“Alicia wasn’t screaming because Carmelle had outed you,” Devon sneered. “She was devastated because her mom and dad were just killed in a car accident.” Everyone around me drew a deep breath, and I flinched.
“What?”
“Yeah, asshole. While you’re getting a blow job from the school slut, Alicia was learning that her parents had died. What a fucking legend you are!” Devon scoffed, and with that strike, he walked away.
Alicia – A year later.
“Did you get accepted into the college you wanted?” Devon asked as we stood in line to receive our graduation scrolls.
“Yes. I leave in a week. The house has been sold, and the paperwork’s signed. I’m good to go,” I replied.
“Damn, Alicia, you really don’t mean to come back?”
“No. Too many bad memories here. A fresh start is what I want.” We shuffled forward as the line moved.
“Alicia, I’ll be sorry to see you go.”
“You were a good friend—in the end, Devon,” I said with a smile.
Devon grinned. He’d been my rock, funnily enough, when Mom and Dad died. I’d refused to see Oliver, not after learning he’d been cheating. Devon had arrived at my home the day after and wouldn’t move off the porch. That stubbornness had led us to becoming good friends. He even sat with me at the funeral.
Oliver had become something of a man-slut since we broke up. Although in the last three months he’d apparently not dated. Honestly, I wouldn’t know; I was uninterested in anything related to Oliver. While I was learning my parents had died, Oliver was being sucked off in the gym by Bryony. What a total whore—both of them.
“Gonna miss you, Alicia,” Devon said.
“Same, but I deserve a fresh start. Somewhere that nobody knows that while I received the most devastating news of my life, my boyfriend was getting a blow job. That stigma is old now.”
We moved forward again.
“Planning to still study fashion?”
“Yes, I’ve got a talent for design,” I replied. I loved designing clothes, and maybe that would become my career. I wasn’t sure yet. At eighteen, I had the world at my feet.
“Did you hear about Oliver?” Devon asked.
“Should I have?”
“Luck of the Irish, his lot. Turns out that they’re distantly related to some rich dude who owned a clothing chain, he’s died and left everything to them. Poor fucker had no other family, apparently,” Devon said.
Typical. Devon wasn’t wrong. Oliver’s parents must have made a deal with the devil. I shook my head.
“Not my problem or concern. But I’ll make sure I stay away. What’s the name of the chain?”
“Eliganz, you heard of it?” Devon asked.
“No.”
“Guess they’re not a big chain?”
“Not that I know of. You didn’t look them up?” I teased Devon, who shrugged.
“Not really. I’m not interested in anything Oliver does. We played ball together, and that was it. We ceased becoming friends when Oliver guessed I wanted to date you.”
I laughed, a genuine laugh. Devon had told me everything, being brutally honest. After a few months, he admitted we were better off as friends. There wasn’t a spark, but he’d been a fantastic friend. He’d stood between me and the bitches who’d have loved to have torn me down. Oliver remained king but wasn’t as popular as he’d once been. What Oliver had done made him a legend amongst the jerks who thought similarly. However, a good sixty per cent of the school thought he was an asshole.
They weren’t wrong.
“Coming to the cookout tonight?” Devon asked, changing the subject.
