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I’d changed. I didn’t know myself like I thought I did.
I stared at my reflection in the diner’s scratched bathroom mirror, using a makeup wipe from my purse to clean away my smudged mascara. But I couldn’t wipe away the deep red hickey on my neck. I couldn’t get the smell of sex out of my hair.
I couldn’t forget last night. Neither did I want to.
Straightening my ponytail, I stepped back to take a better look at myself before I left the restroom. I should have brought a change of clothes or at least some pants to the Halloween party last night, because my angel costume was little more thanglorified lingerie. At least the hoodie I wore was long enough to cover my short skirt.
The hoodie smelled like him, like Manson. It reminded me of the autumn leaves outside, cloudy days, and bonfires.
What the hell was I doing? What had Idone?
I rejoined Ashley at our table in the dining area, glad to find that our food had already arrived. She was groaning over her plate of pancakes, resting her forehead on her palm.
“I’m never drinking again,” she said miserably. I smiled and reached across the table to pat her head in sympathetic disagreement. It was the hangover talking. She’d be drunk again next weekend.
It was strange not to be hungover with her. But barely drinking anything had been far from the strangest thing to happen at the party last night. Seeing Manson in attendance, a year and several months after he’d been expelled, hadn’t been the strangest part. Even seeing Jason, Lucas, and Vincent again hadn’t been as strange as what came after.
What I’d done — what I’d finally let myself do — was so bizarre I didn’t dare bring it up.
Maybe I’d screwed up, and last night had been a massive mistake. People would find out. They’d never look at me the same. Videos of me playing that Drink or Dare game with Manson were going to be plastered across social media. But what had come after the game, what had happened in the dark, was what truly scared me.
I’d lost myself in the lust that had been building ever since those men first came into my life.
I didn’t feel like the same person I’d been yesterday. I felt fake, like I’d been dropped into a mannequin’s body and had forgotten what pose I was supposed to hold.
I didn’t know what the hell I wanted anymore.
Except the big plate of biscuits and gravy in front of me. Iwanted that in my stomach immediately.
“Girl, what even happened last night?” Ashley gazed at me with a little frown. “You took that weird dare from Manson and disappeared. Did you, uh…” She popped her lips with a little smile. Not even a hangover was going to stop her from getting the whole story. “Did you finally hook up?”
“Finally?” My voice squeaked. “What do you mean, finally?”
She rolled her eyes. “Oh, come on. I get it, okay? He’s weird and dangerous. It’s the whole bad boy thing, right? That’s kind of fun.” She pierced a piece of pancake with her fork, rubbing it through the syrup across her plate. “By the way, I ran into Jennifer at the party. She said that Vincent and Jason, and uh…” She snapped her fingers as she tried to remember.
“Lucas,” I said softly, and she clapped her hands.
“Yes! Lucas Bent. She said she saw them all last night. Dressed like clowns, the fucking weirdos.Ididn’t see them. I can’t believe they were invited.” Her piece of pancake was completely drenched at this point. I stuffed my mouth with biscuit and country gravy in a last-ditch effort to buy myself time. “But she mentioned she saw you with them.”
The biscuit felt like glue in my mouth. I swallowed slowly. “Yeah, uh…” Paused again. Took a sip of orange juice. “They’re friends with Manson.” Useless information. She already knew that.
“Riiiiiight.” Her eyes were locked on me. Syrup dripped from her pancake onto the cheap diner tabletop. “Close friends, I’ve heard.”
“Really close,” I muttered and instantly regretted it, as she sucked in her breath. “Look, let’s drop the subject, okay?”
“Ugh, Jess,come on! I wanna know! It was only a one-night stand, right? It’s not, like…” She snickered, as if what she was about to say was completely ludicrous. “It’s not like you’re going todatehim, right? Can you imagine? I think your mom wouldliterally have a heart attack.” She laughed, and I tried to join her.
My phone buzzed, and my heart rocket-launched toward my shoes when I saw his name pop up. Manson Reed.
Ashley tapped her fork repeatedly on her plate as I snatched up my phone.
What do you say to breakfast next Saturday?the text read.It can be just us, but I think the boys would like a chance to get to know you in a better setting. We can debrief on all the craziness.
I swallowed hard. My head throbbed and not from any hangover. Ashley was watching me like a hawk.
“Soooo,” she said slowly as I clicked my screen off and set the phone aside. “Is that him? Did he text you that quickly? It’s been, what, an hour since we left the house?” She giggled. “Knife boy seems a little obsessed.”
“It wasn’t him,” I said quickly. “It was my mom. I doubt I’ll hear from him again.” I cut another piece off my biscuit, then kept cutting. Piece after piece, decimating the biscuit as it drowned in gravy. “It was a one-night thing. Just a little fun. It’s not like we’d ever work together.”
