afterward is kind of harsh, don’t you think? Shouldn’t you be cleaning this up?Andyou punched your agent? Are you crazy? All of my friends are asking me about this stuff and it’s only the beginning of the season. What other scandals do I need to worry about?”
A burning heat creeps to the ache in my chest at the red flags she keeps casually chirping out—model-material, exposed, scandals. Phat isn’t there to throw my obsessiveness for her around to control the vibe or my words, so a loud laugh croaks from the back of my throat.
Her eyes jump. “Did I say something funny?”
“Are you fucking crazy?”
“Excuse me?”
“Are you mental?” I ask, shaking my head. “Actually, don’t even answer that shit. I think I already know the answer.”
The color drains from her already pale face, but it doesn’t make that aching in my chest come back. Apparently, 1942 and my first heartbreak don’t give a shit about Mom’s life lessons about perfect girls and their enemies.
“Are you callingmecrazy?”
I scoff. “You know, I knew a lot of girls like you back in LA.”
