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“I know,” she says sadly. “I know.”
“That’s it. We’re going out,” Elle announces, bouncing up from her bed.
I frown from mine. “I don’t want to go anywhere.”
“Nuh-huh.” She shakes her head. “You don’t get to decide. You’ve been moping around for a month solid, and I won’t stand for it any longer. You’ve wallowed enough. We’re going out. Makenna and Celine will come too. I’ll even ask Ryland if he wants to tag along as our unofficial bodyguard.”
I swallow past the lump in my throat. “I doubt I’ll be much fun.”
“I don’t care.” She puts her hands on her hips. “All I want is to see you leave this god-forsaken campus and do something.”
I can’t blame her. All I’ve done since returning from break is go to class and come back to the dorm. I haven’t even wanted coffee—and definitely not cupcakes—because it reminded me too much of Bennett.
I miss him. I miss him so much. I’ve picked up my phone to call him more times than I care to admit but I always set my phone back down when I think about that girl he might’ve raped. My heart tells me he would never do that, I know him, but the evidence is there and I feel wrong to support him if it’s true.
Even with all that I still love him. I can’t turn my feelings off like a switch. I wish I could. It would make things so much easier.
“What do you have in mind?” I place the magazine I was reading on my bed.
“A club.” She grins wickedly and runs to her closet. “A sexy dress and dancing has to make you feel better.”
I suppress my groan. I doubt either of those things will make me feel better, but I don’t want to burst Elle’s bubble. She’s been really sweet and there for me through this whole thing. She even confessed that she feels guilty being so happy with Ryland while I’m miserable. I told her that was silly but it still didn’t erase the worry from her eyes.
Elle rifles through her closet and tosses me a black garment. I hold the dress up and my eyes widen. It’s not the most scandalous thing she could’ve given me but it has several sections cut out with mesh, making it a lot sexier than it otherwise would be. The skirt flares out at the hips and ends above the knee area.
“Put that on,” she orders. “I’m going to let Makenna and Celine know what we’re up to.”
I nod, feeling rather guilty at the mention of their names. They’ve tried to come around me in the last month and I’ve blown them off, afraid that they were like everyone else and only wanted to know what really happened—if the allegations are true.
I set the dress on my bed and go to work on my hair and makeup.
Elle returns and does the same.
I straighten my hair and twist it back into a slick ponytail and then do my makeup heavier than normal with lots of blacks and gray. On my lips I even use a daring black lipstick. It’s definitely not my go-to style but I figure I might as well be daring and different.
Elle groans from her side of the room. “Will you help me? I’m not good at this kind of thing.” She drags a brush through her hair, butchering the strands.
I run to the other side of the room and stop her. “For starters, don’t do that.” I take the brush from her hand and set it aside. “What did you have in mind?” I ask her, fluffing her hair around her shoulders.
She shrugs. “Could you curl it like you normally wear yours? I know my hair is naturally curly, but it’s not sleek and pretty like when you curl it.”
“Yeah, absolutely, I can do that.” It doesn’t take me long to do her hair and then she asks me to do her makeup too. I don’t think she really wants me to do it, but she knows it’ll make me feel better—distract me—to do it.
Once her hair and makeup is done, we both change into our dresses.
I whistle at hers. “Ryland is going to lose his mind,” I tell her honestly.
She wears a long-sleeve, gray, crop-top with zig-zag cut-outs in the chest and a high-waisted pencil skirt in the same material. Only a small amount of her midriff shows, but it’s enticing and sexy. Poor Ryland will have to shove the guys away from her.
She smiles at me. “You think so?”
“Yeah, of course. You’re gorgeous.”
Something I’ve learned about Elle is that she’s not used to being called beautiful. I can’t help but wonder what kind of home she grew up in, and if that’s why she was so nasty to me when we first met. But I never ask her about it. I figure if she wants to talk about it, she will.
“You look hot too.” She motions to my borrowed dress.
“Thanks.” I grab a clutch and stuff my phone, ID, and some cash in it. “Let’s get out of here.”
