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Dad waves away my money. “This is on me. Just remember what I said, all right? No more tweets. You’re capable of great things, son, and I’d hate to see you waste your potential.”
He always knows how to twist the knife.
Like any self-respecting millennial, I’m terrified of disappointing anyone. My parents. My peers. Myself. I know I can do big things. I want to do big things.
I think I do, anyway.
Grabbing my coat, I shake my dad’s hand and head for the door. I avoid Greer on the way out, even if it does take every ounce of self-restraint not to wrap her in my coat and drive her home so I know she gets there safely and alone.
I dig my phone out of my pocket and see the text I’d begun to Kristin.
I delete it, like I should.
But then I send another text to someone else, like I shouldn’t.
Chapter Three
GREER
Hayden’s rolling on a condom when I realize I can’t do it.
This.
Him.
I can’t have sex for the first time with a guy I barely know on sheets that smell like a witch’s brew of BO and Axe body spray.
I’m not even that turned on. Hayden’s a sloppy kisser, and he keeps grabbing my hand and putting it on his dick as we’re making out. Meanwhile, he’s barely paying attention to my body.
At some point I’m going to have to ditch my virginity. It doesn’t need to be with Prince Charming, but it has to be with someone better than this loser.
I also need to be at work in approximately four hours. Earlier, Dustin texted me saying he won’t be able to come to the bakery tomorrow because he has an emergency meeting with his lawyers. I’d immediately texted him back.
Greer
You’ll be out all day?
Dustin Rieber
Can we say it’s a mental health day? I’m a mess. Hannah thinks I’m having an affair with my counselor, and no matter what I do, I can’t convince her otherwise.
I immediately felt like a jerk and told him to take as much time as he needed. But that means I need to be at Drury Lane extra early tomorrow.
Today, really. It’s after midnight.
“I’m sorry,” I say, bringing my knees together so I can roll out of bed, “but I gotta go.”
Hayden’s head turns on his pillow, his eyebrows snapping together. “Are you kidding?”
“I’m sorry,” I repeat, feeling a tug of guilt even as I know, rationally, I don’t owe this guy a damn thing. “I just suddenly started to feel not so great. I’ll get an Uber.”
“Stay. Please. I mean, c’mon.” He gestures to his erection, the condom hanging limply off the tip. “You can’t leave me like this.”
I make quick work of pulling on my jeans and sliding my feet into my booties. “I’m sorry. Have a good night.”
“Yeah fucking right,” he mutters as I dart out of the room.
His apartment is a pigsty, clothes and dishes crusted with food everywhere. I can hear one of his roommates snoring in the bedroom across the hall. Another is playing a video game in the living room. He doesn’t look up as I let myself out.
I take the elevator down to the lobby. It’s chilly; I should’ve brought a jacket. Usually the weather starts to get warmer by now, but we’ve been having an abnormally cold spring.
I grab my phone out of my bag. It’s not super late, but it looks like a ride is going to be hard to come by. Uber is charging surge pricing, plus there’s a thirty-minute wait. Lyft isn’t looking much better.
That’s when I remember the weird text Brooks sent me after leaving Connolly’s without saying goodbye.
Brooks Huntley
I’m around tonight if you need anything.
Brooks and I are friends, but we rarely text. I check the conversation and see the last text I sent him—details about a surprise birthday party I’d thrown George—was over six months ago.
Also. Brooks kept giving me these weird looks at Connolly’s. Kind of like he wanted to murder me or something. Were those muffin references I made this morning off-putting? Did I piss him off by leaving more food on his desk? I didn’t mean to wreck whatever dairy-free diet he’s probably on. I was just trying to make his day suck a little less.
Thanks to the raging crush I have on him, I’m more curious than I should be. I’m also freezing, and a solid twenty minutes from my house over in Dilworth. Before I can think better of it, I type out a quick text and hit send.
Greer
Is it too late to take you up on your offer?
A second later, my screen lights up. He’s calling.
My pulse skips a beat. Who actually calls? For a second I’m paralyzed, unsure what to do. Is this a butt dial? Is this what older guys do, call people?
“H-hello?”
“Greer, please tell me you didn’t go home with that dickhead.”
