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Carter laughed again.
“So,” Grant spoke up, “Sasha, I heard you and Travers broke up last night.”
“Hmm mmm.” She giggled, taking a sip of her Coke.
“Ask Sasha who she hooked up with last night.” Amber giggled, as if it were hysterical.
No one asked, but Sasha piped in, “This guy from Pedlam who’s freaking hot!”
“Who?” Devon asked, probably just to be polite. And probably grateful the attention wasn’t on him.
“Uh…Trent…Standley?”
“Trent Gardner,” I supplied.
Sasha looked over at me in surprise. “How do you know? Were you even there?”
“He’s a friend of mine,” I said coolly.
“Oh!” She smiled, flashing a Cheshire smile. “I need to make a point of getting to know him. Again.”
“Good luck,” I said dryly. “At least you knew his first name. Can’t say the same for him.”
That wiped the grin off her face. “You’re such a bitch.”
This was a distraction I could handle.
I grinned back and it seemed everyone else braced themselves for what I would say next. “At least I can count the number of guys I’ve been with on one hand—with a couple of fingers left over. Can you?”
Mandy groaned, burying her head in her hands.
I swore I heard the rest of the group take a deep breath.
“Are you calling me a slut?” Sasha demanded sharply.
“You gotta expect it when you swing shit my way,” I merely retorted, curling my feet underneath me, getting more comfortable.
Sasha rolled her eyes and—surprisingly—stayed quiet.
Carter swore, “Fucking hell. He could’ve made that shot.” Referring to the game.
“Fuck that,” Bryce added, taking a drink of his beer.
Just then the buzzer rang, Spurs losing by four points. Tray switched the channel to some music videos.
No one knew what to say, so the guys complained about the game some more.
Jasmine stood up and went into a room. A second later, she returned with a beer in hand and perched on the arm of the couch by Devon, where she started talking to Sasha. Amber stood up and circled to stand by them. Mandy was watching Carter, glancing to Devon every now and then.
Looking over, I saw Tray gazing at my phone.
He looked up at me and held it out to me, “The guy’s called you like seventeen times.”
I sighed and took the phone, standing up and moved up the stairs.
I dialed Grayley’s number and heard him exclaim, “About fucking time, Taryn!”
“Sorry. I just—didn’t want to deal with anything—Brian related.”
