Shrugging, I bring my coffee to my lips. The moment the flavor registers, I grimace. I don’t consider myself a snob, but with the money management paid to put us up here, one would think they’d have the funds for an upgrade from this watered-down crap they call coffee. Maybe the Boston Bean has spoiled me, but this stuff is terrible. “I don’t know. Still sleeping, I would assume.”
We started the night together, but we sure as hell didn’t end it that way. When I dipped out at exactly 12:04 a.m., Cameron’s night was only just beginning. The last I saw him, he was being pulled to the dance floor by a five-foot pixie. His size may help him on the ice, but it most definitely does not lend well to the dance floor. I briefly debated staying longer just to watch him make an ass of himself, but in the end, I decided a decent night’s sleep was more important.
Logan slices into the soggy pancake on his plate but doesn’t say a word. He’s being uncharacteristically quiet, which puts me on edge.
“Hungover?” I nudge him with an elbow, baiting him into a conversation.
Rather than answer, he slowly stuffs a piece of pancake into his mouth and chews.Okay, then.
“He’s mad at you,” Jake explains. Now that I’m really looking at him, he’s glaring at me as well.Great. It’s been eight hours since I last saw them, and considering I was asleep for about seven of them, that leaves a one-hour window where I apparently fucked up. If Logan were the only one pouting, I’d brush it off. After all, he once got upset with me for not noticing his haircut. But if Jake’s pissed off, too, that legitimizes the claim.
Pushing an annoyed breath through my lips, I place my coffee cup back on the table. “What did I do?”
“More likewhodid you do?” Logan drops his fork to the table with a clang. “I leave the club thirty minutes before midnight so I can have an orgasm as the clock strikes mid?—”
Jake lurches forward, peering around me. “I’m sorry. So you canwhat?”
“Have an orgasm at midnight.” Logan rolls his eyes. “It’s a great way to end one year and enter the next.”
Jake opens and closes his mouth like a fish, wide eyes darting to me. Any annoyance he has with me is completely sidetracked by Logan’s admission.
I take a bite of my bagel. “You left the club early to jerk off?”
Logan scoffs. “Obviously not. Elliott and I were having phone sex, but had to coordinate?—”
“Dude,” I cough out and lean back, wishing I could rewind time and stop myself from asking. “No. Keep that shit to yourself.”
Logan picks up his fork again, squeezing hard enough that his knuckles go white. “Why? It’s not like there’s any way he’ll be your brother-in-law now. Not after who you spent the night with.”
I throw my hands up. “Can someone fill me in? Because I seriously have no idea what you’re talking about. I went to bed alone and woke up that way, too.”
With a grunt and far too much drama, he slaps his phone onto the table. When I stare at him blankly, he nudges it toward me.
Head shaking, I give in and lean forward. He’s got a post fromPage Six’s Instagram pulled up, and in it is a photo some lucky amateur photographer with a cell phone must have captured. The image is of the fraction of a second after midnight when Roni jumped on me like a damn kangaroo and kissed me like I was receiving CPR.
Fuck.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
maya
“Is it always this loud?”The clink of cutlery against a nearby table makes Sophie flinch, and when a waitress close by yells out an order to a fry cook, she can’t hold back a grimace. “Because it seemsreallyloud in here today.”
Kennedy lifts her head up from where it’s been resting on her arms against the table. “Or you’re just really hungover.”
“I wouldn’t have had that last tequila shot ifsomeonehadn’t dared me to do karaokeandpick aHamiltonsong.”
Sophie’s rendition of “The Schuyler Sisters” was equal parts horrific and hilarious.
Kennedy’s two loves in life are baking and Broadway, which Sophie discovered last night. And if there’s a microphone—or a spatula—to sing into, you bet your ass she’ll belt out songs fromMoulin Rouge!,Six, West Side Story, Funny Girl,or one of the other million musicals she’s obsessed with.
Kennedy picks up her half-empty cup of coffee and grins over the rim. “How was I supposed to know you’d never seen it? It’s a classic.”
Sophie half-heartedly flips her off and then stands, splaying her hands over her stomach. “I’m going to the bathroom. The smell of bacon is making me nauseous.”
She and I matched each other drink for drink last night, but waking up to photos of Cole making out with drop-dead gorgeous Roni Carlyle—my favorite contestant onLove Islandlast season—sobered me up really quickly. Considering he’s “just a friend,” knowing he spent his night with her shouldn’t bother me. And I wish it didn’t. This is the exact reason I didn’t want to date him. But clearly that backfired, because by keeping him in the friend zone, I’m getting all the hurt without any of the relationship perks—i.e. orgasms and flowers.
Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.
