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I cut off the men who won’t shut up behind me with another ear-piercing finger whistle, not even giving two shits if Quinn’s open-mouthed stare means he’s impressed or that his poor opinion of me was just confirmed.
“What they’re trying to say is that it’s all their fault that—”
“Doesn’t matter,” Quinn cuts me off, taking a step closer to me until we’re toe-to-toe, I can smell that damn delicious body spray he wears that makes me want to climb him like a tree, and he lowers his voice so only I can hear him. “You promised not to say anything, and you lied. I just came here to hear you admit it.”
“Oh my God,” I whisper with a shake of my head as he pulls back, the hurt and disappointment stabbing into me again. “You actually think I did this on purpose.”
The realization hurts like hell, but I do what I do best—I push my shoulders back and lift my head up high, pretending like everything around me isn’t a dumpster fire, when he continues.
“I can only be thankful none of that shit got out about me questioning whether or not I even wanted to play the game anymore.” Quinn scoffs, making me wince and close my eyes.
“Yeah, that’s brand-new information!” Shepherd pipes up from behind me.
“Take it back, man. That’s not funny. The Sharks need you,” Palmer whines.
I open my eyes back up to see Quinn staring down at me with a shocked look on his face, but I refuse to feel bad for him for even one second.
“You didn’t say anything about that.”
It’s a statement, not a question, coming from Quinn, now that understanding has hit him.
Too little, too late, and I don’t care.
“I’m sorry I told my absolute best friends in the world about one of the best nights of my life.” I clamp my mouth shut and internally cringe, wishing immediately I could take back that little tidbit of honesty, before quickly continuing so he’ll forget all about it. “Contrary to what you think, I’m not an asshole human being. I never shared anything personal that we talked about. Nice of you to notice how everything that wound up in the press was only about the stupid shit I said and did and the fun stuff that happened between us. Followed up by people shitting all over me and my character, while praising the ground you walk on. Things haven’t exactly been a piece of cake for me either.”
A flash of guilt washes over Quinn’s face, but I still don’t care.
“Oh, hey, everyone’s here!”
Like the horror movie my life has suddenly turned into, the sound of Ryan’s voice makes me jump like a serial killer just came charging out of the closet with a machete. While my friends all greet him like he’s Norm on that old television show Cheers as he walks in through the back entrance of the office, and not like this isn’t a complete nightmare.
This is not happening. This is seriously not happening.
And yet, it’s happening, live and in HD, two worlds getting ready to collide and blow up in my face worse than anything that’s happened over the last week.
“Ryan, I am so sorry,” I apologize, quickly turning my back on Quinn, since I can only deal with one major life crisis at a time. And since Quinn has suddenly gone mute now that he realized I didn’t spill his damn secrets and I might not be the awful person he assumed I was.
“Emily, why are you apologizing? This is awesome!” Ryan announces, stopping a few feet away from me while my friends all stand around with their heads ping-ponging back and forth like they’re at a goddamn sporting event and not at my execution.
With his short, shaggy, dirty-blonde hair, dark-blue Summersweet Wildcats bowling team polo shirt, and adorable boy-next-door good looks, Ryan has always reminded me of a loveable, loyal golden retriever filled with the same exuberant energy.
I hate myself so much for hurting him, no matter how hard he’s trying to hide it.
“I mean, some of the stuff they’ve said in the press sucks, but everyone has been so nice about it!” Ryan continues with that sweet smile of his. “People dropped off so much food I’ll never be able to eat it all. And I heard someone knitted you some sweaters, and you got your own seat at the high school football stadium with your name on it for life, and Heather Compton told me to tell you she baked you a cake, and she’ll leave it on your porch.”
“Sounds like things have literally been a piece of cake for you,” Quinn leans forward from behind me to whisper in my ear.
I clench every muscle in my body so I don’t shiver when I feel his warm breath against my ear. And because his voice is suddenly filled with a teasing humor instead of anger, and that’s some serious kryptonite for me.
