Page 80 of Hot As Ice

Becca’s fashion-obsessed eyes are all dreamy. “I wish you had a photo to show me.”

“I have another fitting next week, so I’ll take pictures then.”

“I’m so excited for you. You’re gonna be the prettiest girl there.”

I shake my head. “Stop.”

“I’m serious. Shut up. I know better than you.”

I can’t help but laugh. “Oh, really? And how would you know that? Have you seen the guest list?”

“I just know, okay? Don’t question me.”

“Fine,” I concede. “Anyway, do you wanna order takeout? I’m hungry. I was thinking Thai or maybe Indian.”

“Thai, please. Drunken noodles with tofu.”

“You got it, babe.”

I place the order, getting pad see ew with chicken for me. Then I go to my bedroom to change into some comfy sweats. The last two days have sort of overwhelmed me. I feel nervous about the party and my role in it. It’s such a big deal for Celeste, but the truth is that I don’t feel like I belong. Especially since Hunter and I are not in any way official.

I’m going to feel like a fraud standing next to him in my fancy gown.

I wish I could have a conversation with him about our relationship, but that seems extremely presumptuous. He’s made it clear I’m just a fuck buddy to him, a fuck buddy he pays. My role in his life couldn’t be more defined, except that he keeps blurring the lines by inviting me to his uncle’s art gallery opening, his family home for dinner, and now we’re going to his father and stepmom’s celebration. It doesn’t make any sense.

I should have been more firm about him not paying me anymore.

I don’t understand how he does it, but he always makes me want to do his bidding. Whatever. Every time I think about it, it just gives me a headache. I need to detach somehow. I’m not going to stop seeing Hunter, and he’s not going to stop paying me. I guess I’ll have to suck it up and accept it.

My mom and I talk a few times a week on the phone, and I’ve told her that I’m seeing Hunter casually. She sounded so excited about the wedding celebration last time I spoke. I know she worries about me on my own in college, but also wants to let me spread my wings. I just wish I could tell her everything.

Shaking off my thoughts, I pick up our food from where the delivery guy left it by the front door and take it into the kitchen, removing Styrofoam containers from a plastic bag.

“Do you want me to bring real plates or will you just eat out of the container?” I ask Becca.

“Plates, please.”

I grab plates and utensils from the drawers and carry them over to the coffee table in the living room. Then I grab cans of soda and a pair of glasses. Becca has already moved our noodles from the containers onto the plates. She’s placed forks and knives all properly beside the plates. I smile when I see it.

“You’re so proper,” I tell her.

“Blame my Armenian mother.”

“It’s cute.”

We each grab our plates and place them onto our laps. Becca turns the TV back on.

“What crazy reality show are we watching today?”

She smirks. “A bunch of celebrities have to discover the traitors in their midst to win a big prize.”

I take a bite of chicken. “Sounds dumb.”

“It’s actually quite entertaining. Don’t judge before you’ve even seen it.”

I sigh. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry for having a low opinion of a reality TV show.”

“Snob.”