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“Ahhh, fuck,” I groan. “Who the hell posted that?” I click on the photo and bring up the details to see that it’s now been viewed over four thousand times and shared another three hundred.
My heart begins to race as humiliation fills my veins. How the hell did this happen?
Sophie continues laughing as she takes her phone back, and I grab my own to find it overflowing with notifications. I bring up the admin stats for the Dragons’ page and go to remove the post. “There’s no point deleting it,” Sophie says, rushing in before I can complete my task. “It’s been shared too many times. It’s only going to cause more speculation when people think Miller has something to hide.”
“Damn it,” I groan. “Do you know who posted it?”
“Nope. All the guys have the login details. Any one of them could have put it up. Hell, it could have been Coach Harris for all we know,” she laughs. “Besides, you were all wasted, so I’m not sure even the culprit knows he did it.”
I flop back against my bed, wishing I could press rewind on this morning and start over. “How do you know we were wasted?” I question, my tone groggy from sleep. “Weren’t you busy meeting with your friend?”
“I ran into a very satisfied Miller coming out of your bedroom last night,” she says, her brows bouncing with interest. “Did you finally give him the goodies?”
“Huh? Miller was in my room?” I think back over the night, trying to put the pieces together when it all comes rushing back, one mistake after the next. Embarrassment washes through me. I threw myself at him after telling him about my relationship with Brett, and now he probably thinks I’m damaged goods.
“He sure as hell was,” she tells me. “So give it up. Did you let him rock your world?”
“No,” I groan, covering my face, remembering exactly how I tried to pull him down on me. “I tried to, but he tucked me in bed. Apparently, screwing me while I was drunk out of my mind isn’t his thing. But it doesn’t matter anyway. I told him about Brett, so he probably thinks I’m a desperate loser.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. That guy is head over heels for you,” she tells me. “Nothing you tell him could make him think less of you. I’m sure he probably spent the night trying to hunt Brett down.”
“Would this be before or after Brett cornered him at Micky’s?”
“Shit, you really did have an interesting night,” she laughs.
“Sure did,” I mutter, willing my stomach to ease. “How’d your night go? You’re usually in bed until midday on a Saturday.”
Sophie lets out a confused huff and makes herself comfortable in my bed, pulling at the blankets so much my feet peek out the other end. “I sort of had a date,” she admits, almost sounding sheepish.
“Yeah, I figured. But don’t you mean booty call?”
“What makes you think it was a booty call?” she asks, narrowing her blue eyes at me.
I curl up into her side, closing my eyes as I start my explanation. “Babe, you’ve been my best friend for three years. When you come to me at ten o’clock on a Friday night saying you’re meeting up with a friend, I know it’s for some kind of fucked-up wild orgy. Besides, apart from me, you have no girlfriends because they’re all whiny bitches, which only leaves guy friends, who you only allow to be your friend if they come with dick piercings.”
“Damn. You know me too well.”
“Sure do,” I tell her. “So, who was the lucky guy you faked an orgasm for?”
“It was Robbie,” she says with a disappointed sigh. “And I didn’t need to fake anything.”
“What? Did Robbie finally figure out what to do?”
She laughs. “No, I couldn’t fake it because I didn’t go through with it.”
My eyes bug out of my head. “What?” I screech. “What do you mean? You’ve never turned down a good screw in all the years I’ve known you.”
“I know,” she whines. “It’s Tank. He’s ruined me. It’s like my pussy has made a home out of his big ass dick and won’t accept anything else.”
I laugh, all too amused by her situation. “Shit, babe. You’re falling for him.”
“No, tell me I’m not,” she begs, looking at me with real fear in her wide eyes. “I don’t fall for guys. I love ’em and leave ’em.”
“Sorry, hun,” I tell her, hating to be the bearer of bad news. “Your pussy has spoken.”
“Damn it,” she groans. “So, what do we do now? I think we’re both screwed.”
“No, no. You’re screwed. I’m perfectly fine staying right here and avoiding Miller as much as possible while you go out and find Tank to put the poor guy out of his misery.”
“That sounds like an awful idea,” she moans, burrowing her face deeper into my pillow. “I say we fake our deaths, move to Australia, and never talk to them again. We can spend the rest of our lives living it up on the beach and getting naked with hot surfer dudes.”
