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I move around the corner. Find a spot against the wall—one where no one can see me—and I slink to my knees.
Tears stain my skin.
This is all fucked.
I can't even enjoy a party.
I can't enjoy anything.
I'm a broken freak. I'll always be a broken freak.
Why would Brendon want me anyway? He has his pick of any nice, normal girl. Plenty who are prettier, smarter, funnier, bolder than I am.
I suck a breath through my teeth and let out a slow exhale. It does nothing to ease the tension in my shoulders. Or back. These heels are awful. How does Emma wear these things all the time?
The bell rings as the shop door opens.
Steady footsteps move toward me.
Then it's Brendon's voice flowing into my ears. "Dean's an asshole."
I press my fingers into my thighs. "It takes two people to bet."
Brendon stops next to me and drops to one knee. "I'm sorry, Kay."
I keep my eyes on my legs. "Why?"
"Huh?"
"Why are you sorry?"
"I shouldn't let him talk about you like that."
"Why?"
"It doesn't matter if you're a virgin," he says.
"But why don't you want Dean talking about me like that?"
He sits next to me. His fingertips trail over the backs of my hands. "You're barely eighteen."
"So?"
He draws a star on the back of my hand. "Look at me, Kay."
I shake my head.
He peels my hands off my knees. Takes one between his thumb and his palm and runs his thumb over my fingers.
I force myself to look him in the eyes. "If you're going to tell me I'm a sweet girl, you can leave now."
"It's not an insult."
"It feels like it. Like I'm a puppy."
"You're not. Puppies are energetic."
I can't help but laugh. And flip him off.
