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“Callie?”
“Open up. I need to talk to you.”
“Yeah, sure. Of course. Come on up.” The buzzer sounds, letting me in. Like a woman on a mission, I take the stairs two at a time, rehearsing what I’ll say.Why the hell did you lie to me? How could you do this to Easton? How did you get those photos? How can you live with yourself?Question after question races through my mind by the time I hit the third floor. Out of breath, I slam my fist on his door. It quickly opens, and he steps out. “Callie, wow. I can’t believe—”
I rear my fist back and punch him square in the nose. “That’s for meddling with my life.”
“Jesus!” he howls, cupping his nose.
“You know, I thought you were my friend. But I guess I was wrong about you the whole time. Because a friend would have known my heart was with Easton. But instead, you selfishly took two lives into your own hands and single-handedly ruined what could have been a beautiful life.”
“Cal—”
“He was the only one I wanted. Ever. It would have always been him.”
I turn around and walk away, rushing down the stairs and cradling my fist. Fuck that hurt.
***
Two weeks later. . .
I roll over on my couch and grip my stomach. Maybe a career as a martini connoisseur is not in my future. Ever since recipe night, my stomach’s been in knots. The alien invasion in my belly is real. “Ugh,” I groan and sit up. My phone dings and I reach for it, staring at another text from Tory.
Tory: Dude, stop sulking. Wanna go out tonight?
Me: No. And I’m not sulking. I think I’m coming down with something.
I refuse to admit I may have poisoned myself with a bad martini mixture.
Tory: Still? You said that like a week ago. You can’t still be sick. You hungover? WTF You told me you weren’t drinking!
Me: I’m not. I haven’t had a sip in two weeks. I’m sore and can’t keep anything down. Probably have the flu or getting my period.
Which reminds me. . .
The last time I took my pills. I skipped a week, add those three days and, shit. . . whenwasthe last time I—
“No.” I quickly sit up. I search for my period tracker—“No, no. . .” This has to be wrong. I’m super careful with my pills.You mean the ones that were frozen shut in your car for a week?
Tory: Nice try. You can’t have the flu this long. And we’re on the same cycle.
Dare I ask when she got hers.
Me: I know. My boobs kill. I’ll probably get mine soon too.
We can’t be that off.
My phone rings. Shit. “What—”
“I ended my period last week. What’s going on?”
“Nothing. I just—”
“Haven’t gotten your period. Cal—”
“Jesus, I know! Stop.”
“You’re not—”
