Page 85 of Unforgettable Player

“Maybe the fact you butt your nose into everything when no one asks you to.”

Her face drops. Something twists deep inside me. Stop it, just stop. But I can’t. It’s like I put my foot down on the gas and now I’ve realized the breaks have been cut and I can’t slow down.

“You don’t get to tell me what to do all the time, Scout. You’re not my mom.”

“I didn’t⁠—”

“You’re so fucking judgmental. So Connor got into Harvard? So what? So he kissed your friend at your sweet sixteen? So what? You can hold a grudge like the fucking Grinch.”

“Fuck you, Eli,” she spits, throwing a cushion at the TV like she wishes it was my head.

Abruptly, I run out of steam. Suddenly I can see myself from her perspective. Let’s just say it isn’t pretty.

I cast a shameful glance in her direction and find her picking at some smudged nail polish on her big toe with a sulky expression.

“Scout, I’m …”

She shakes her head at me in disbelief.

“Why are you being such a bitch?” she asks. “Fuck.”

“I’m sorry.”

The look she’s giving me tells me she does not forgive me and sorry won’t cut it.

“Is that what you really think? That I stick my nose in where it’s not wanted and I’m a bitter little Grinch?”

“No, of course not. I was just angry.”

“Why? Because I brought up you having a crush on my brother?”

“I …” I can’t finish that sentence. I should not be this sensitive over Connor. If it’s chewing me up so much even after I ended things, what am I supposed to do? I have to fix this.

I stalk over to the bed and take a seat close enough to put my hand on hers, careful not to smudge her nail polish.

“Go easy on me. I can’t even blame it on my period.”

A smile tugs at the corners of her lips, but she won’t look at me. “I don’t blame things on my period,” she mutters.

“You do,” I reply, gently to show I’m joking. “Like, all the time. It isn’t fair, I don’t get to say, ‘Sorry for being a raging bitch, I’m hormonal.’”

“Is that supposed to be me?” Her smile has more substance now.

I nod.

She snorts, shaking her head.

“I’m sorry, Scout. All this stuff with my dad has just stressed me out. And then failing that class⁠—”

She opens her mouth. I know exactly what she’s going to say, so I cut her off.

“And I don’t want to drop the class.”

Scout sighs and closes her mouth, she studies her nails with a frown.

“I get it,” she says. Her head snaps up and she holds her pinkie out to me. “Friends?”

The second she pulls me in for a hug, I expect to feel what I felt downstairs when Connor hugged me. That safety and relief. But whatever relief I feel from a hug from my best friend is masked by the twisting sensation that has been present since the second I let Connor down in that car.