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His hair has become darker, but there are still those streaks of blond like a natural balayage of latte and the rays of the sun.
The same sun that shines brighter in his star-filled eyes. They’re sharper now, having lost all the boyhood that once made him mischievous.
He’s just a player.
And not only on the football team, but generally. If someone had a shot every time he shagged a random girl, they would need their liver replaced by now.
He’s become popular, but not in a “stuck-up, you’re gross to even think you can talk to me” kind of way. But more like “I’m a bus and everyone is welcome for a ride” way.
Rumor has it, Daniel is the one person people need at their party if they want it to be a success. He’s laid-back, welcoming, charming.
To everyone but me.
I tried to keep myself as disinterested as possible from that part of him, but I know he probably had sex with Royal Elite’s entire female population and is branching out to other schools for up-and-coming vaginas.
I know because he’s not shy to tell Astrid about his sexcapades, to which she calls him a pig.
I know because I heard a girl describe sex with him as “an experience of a lifetime.”
I know because I had wet dreams that night and woke up touching myself and moaning into my pillow.
I know because I cried right afterward and it wasn’t from pleasure.
Usually, I retreat whenever he’s with Astrid. I give them space and pretend I don’t care.
Not today, though.
Today, I have a plan.
“Maybe I should go teach her some manners,” I say to the girls, plastering a smirk as fake as their daddies’ wigs.
Chloe snorts. “Not sure if it will work on a hopeless case like her, but go for it.”
“I’m in the mood for charity.” I flip my hair, blinding them with a splash of natural blonde. “How do I look?”
“Ten out of ten,” Hannah says, starry-eyed.
“A bad bitch.” Chloe grins. “Show us what you got.”
I flip my hair again, then walk to them while gently swaying my hips.
Before I reach them, I stop at the beverages table and grab two shots. I pretend to be adjusting my dress, then reach into my bra and retrieve the small bag of pills I bought the last time Chloe took me to a club.
When a random bloke asked me if I wanted to have fun and flashed me the pills, I told him, “Eww, gross.” But then the wires in my brain connected together.
I know what ecstasy does, or at least, I read about its effects and how it makes someone mindless with pleasure.
I wanted that.
Needed that.
But not only for me.
So I bought the pills, behind Chloe’s and the others’ backs because I couldn’t have them figure out my plan.
I couldn’t have everyone figure out what good girls plotted behind closed doors.
There are three pills. Just in case I need the extra one.
