I flip him off over my shoulder, but there's no heat in it. Inside the bathroom, I grip the edge of the sink and stare at my reflection. I look like shit. Dark circles, stubble getting out of control, hair a mess. I look like somebody I don't recognize.
“Well, this won't do,” I mutter to myself.
I shower, shave, spend more time than I'd admit on my hair. By the time I emerge, I look more like myself. Or the version I want to be tonight, anyway.
Back in my room, I grab my phone and open Instagram, thumbing through messages I've been ignoring. There it is—Brianna's chat. I scroll back up through our history, and suddenly I get it.
Brianna
Thinking about you... You coming to the Alpha party tomorrow night?
Followed by my thumbs-up emoji. And the fire reaction to her story from a couple days earlier. Shit.
This is what Delilah saw. This is what set her off.
And okay, maybe it looks bad. But I wasn't leading Brianna on—at least, not on purpose. I react to stories without thinking. I send generic emojis when I don't know what else to say. It doesn't mean anything.
But I can see how it might have looked to Delilah. Especially after everything with her mom and her trust issues.
For a second, my thumb hovers over the call button. Maybe I should explain...
No. Fuck that. She made it clear where we stand. Shepushed and pushed until I finally stepped back. That's what she wanted, right?
I block Brianna without thinking too much about it. Not because I owe Delilah anything, but just because it's cleaner that way. One less complication.
Then I pull up my contacts, searching for people who might know what's happening tonight. I send out half a dozen messages, receive twice as many replies. Perfect.
“Ethan!” I call, grabbing a fresh shirt from my drawer. “Miller's having people over, then Omega Sig. Heard Volleyball team might be there too.”
“Hell yeah!” His voice carries from the next room. “Let me change!”
Downstairs, I find Freddie and Alfie setting up the TV for movie night. Tara and Alex are in the kitchen, making popcorn and something that smells suspiciously like actual baked goods.
“You guys are so domestic it hurts,” I say, grabbing a beer from the fridge.
Tara turns, flour on her cheek, and tilts her head. “Where are you going?”
“Out. With Eth.” I take a long swig, avoiding her eyes. “Don't wait up.”
“Are you sure that's a good idea?”
“Why wouldn't it be?” I ask, innocently.
She gives me The Look—the one she learned from mom that makes me feel about two inches tall. “Troy.”
“Tara,” I mimic her tone.
“I talked to Alex,” she says, lowering her voice. “Who talked to Freddie. Who talked to you.”
Great. The friendship telephone game.
“And?” I shrug, leaning against the counter. “I told Freddie I'm fine.”
“You don't look fine,” she says, wiping her hands on a towel. “You look like you're about to do something stupid.”
I press a hand to my chest in mock offense. “Me? Never.”
She sighs, folding her arms. “Look, I know you and Delilah had a fight?—”
