Not wanting to stick around to hear whatever bullshit he has to say, I push past them, shoving my way through the sea of dancing bodies.
My heart is pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat as I burst through the gymnasium doors into a dark, empty hallway.
The music fades away behind me, replaced by the echo of my heels against the linoleum floor. My hands are still shaking with rage as I storm down the corridor, dim lights casting eerie shadows across the lockers.
I slam into the girls’ bathroom, grateful to find it empty. Bracing my hands against the cool porcelain sink, I take several deep breaths, trying to calm the inferno raging inside.
“Fuck,” I mutter-hiss, glaring at my reflection in the mirror. Even though my eyes are wild with fury and filled with angry tears, my mascara is still perfect and my lipstick unsmudged.
The only reason Michelle isn’t sprawled out on the gym floor right now with a bloody nose is because I’ve worked too damn hard to get my shit together. Three years of therapy, learning to control my temper, channeling my anger into my art instead of using my fists. I’m not about to throw all of that away two weeks before graduation just because some insecure bitch tries marking her territory.
Technically, he was mine first. Even if it never really went anywhere in thefirst place.
I splash cold water on my wrists, an old trick my therapist taught me as a way to cool down.
Screw Rowan and screw that dirty whore Michelle. The last thing I’ll ever do is let anyone know how much Rowan Cole still affects me. Or that I still love him.
Determined to go back out there and have a good time, I shove open the bathroom door and immediately slam into a rock-solid chest.
thirteen
Lizzy’s reactionwhen she sees me hits me hard. All I can do is watch in stunned silence as she turns and walks away, disappearing through the back door, her ponytail swinging furiously behind her.
“What the hell was that about?” Logan asks, brow furrowed in confusion.
I shrug, trying to appear nonchalant even as my heart hammers painfully against my ribs.
Her friends exchange knowing looks before they rush after her, leaving me standing awkwardly with my best friend who has no idea how thoroughly I betrayed his trust all those years ago.
“Jesus, man, I’m sorry,” Logan says, pulling me aside. “I didn’t think she’d react like that.”
I scrub a hand over my face. “It’s fine. Not your fault.”
He frowns, looking toward the back door where Lizzy just disappeared. “I don’t get it. I mean, I know you two didn’t really get along back in high school, but it’s been fifteen years.”
If only he knew the truth.
Before he can press any further, a big guy with a floppybrown mohawk and tattoos comes over and claps him on the shoulder. “You gonna introduce us or what?”
“Oh, right.” Logan gestures between us. “Jax, this is Rowan Cole, my best friend since forever. Rowan, this is Jax Riley, one of the owners of Skin & Ink Tattoo. This is his girlfriend Sasha’s party.”
“Nice to meet you, man,” Jax grins, extending his hand. “Logan’s told us a lot about you. I dig your movies.”
“Thanks.”
Jax turns, grabbing the attention of the other two men who are sitting on the couch. “Yo, Ryder! Carter! Come meet our celebrity guest.”
A big guy with both arms sleeved in tattoos strolls over. “Hey, man. Ryder Blackwood. Heard you might be filming around here soon.”
“That’s the plan,” I reply, accepting his firm handshake.
“Oh, and this is Carter,” Logan says, waving at a guy with artfully tousled dark blond hair. He’s got to be in his late twenties, with just enough stubble to look effortlessly cool. The kind of hipster vibe that probably has women falling at his feet. “He’s the new apprentice working under Lizzy at the shop.”
Working under Lizzy. The phrase sends an unexpected jolt of possessiveness through my veins as I shake Carter’s hand, squeezing a little bit harder than necessary.
“Nice to meet you,” I nod, fighting the sudden urge to ask exactly what “working under” actually means. I smirk to myself when Carter’s eyes go wide in surprise.
“You wanna drink?” Jax offers, gesturing toward the kitchen.
