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I mean, she’s not totally wrong. I nod. “Yes. That.”
They all shake their heads and roll their eyes as a chorus of phrases like, “Men,” and “Do they think we don’t know what we want?” spill from their lips.
My eyes dart between them, trying to keep up, until one girl who has had her eyes set on my half-written message says, “Make him spit on cats.”
I choke back a laugh. “What?”
She nods toward the mirror with complete confidence. “Seriously, make him spit on cats.”
“Make him . . .?”
She cocks an eyebrow. “Would you want to date someone who spits on cats?”
“Of course not,” I answer quickly.
“Yeah,” the first dark-haired girl next to her agrees. “That will be good.”
“Um,” I hesitate, “Maybe I should just—” I point my thumb over my shoulder, ready to make my exit.
“No, don’t back down!” The blonde practically shrieks.
I stare at these girls I don’t know in the slightest, and for whatever reason, the power of the public restroom is making it impossible to let them down. “Okay . . .” I say and turn back to the mirror, finishing my note.
This asshole spits on cats.
Holding the paper in one hand, I copy the number onto the mirror with the other. Stepping back, I look at my work before turning back to the girls, but they already have their phones out, frantically typing a message as they glance up at the number on the mirror.
Leaving the bathroom, I almost crash into someone and stagger backward.
“Whoa!” Rae says, bracing herself against me. Her grip tightens around my arms. “I was looking for you. You have to tell me what that was about.”
“What what was about?” I ask.
She purses her lips, unimpressed with my answer. “Jackson.”
Forcing a laugh, I push past her. “Nothing.” Looking over my shoulder, I add, “I need a drink. Want one?” Without waiting for her to answer, I scan the bar for Jackson. He’s talking to Matt where I left him, so I go to the bartender on the opposite end.
I didn’t plan on drinking tonight. I don’t even have a fake ID, but I wasn’t expecting Jackson to tap my ass in front of everyone, either.
My heart pounds as I lean over the bar to be heard above the crowd. “Can I get a rum and Coke?” I ask and wonder if I sound as young as this situation makes me feel.
The way the bartender lets his eyes trail over me means he’s either trying to guess my age or he’s checking me out. Both possibilities make me regret coming over here.
It isn’t until he settles on my chest that I realize it’s the latter. It takes everything in me not to pull up the dipping neckline of my sweater, but I leave it.
“Make that two,” Rae says as she squeezes into the spot next to me. Turning to face me, she says, “You’re not telling me something.”
The bartender seems mildly put off that we were interrupted but goes to get our drinks. “It’s nothing.”
She frowns. “So? Even if it’s nothing, since when do you hide things from me?”
My chest aches. I never meant for her to feel like I was hiding things from her. I just didn’t want her to get her hopes up. My shoulders sag as I look at her wounded expression. “Nothing is going on between Jackson and me.”
“He seemed pretty insistent on giving you his number,” she points out.
The bartender sets down our drinks, and I take a sip before instantly pulling back. The burn hits me in the chest, and I have to suppress a cough.
Rae still hasn’t touched hers. She’s watching me carefully, waiting for me to come clean.
