“I know, the three hundred wasn’tyourmoney,” she says, mimicking me and making me feel like a broken record for how many times I’ve replayed the scenario, let alone filled her in on it. I can’t help it, though. I was so close. So freaking close to getting out of The Drift. Now I’m back at square one.
Folding my arms, I let out a huff. “I’m just saying, do you have any idea how expensive it is to live in Harden Heights, let alone how long I was on the waitlist for the apartment? It was the only place within walking distance to campus even close to being in my price range and that was after a shit-ton of subsidies.” The reminder hits like a punch to the gut, and I lean against the rack, the weight of the world landing on my shoulders all over again. “I’m not going to get another opportunity like that, Lexie.”
“I know, babe.” My best friend pulls me into a hug. “I know.”
She’s right. She does know. It might not be a picnic getting to know either of us, but once we finally decided to let our guards down around each other, we’ve been each other’s sounding board, therapist, life coach, and everything in between.
With the gate finally open, my word vomit continues as I wiggle out of her hold. “The tuition alone is going to kill me, and living with my dad is an absolute nightmare. He invites randompeople to the house. Makes messes and expects me to clean them up. Snoops through my shit. Last year, he even tried selling one of my textbooks so he could buy alcohol.”
“He’s an ass,” she agrees. “Just like the rest of the lowlifes in The Drift.”
“After my experience with the Harden brothers, I’d say it might be more of a genetic thing than a geographical one,” I muse. “Boys are assholes.”
“Amen to that.” She clicks her tongue against the roof of her mouth, returning to her search for something worth buying in the thrift store. Me, on the other hand? Well, I’ve given up. Metaphorically. Literally. Spiritually. All of the above. Stick a fork in me, ‘cause I’m done.
“But it would be really nice if someone could knock each of them off their high horses,” I grumble. “You know what I mean?”
“Who? The Harden brothers, or men in general?” She tugs a hanger off the rack and shoves it toward me. “Oooo, what about this?”
I take in the heathered gray fabric with the school’s logo stretched across the front, annoyed at how easily she found exactly what I was searching for. The material feels soft but worn as I rub it between my thumb and forefinger. Not like it could disintegrate at any minute. More like it’s been lived in. Appreciated. Tried and true.
Without waiting for my response, she slips the wide neckline off the hanger and hands it to me. “Try it on.”
Lifting it up so I can fully inspect it, I point out, “It’s huge.”
“Good.”
“Good?”
“Yeah. Maybe if you’re lucky, people will assume it’s your boyfriend’s hoodie or something, and I can steal all the attention again.”
Yeah, because she needs more attention. The girl’s been taking full advantage of the opposite sex for as long as I’ve known her. Okay, technically there was a bout of nunnery in the beginning, but then a family friend hired her at a strip club in The Drift, taught her how to basically weaponize her innocence to make money, and bam. All bets were off.
“Stealall the attention?” I quip. “Pretty sure they pay you for it.”
She bats her thick, dark lashes back at me, unashamed in the slightest. “And they’ll continue to do so until I’m old and gray.”
“So, no settling down for you, then?”
She fake gags. “Nope. No thank you. Men suck. It’s a fact, not an opinion.” She gives the hoodie in my hands a pointed look. “Try it on.”
Bunching the fabric in my hands, I slip it over my head in the middle of the empty thrift shop. “Mmm, it smells good.”
“Does it?” Lexie leans in and takes a whiff. “Uh, hell to the yes. This smells like sex on a stick.”
“Or a forest,” I offer.
“Or sexy man smell.” Her eyes light up as soon as my head pops out the other side.
There are perks to traveling into Harden Heights territory for shopping, and this is one of them. No one wants to be seen in thrift stores on this side of town. It’s also where all the locals donate their gently—if at all—used clothes, which works out well for girls like me and Lexie, even if I usually have to twist the woman’s arm to get her into enemy territory.
Lexie hates Harden Heights. The people. The money. The politics. She hates it so much, I’m surprised she reminded me of our little shopping retreat at all. Then again, it’s shopping. The girl never says no to shopping.
Before I even have a chance to find a mirror, Lexie grasps my elbow and twists me toward her. With a gasp, she says, “Yes. Yes, you’re getting it.”
“I haven’t even seen?—”
“Yeah, but I have, and it looks so cozy, I might actually rip it from your body and steal it for myself.” My expression falls, and she grimaces. “Too soon?”
