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She gives me a sympathetic look. “But you said he explained that, right?”
I gave Ainsley the abridged version of my conversation with Kingston regarding why he was so cruel to me when we first met. I focused solely on the he’s a typical guy afraid of his feelings type of thing, but she seems to have bought it. I hate withholding information from her, but I know Kingston’s right in that respect.
"Yeah...and I want to believe him—I honestly do—but something is niggling in the back of my brain telling me to keep my guard up."
Ainsley takes a seat on the vanity bench. “Do you know what that something is?”
I wring my hands together. “It all comes back to that night at Donovan’s party. Bentley swears they didn’t drug me, but nothing else makes sense, Ains. I had two drinks. Two. You know that’s not enough to fuck me up, yet I barely remember anything from that night. Only flashes here and there.”
Mostly flashes of making out with Kingston and Bentley, but I keep that part to myself.
She gives me a closed-mouth smile. “What exactly did Bentley say?”
“He told me they would never do that to me. Then he told me to ask him about a girl named Carissa some time, then I’d have no doubt.”
Ainsley’s breath stutters. “And did you? Ask him about Carissa?”
“No.” I shake my head. “Honestly, it kind of slipped my mind until now. Who is she anyway?”
“She was my best friend,” Ainsley whispers.
“Was? Did you two have a falling out or something?”
“No, Jazz.” She shakes her head. “She died. Committed suicide, actually.”
I suck in a harsh breath. “Oh. I’m so sorry, Ains. I know that’s a shitty platitude, but it’s true. I know how hard it is losing someone you love.”
She sniffs, dabbing at the corners of her eyes. “I know you do, and I’m okay now. I mean, it’s been almost two years. I still miss her every day, but it gets easier to not think about it so much. Bentley took it the hardest out of all of us, I think. He may joke around a lot, but that boy’s holding on to a lot of grief and regret.”
“What do you mean?”
“That’s not my story to tell, Jazz. I think you should talk to him, though. I really do think it would alleviate your concerns.” Ainsley gives me a sad smile. “I know what they did that night was awful—with the pictures, I mean—but if it’s worth anything, I’m positive they wouldn’t have drugged you. One thousand percent positive. And trust me, they got a mouthful from me about circulating that video and those pictures. I actually slapped my brother across the face and kneed him in the balls.”
My lips twitch. “Are you serious?”
“Yep.” She nods proudly. “And I would’ve done the same to the other two, but Reed held me back. I decided that particular revenge was a dish best served cold. With the way Reed's been behaving lately, though, his comeuppance will likely be sooner rather than later."
“He still won’t tell you what’s going on?”
She shakes her head. “Nope. And quite frankly, I’m done waiting.”
I raise my brows. “You’re giving up?”
“I don’t know.” Ainsley shrugs. “I don’t want to, but I’m sure as shit not going to let him ruin my night. I’m going to go out there, have some drinks, maybe dance with a few hot boys, and forget about all the Reed drama for one night.”
“Well, what are we waiting for? Let’s get down there.”
Ainsley smiles. “By the time this night is over, the birthday bitch will know for damn sure you won’t take her shit lying down.”
We're both grinning like fools as we exit my bedroom and make our way down the stairs. Eminem's "Godzilla" blasts through the speakers, setting the tone perfectly for this freakin' madhouse. I still can't believe Charles and Madeline went away for the weekend just so Peyton could have a house party. Seriously, what kind of parents do that, knowing what kind of debauchery these people are capable of? Spoiler alert: shitty ones.
When we get to the main level, this shindig seems to be in full swing. Peyton's party planner certainly went all out. All of the existing furniture down here has been replaced with a large dance floor, D.J. area, and several different seating options. There's a staffed bar in the back next to a towering champagne fountain. The back patio is crammed with bodies, and the subtle lighting that was out there has been replaced with bulbs so bright, the whole area is lit up like a football field. Jesus fuck, I don't even want to know how much all this shit cost.
My jaw drops when my eyes stumble on the setup in the back corner of the living room. “What the hell?!”
There are actual stripper poles installed, all three of which have half-naked drunk girls swinging around them, surrounded by two dozen or so guys.
“Wow, she really wants to make it memorable, huh?” Ainsley asks. “Just what every girl wants for her birthday: pole jockeys.”
