“Not real guys.” Shannon nudges Ciara. “Sorry, dear. No murder tonight.”
She thrusts out her bottom lip and tucks the lighter away. Sometimes I wonder about Ciara. I wonder even more when Shannon and Ciara join forces. “Is a boyfriend burning even real?”
Ciara nods. “I saw it on an episode of Friends.”
I don’t believe a word of it. I’ve watched reruns and have never seen anything of the sort. Then again, I’m more of an NCIS gal. “What are we supposed to do at this boyfriend burning?”
“You burn personal things the guy gave you and it, like, cleanses you or something,” Shannon explains. “Taylor Swift even did a song about it.”
I’m in shock she knows so much about this boyfriend burning thing. Is it really that common? How many times has she done it? I can’t stop myself from asking. “Have you done this before?”
She rounds those dark eyes and flips her equally dark, curly hair. “Of course not.”
She’s so lying. When she exchanges a quick glance Ciara’s way, I catch on. They’re both hiding something.
“I have. It totally works.” Mel jumps in. I dodge a little spit that escapes on her “T”. She stands, sways, and then settles. Look out, there goes her index finger, too. She and Shannon like to shake theirs a lot, like scolding teachers, whenever they’re trying to make a point. When they argue, I dive for cover before one of them takes out my eye.
“Based on what?” I ask her. She shrugs, gives up on standing, and falls back into her chair. Good thing. She’s swaying again. “I don’t see how burning anything of Ian’s is going to help me.”
“You burning Ian’s shit is going to help all of us,” Shannon says, rolling her eyes. When I narrow my gaze, she shrugs. “What? You haven’t stopped talking about the breakup since he dumped you.”
“I dumped him,” I correct. It’s a critical clarification. Besides, I haven’t brought him up once since sleeping with Jake last weekend. I guess that’s at least one positive thing out of the rebound sex—he purged all thoughts of Ian from my mind.
Mel joins in. “Even more reason to burn his shit. He’s an asshat with a weird dimple chin that reminds me of a cartoon character.”
“You’re not wrong.” I can’t help but laugh.
“I need to burn Charlie,” Ciara states.
Shannon nods. “He was an even bigger douche than Greg.”
Ciara drops her jaw. “Greg wasn’t bad.”
“Greg was a tool.”
“Charlie was an even bigger tool,” I add.
Ciara pinches her face into a frown and pouts. “I think my picker is broken.”
“None of us have perfect pickers.” I look at each of them. “Do any of you know who you want to spend the rest of your life with?”
“Chris Pine,” Mel volunteers.
“Chris Pratt,” Shannon joins in.
“Chris Evans.” Ciara grins.
I trump them all with, “Chris Hemsworth.” They all nod. I mean, Thor. I win.
It’s a classic case of the Chrisses. It happens whenever we get together to hate on our exes. We all want a famous Chris and have fantasized our lives growing old with one or more of them.
Ciara whips out her phone. “I’ve got a picture of Charlie eating raw oysters right in front of me. It was like watching him swallow snot. Disgusting. I’d love to burn it.” Ciara snaps her ginger eyebrows into a deep frown. “Wait. I don’t have to burn my phone, do I?”
Mel reaches across the small table we’re crowded around and grabs Ciara’s hand. “It’s all for the greater good.”
“It’s settled.” Shannon raises her hand. “We’re doing a boyfriend burning tonight. I vote we do it at Kayla’s.”
No way. I don’t want any part of it. “I vote not.”
“I’m with Kayla on this one,” Mel volunteers.
Oh, sure. The drunkest is the only one on my side. “Thank you, Mel.”
“Your apartment scares me. I swear I saw a roach skitter across the floor the last time I was there.” To demonstrate, she moves her fingers across the table, her nails clicking against the wood surface. It sends shivers racing up my spine. I’ve seen plenty of things with too many legs in my apartment. It’s not exactly a penthouse in Seattle’s skyline, but it’s all I can afford without giving in and moving back to student housing. Sharing a bathroom with everyone on the same floor is not my idea of quality living. Emma tells me stories, some of them creepy enough to convince me to stay in my roach-infested, crappy little apartment.
A crappy little apartment that doesn’t need to host a boyfriend burning. They definitely need a distraction. “Who’s ready for a refill?”
Ciara shakes her head. “Not for me. I need a clear head when I’m burning shit.”
“Then it’s settled.” I smack the table. “We’ll have it at Shannon and Ciara’s.” Holy hell. What’s happening to me? Did I seriously just say that? I didn’t want any part of this. Yet, the more the idea settles into my brain, the more I like it. Dear God, this is not going to end well.
“But we live in the dorms,” Shannon whines.
Ciara nods. “Besides, our RA never sleeps. I think she’s a vampire.”
“Does she sparkle in the sun?” I ask and then snicker. The rest of them join in.
“Please, Kayla?” Shannon slaps her hands together to beg. “I’ll even bring the wine. We have some at the dorm. The drinks here are too expensive.”
She’s right. None of us can afford the drinks here. I barely make rent and have enough for food with the tips I make. The diner caters to the college crowd. Starving college students are starving for a reason—they’re broke. I’m lucky if I make ten percent a table. It’s not their fault. They can barely afford to eat. How can they afford to tip on top of that?
“Great idea,” Ciara says with a nod. “That way I can grab something else so I don’t have to burn my phone.”
“No.” I shake my head vehemently, but it’s too late. The idea takes on a life of its own. Our girls’ night out is quickly becoming a girls’ night in, which suits me fine. I prefer being in anyway. Yet another boring trait Ian pointed out about me. The girls chat wildly about burning something of the chosen ex, like that will somehow break the spell he has over them.
This is insane. Not only am I’m already over Ian, there’s also nothing I could burn of Jake’s that will break this hold he has over me. “Stop.” I raise my hands. “We are not having a bonfire at my apartment. I don’t even have a fireplace.”
“We could have it on the porch,” Mel offers. “That way we don’t have to go inside.”
“I don’t have a porch.”
Ciara snaps her fingers. “You have one of those deck things.”
“They’re called balconies.” And I pay extra every month for it, even though it’s rickety and ready to fall off. Jake and I never got around to looking at it when I brought him back to my place. In fact, we barely came up for air. I don’t want it used for this boyfriend bonfire or whatever it is. Besides, he’d figure it out when he smells the smoke. Even if he didn’t, he’d hear us. The walls in the building are paper-thin. I’m not ready to face him yet, even after a week. “No. We’ve all been drinking, some more than others.” I shoot a look at Mel. She grins, not taking the hint.
“I came with Ciara.” Shannon downs the rest of her drink. “I’ll ride with her.”
“I’ll drive,” Mel slurs and looks for her keys.
I hold them up. “I’m driving.” As much as I hate the idea, I’ve already lost them. I have to take Mel anyway, and Ciara and Shannon clearly want to burn something. I’m the soberest of the group, so I nod, conceding. They’re going to need adult supervision. I just hope Jake isn’t home. If he so much as senses a lit match, he’ll go all Ranger Rick on my ass again. It’s hell living next door to a gorgeous firefighter sometimes. “You’re all allowed to burn one picture.”
“Oh, no.” Ciara shakes her head. “It needs to be something personal. Unless that pic
means something, you need more. And I sort of need to burn more than one guy.”
“Greg and Charlie,” we all recite in unison.
“And maybe a few more,” she finishes. Before any of us can ask, she stands and slings her purse over her shoulder.
“This is perfect!” Shannon declares and claps. “We’ll burn something of each guy who’s ever burned us. My list is growing daily.”
“My apartment isn’t big enough for your list.” I laugh when she flips me off. It’s payback for her comment about my breakup. “Fine. Bring whatever.” If they burn down my apartment building, it just may up the property value. “I’ll see you all at my place. Come on, Mel.”
It’s raining, naturally, so we make a beeline for Mel’s Volkswagen. Once I have her belted in, I crank the key and pump the gas until the old beetle vibrates to life. I’m not that good at a stick and kill it twice before I recall a line from one of my favorite movies when Vivian explained to Edward how to drive a stick. “It’s a standard H pattern,” I recite and shift it into first before slowly letting out the clutch. It catches and we’re on our way.
The heater is broken in the little bug, as is the radio. Oh, well. It’s a short drive to my apartment. We aren’t even out of the parking lot before Mel falls asleep, giving me time to doubt every decision I’ve ever made. Now my only company is the windshield wipers skipping as they swipe the drops away.
Why’d I let my parents talk me into majoring in business? I wanted to major in marketing and even did for two semesters. The idea of making something good even better still excites me. When my parents found out I’d switched majors, they both flipped out and insisted I change to something else. When I switched to accounting, they both flipped out again, which surprised me considering my dad is a CPA. So, I switched again. And again. And again. I finally settled on the one major they approved of—business. They still think a business degree will get me into any company with nothing more than a smile and a flash of my resume. I know otherwise.
The world is a different place now. When my parents were my age, life was simpler. My dad landed his dream job at a financial firm with nothing more than a business degree and a hell of a lot of confidence. It doesn’t work that way now. A degree in business will get me an interview at any one of the major retailer chains. The idea of saying, “Would you like fries with that?” or “Welcome to insert name here” haunts my thoughts.
God, I sound so grown up. I’ve always been the grownup of any group I’m in. It’s my default setting. Even buzzed I know this boyfriend burning is a terrible idea that will result in something catastrophic. I hate having to always be the voice of reason. I wish I could loosen up, but the instant I lower my guard, shit happens.
I can hear my mom now. “There’s no time for fun,” she’d say. “Fun is the last thing you should be thinking about right now. Fun doesn’t pay the bills. Fun gets you nothing but an empty bank account and no future.”
Her words ringing in my head snaps me out of my walk down pity lane. I refuse to let my mistakes get me down. Tonight is about cleansing. It’s about looking forward. No more dwelling on the past. I can’t change that. I can, however, control my future.
I pull into the parking lot of my building and find a spot. Time to let the drunk monkeys run the circus. “Mel, wake up. We’re here.” I’m hoping she’s out for the night so I can use that as an excuse to put a stop to the burning.
But, no. She bolts awake and jumps out of the car with the energy of a five-year-old on a sugar high. I catch up to her and help her up the stairs to my second-story apartment. Together we get everything ready so when Ciara and Shannon walk in five minutes later, we can get this craziness over with.
Once we all have drinks in hand, I set the small metal garbage can in the center of my kitchen countertop. None of us want to deal with the drizzle outside. Despite it being close to summer, last weekend’s weather was a fluke. This weekend it’s back to being cold, too cold to stand out in the rain at midnight on my rickety balcony. Besides, I don’t think it will hold us all. This is good enough. I crank the fan above the stove. That way Jake won’t smell the smoke and will be none the wiser.
I hold up the picture of Ian and me sitting in the movie theater at the Campus Union Building, waiting for the film to start. The CUB is the central hangout for the students at BU. The university held a holiday massacre marathon. I’m not into the blood, guts, and gore movies, but Ian wanted to go, so, as the dutiful girlfriend, I went and endured hours upon hours of Jason, Freddy, and several other baddies worthy of being called by first name only.
If only I had something of Jake’s to burn as well, my boyfriend burning would be complete. Jake doesn’t qualify as a boyfriend, though. Would it still work?
I glare at the metal garbage can between all of us, channeling my anger, feelings of utter betrayal, and center them on that can. The gloves are off. Ian screwed me over. He deserves to pay. Who is he to text me a goddamn list of things he wants me to change? What about the things I hated about him?
Like how he whistled when he breathed through his nose. Did he hear me complain? Hell to the no. He had a thing against carbs and always gave me that look when I enjoyed a single piece of bread, like my ass expanded as I ate. He also refused to eat anything non-organic, making everything expensive as hell. As the supportive girlfriend, I changed the way I ate. I changed a lot of shit for him. Who does that? Who? Not this gal, not anymore.
It’s time for me to take a stand. “I hereby declare you gone.”
“No,” Ciara groans. “That’s not how you do it.”
Shannon chimes in. “You have to admit to something he did.”
“You do?” I ask hesitantly, not wanting to drum up any of those memories.
They both nod way too enthusiastically. I don’t want to know why they know the rules of this insanity so well. Just how many boyfriend bonfires have these two done?
“Fine.” I sigh and stare into the pale photogenic eyes of the cheating bastard. “Ian slept with Penny from English. And Monica from Business Law. Oh, and Julie from the Pep Club.” I drop the photo into the bucket as Mel speaks up.
“And Rachel. Lonnie. Tina.” She lifts her gaze to the ceiling as she counts them off. With each name, my heart sinks that much more. “Stephanie. Cynthia. Mary. There’s even a rumor he fooled around with Anthony from the radio station. I’ve always wondered about him.”
“I get it!” I snap, cutting her off. I knew there were others and really don’t need her listing them, especially the guy from the radio station. As if having Ian cheat on me with the plethora of women didn’t make me doubt my allure, why not add a man into the mix? That really makes me feel like I can hold a guy. How pathetic. This is why I didn’t want to drum up any of those memories. Just like that, I’m back to nearly collapsing from the depressing fact I’m the type of gal a guy texts everything wrong with her.
“Sorry, sweetie.” Mel has moved on to the wine Shannon brought. Boxed wine. I cringe, knowing the headache that shit causes. I doubt she cares. Too many Long Island iced teas at our GNO, coupled with her emotions over Steve dumping her, has her feeling no pain. She will tomorrow. The porcelain God can comfort her.
“Is Ian a Delta?” Shannon asks.
I shake my head. I’d never do a Delta. “Why?”
“Because they’re all douches. Like, big time douches. You heard the head of the house posted his number, right? Like his number, number.”
“No,” the rest of us say and simultaneously drop our jaws at his epic dickness.
“With names,” Shannon adds and lowers her gaze to the drink in her hands. “I hate that I’m one of them. Brad is a double dick douchetard. My phone hasn’t stopped blowing up with all these responses asking to be one of my numbers. Assholes.”
We all nod. Thank God I never became one of his conquests. Then again, I’m not exactly the type he goes for. After what happened at the Delta DASH, the way he attacked Emma and then tried to convince everyone she want
ed him to do exactly that, I knew better than to believe any shit that fell from his lips. Luckily, her boyfriend put Brad in his place. Ryan got his ass handed to him, but having him take on someone like Brad the Delta Dick in a fistfight not only said something about Ryan’s character, it said everything about Brad’s.
“Then we burn Brad.” I look around at the group. “Which one of you brought a pic of him?” Not one of them admits it, but I know better. “Well?”
“Not his picture, but a fake flower he gave me. It still smells like cheap whiskey and bad decision.” Ciara holds up a discolored rose. She then drops the incriminating evidence into the canister to join the picture of Charlie and the headband of Greg’s she already tossed in.
Shannon huffed. “You weren’t posted as one of his numbers.”
“I’m number eleven.”
She checks her phone. “You’re a can’t remember?”
“The DASH, two years ago. He wasn’t head of the house then. We were both sophomores. He was a Delta, so he was invited. I, well, wasn’t, but that didn’t stop me from sneaking in the back. He caught me and I kissed him to distract him. We got drunk, had sloppy, desperate sex in the empty kiddie pool out behind the house they use for the Jell-O matches, and we both agreed to never talk about it.”
Holy shit. Ciara’s wild side scares me at times. Still, who am I to judge? I’ve had a few numbers on my list I wish I could erase. We all have at least one guy we wish would have never added to our number. Mine just happens to live next door.
“Devon Mackey. He screwed anything, including me.” Mel shakes her head and pulls a folded piece of paper out of her purse before tossing it into the metal canister.
“What was that?” I ask.
The Heat Is On (TREX Rookies Book 2) Page 6
