by Stacey Lewis
“Just tell me what the rest is.” My voice comes out sounding dead, but breathy. It’s an odd combination.
She clears her throat. “Kay. You know I have your back right?” Not waiting for me to reply, she says, “So, of course, I went up and started setting them straight. No one’s gonna talk shit about one of my bestie’s and get away with it.” Her vehemence makes me smile. “I told them they were assholes for even spreading rumors, but one of the girls turned to me with a smirk and told me that from what she’d heard, it wasn’t a rumor. God. She was so smug! I wanted to punch her in the throat.” She shakes her head. “Anyway, I told her she was a damn liar, and she handed me her phone. Kat … there were a bunch of texts about you and Clay. Texts from someone who is clearly delusional. They said such awful things—that Clay roofied you, that you screwed him to get back at his brother, to make Max jealous. One even said that you screwed both brothers … at the same time.”
I can only look at her in shock. I try to ask who sent them, but my voice just doesn’t work. She gets up quickly and grabs a bottle of water from their mini-fridge, shoving it into my hand and removing the lid for me. Without thought, I choke down large swallows of the cold liquid, but I still have to clear my throat before I can speak. Even then, my voice is gravelly when I ask, still shocked, “They said what?” By the last word, I’m shrieking. Scarlett winces at the sound but holds my wide-eyed stare. “First, Clay can be an asshole, but he doesn’t need to roofie girls to get laid.” Scarlett and Annabelle both nod in agreement. “And second, I would never have sex with someone to get back at someone else. Gross.” At first, I can’t even find words to describe how much the third rumor freaks me out. In the end, that’s what I say. “As far as the third rumor, just ew. That’s so gross. Isn’t sleeping with brothers at the same time some sort of incest?”
Scarlett snickers. “Uh, only if you’re their sister, or they’re having sex with you and each other.” Her eyes take on a dreamy look. “Oh man, can you imagine? Those two are so hot alone, but together? They’d melt the sheets.” Annabelle’s crinkled brow and pursed lips probably mirror my own when we look at each other.
“You’re such a perv,” Annabelle tells her, shaking her head.
Sitting up straight, Scarlett points a finger topped with a black-painted nail at her. “Oh, don’t give me that. You forget, Belle. I was there when Peyton showed you that one gif—you couldn’t take your eyes off those twins. Remember? We were hashtagging everything with ‘twincest for the win’ for weeks.”
I watch Annabelle’s face turns bright red before she looks down at her plate. “Whatever,” she mutters, sounding horrified that Scarlett reminded her of something she’d rather forget.
Wanting to take the attention off her, I turn back to Scarlett. “Anyway, what am I going to do? Who were the texts from?”
“I don’t know who the messages were from; the name just said the letter B with a bunch of heart emojis. As far as what you can do, all I can think is to stay away from Clay. If people see that you aren’t together, that nothing is going on, the rumors will die down. Something else is bound to happen on campus for people to gossip about in a few days, so just try to ignore it. I only told you so you’d know what’s being said. Maybe I should’ve kept my mouth shut.”
She frowns, considering, and I quickly reassure her. “No, I’d rather know what’s being said about me behind my back.” A thought occurs to me, and I slump in Annabelle’s desk chair. “Maybe Clay was right, though.”
“What do you mean? When is Clay ever right about anything?”
We both laugh. “True, but think about it. He says the only reason Aaron asked me out is because he thinks I’m easy. With these other rumors, it could totally be possible.” I worry my bottom lip between my teeth in thought. “Maybe I should just text him right now and cancel.” The thought saddens me. I may not be sure I’m even into Aaron, but having someone ask me out for a change is nice. It makes me feel like someone out there wants me. I just don’t know what I should do. I’d ask my sister, but she’d just tell me to “fuck the haters” and have fun.
Scarlett shrugs. “I don’t think you should just cancel the date.” Her brows furrow, and she stares at the closet just behind me. “Hmm,” she murmurs, getting up from her seat on the bed and scooting around me to open the door. “What about …” her voice trails off as she goes through hangers. “Nah, that won’t work. Oooh, but what about?” There’s a snort, then a swear when a hanger clatters to the floor. Finally, she comes practically crawling out of the closet, leaving a mess of clothes behind her that makes Annabelle groan—she loathes a mess. “Ah-ha!” Scarlett crows. “I found the perfect thing for you to wear.” She holds the hanger in her hand out for me to take, and when I don’t do it immediately, she shakes it at me.
“What is this?” I look down at the dress, and my eyes practically bug out of my head. It’s made to look like two pieces, a black short-sleeved sweater, and a short red, black, and white plaid skirt. It looks extremely short, even on the hanger, and I can’t help but wonder how this is going to help combat any rumors. To me, it seems like wearing a short-as-hell dress out on a date will just reinforce them.
When I tell Scarlett this, though, she scoffs. “No it won’t. It’ll say you don’t give a damn what the haters say. It would do more damage if you wore a bulky sweater, loose jeans, and a pair of sneakers. That would say you’re trying too hard. This outfit, though? It says ‘I own who I am, and screw anyone who doesn’t like it’ or ‘I know I’m hot, and I don’t need to screw every guy I meet to prove it.’ That’s why it’s perfect!” My mouth drops open, but I don’t get a chance to say anything because she’s too busy going through her drawers. “Here.” She throws a balled up wad of black at me, and when they land in my lap, I unravel them to discover a pair of silky black thigh-highs. “You have a pair of heels, right? Black ones would look best.” I nod, dumbly, watching her move around the room until she comes over to grab my hand. “Come on, let’s go check. Your date is tomorrow, and if you don’t have a pair that will work, we’ll need to go shopping. You can’t wear chucks with this outfit, and your feet are bigger than mine.”
I scramble to keep my hold on the thigh-highs and hanger as she pulls me out of her room and up the stairs to my own. When we open the door, Becca startles, looking up at us with wide eyes before her attention drops back to her phone. Scarlett immediately goes to our closet to search out shoes and comes back with a pair of ankle boots I’ve worn twice, tops. “These are perfect,” she exclaims, setting them on the floor at the edge of my bed. Without asking, she grabs the hanger out of my hand and hangs it on the hook on the back of the closet door, meaning it will be the only thing I look at from now to tomorrow night.
“What’s that for?” Becca glares at the dress, then me.
Scarlett turns, putting her hands on her hips and glaring at my roommate. “It’s the dress Kat’s going to wear for her date with Aaron Matthews tomorrow night, what’s it to you?” Her voice is suspicious, and Becca’s glare changes to a look that seems more worried than angry.
“What?” She turns to me, her expression changing once again, flitting through what looks like panic, then guilt, and finally landing on hurt. “You said I could help you pick your outfit.”
I feel guilty for not including her, and trying to placate her, I tell her, “I know. Scarlett,” I gesture toward where she’s standing at the foot of my bed, “was so excited about me actually going on a date, she went through her closet to find an awesome outfit for me to wear.” Scarlett’s staring at Becca, one eyebrow raised, and I feel like I’m missing something.
“Yeah,” she agrees, “I was just happy for my friend, and I wanted to support her. I’m sure you know what that’s like … right, Bec?”
A red flush rises in Becca’s cheeks, and she murmurs, “Yeah,” before gathering her stuff off her bed. “I gotta go, I’m meeting some people for dinner. See you guys later.” I open my mouth to call her back, but she
practically runs out of the room, leaving Scarlett and me to watch her in disbelief. Well, at least I am. Scarlett looks more smug than surprised, but I don’t get the chance to ask her why because my phone pings with a text.
Aaron: We still on for 2morrow?
Scarlett comes over to look at my screen over my shoulder. “Well, I’ll let you confirm with lover boy. Want to meet Annabelle and me for breakfast in the morning?” I nod absently, all my attention on my phone, wondering what to say. The door shutting quietly makes me look up, and I realize Scarlett’s gone. My fingers hover over the keyboard on my screen, and I finally type a response.
Me: Can’t wait :)
Thirty-Five
For what must be the tenth time tonight, I wonder why I let Emmett and Wyatt talk me into coming out. I’d rather be at home wallowing in the knowledge that Kat is on a date with a douchebag whose sole goal is getting in her pants. It irritates me to no fucking end that she didn’t listen to me, that in fact, she decided to go on said date just because I told her not to.
Let’s not pretend I’m having much fun either. Wyatt’s attached to his phone, texting Peyton every ten seconds, and Emmett is drinking more than anyone ever should in an attempt to drown his sorrows over taking a “break”… again … with Livvie. Add my moping to it, and the three of us are pretty damn pathetic. The only entertaining thing about tonight is the group of girls using the lane next to ours. They’ve been flirting hardcore for the last half hour, not that either Wyatt or Emmett will take them up on their blatant offers. I should be jumping at the chance to get laid by my choice of female, and there’s not a bad option to be seen with this group of four. They’re all tight bodies, high breasts, and grabbable asses. One for every type—redhead, blond, brunette. Hell, there’s even a girl with blue and green locks.
“So,” the short blond—whose name I already can’t remember—runs her index finger down my t-shirt covered bicep, looking up at me under her eyelashes, and promising a good time later. “We’re having a party at our sorority house tomorrow night. Wanna come?” Her teeth sink into her thin bottom lip, the pink flesh turning almost white from the pressure, and she gives me what I think is supposed to be a sultry look. Instead, it’s only mildly annoying.
I shrug noncommittally, not willing to turn her down, but not very interested in going either, even though I know she’s offering a night of no-strings sex. This type of girl always does. In the past, I would be jumping to accept before she changed her mind, but tonight? All I can think about is big brown eyes and a mouth that gives me shit every moment of every day.
Wyatt barks my name, and I turn from the blond to see what he wants. He jerks his head to the side, and I turn, my body stiffening when I see Kat walk in, Aaron beside her. My hands curl into fists when I see he has his hand resting on the small of her back, smiling down at her as they walk into the small eatery to one side of the building. Knowing he sees her as a girl he can easily take to bed makes my blood boil.
I take a step forward, intent on spelling out to him that if he touches her, I’ll make his life hell. Wyatt’s hand clamps down on my arm before I’ve taken more than a couple steps, and his low voice tells me to stop. “You don’t want to do that.” I turn to look up at him in disbelief, and he shakes his head. “I’m right there with you, man, but it’s only going to upset Kat. You going over there and throwing a punch or running your mouth; that’s only going to embarrass her and show him that he’s able to get to you. He’ll go after her more if he thinks he’s winning against you.”
His words make sense, but it’s hard for me to stand here and watch this farce of a date. He brought her to a bowling alley for dinner? Spare Lanes is a small, kind of gross place, not the type of place you take a first date. Kat looks surprised, and I watch her look down at her outfit in dismay. My eyes widen when I see what she’s wearing because I’ve never seen her look so blatantly sexy before.
Wyatt is still trying to calm me down, but as soon as I see the short dress, I stop being able to pay attention to anything but Kat. The only thing I can hear is the blood pounding in my ears. I watch as Aaron leads her through the eatery, stopping to bullshit with people he knows along the way. He never once introduces or acknowledges Kat, basically ignoring her until he takes the seat across from her.
I pull out my phone and send her a text.
Me: A bowling alley 4 dinner? R
u paying 4 ur own food 2?
Waiting for her to check her phone is nerve-wracking. She has to feel my eyes on her, but she doesn’t touch her phone at all. I start to wonder if she even has it on her. After a few minutes of her not responding, I finally turn back to where Wyatt and Emmett are both studying me.
“It’s your turn.” Wyatt points at the screen highlighting my name.
Emmett’s eyebrows are furrowed, and he’s looking grumpier than he was when we left the apartment. “It’s been his turn for almost ten minutes.”
I walk over to pick up my ball, turning to meet Emmett’s eyes and raising one eyebrow. “I don’t know why you’re complaining; it just means a few more minutes before I kick your ass.” He huffs in response, and I walk to the edge of the lane to take my turn. As soon as the ball leaves my hand, I turn back to my friends, not caring how many pins, if any, I knock down.
Wyatt and Emmett both groan, so I know I did well. I slip into the seat in front of the console and look up. The screen shows a strike, and I know it will give me enough points to ensure I’ll beat them both. Wyatt shakes his head, knowing he’s bound to lose since there are only two frames left. My phone pings with a new text, and when I see Kat’s name on the screen, all thoughts of winning or Wyatt’s current frame are gone.
Kat: Like u could do better.
Me: IF I took a girl out, it
would damn sure b somewhere
better than a bowling alley.
I turn in my seat to watch her read my message. Kat smiles as she reads, making me feel about ten feet tall. She’s still sitting at a small table with Aaron, but instead of talking to her, he’s talking to people at the next table over. I shake my head in disbelief and send another message.
Me: U deserve better than a
guy who doesn’t pay attention to u.
Her eyes widen when she reads what I sent her. She looks around both the small restaurant and the bowling alley but doesn’t get to where I’m sitting before Aaron takes his seat across from her. The waitress brings them plates of food, and I see Kat discreetly tuck her phone into a tiny purse. Aaron starts eating immediately, and the sight of him shoveling his food in his mouth like he’s afraid they will take it back has me curling my lip in disgust. Kat doesn’t seem to notice, and finally, I turn back to the game.
“Sometimes,” Emmett complains, “I fucking hate you, you know that?”
I roll my eyes. Emmett’s been telling me he hates me since we were about four. This isn’t something new. He always hates something I’ve said or done. “Yeah, yeah. I know. You just wish you had my game.” Before I can think better of it, I tell him, “Maybe if you did, Livvie wouldn’t have gone looking for someone else.”
As soon as the words leave my mouth, I regret them, wishing I could go back and not say them. Real life doesn’t work that way, though. Emmett’s eyes narrow, and his hands fist at his sides in anger. He’s usually hard to rile up, but mention Livvie, and he goes off the deep end. He lunges for me, but Wyatt, the peacemaker of our little group, steps between us, putting his hands on Emmett’s shoulders. “Calm down, Em. Clay,” he turns his head to glare at me, “is just messing with your head. Don’t give him that satisfaction. He doesn’t know jack about you and Livvie; he doesn’t pay that much attention.”
My cousin finally stands down at Wyatt’s words, but he doesn’t stop glaring at me. I shrug, one side of my mouth curling into a smirk, and try unsuccessfully to look contrite. It’s just not a good look on me. “Sorry cuz.” He rolls his eyes, but doesn’t reply.
Now that he’s not about to jump me,
I turn back to look for Kat while my friends reset the scorecard, only to see Aaron sitting by himself. I grin, thinking Kat grew a pair and left his ass, not even caring a little that he’s flirting with the waitress. She’s giggling, batting her eyelashes at him, even though I can tell from where I am that she’s a few years older than us, or at least looks like she is.
I turn away, but as I look around the room, I see Kat standing at the end of the hallway leading to the bathrooms, her eyes on Aaron. Before I can look away, her eyes meet mine. She doesn’t look sad, or angry, more indifferent. Maybe resigned. Knowing he’s screwing over the girl I care about the most makes me want to punch him. I want to alternately do serious damage to his face, and thank him for being such a douche. It makes things easier for me.
Kat only holds my stare for a few moments before she jerks into motion, putting her head down and letting the heavy fall of her hair obscure her face. I realize she’s going back over to where Aaron sits, still flirting with the waitress, and I can’t stop myself from going after her. Not even Wyatt’s words register, though I know he’s telling me to let it go.
She reaches the table first, taking her seat and watching me with round eyes. She’s begging me silently to let it go, but while she may be willing to let some d-bag mistreat her, I’m sure as hell not going to. Aaron’s completely oblivious to the look on her face, so he doesn’t realize I’m coming until I’m right behind him. He freezes mid-sentence when he hears my voice.
