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Those awful girls grin like the cats who got the cream. “Great. We'll see you tonight.” Slipping her phone out of her pocket, Maybe Bea holds it out towards me.“Give me your number so I can text you the details.”
Lu barely manages to contain her snort, and I once again have to tighten my grip on her; this time, to prevent her from clawing Bea’s eyes out.
Instead of my number, I give her a dismissive look. “You have my girl's number. Text her.”
* * *
“We do not have to go.”
I shoot Luna a look. Considering we're already standing outside the restaurant, I think it's a bit late for that.
“We could just leave,” Luna tries again. “No one's seen us yet.”
“If you wanna leave, we can leave.” It’s an empty offer; I know we’re not leaving. Not when there’s probably a bet going on us ditching.
Like I knew she would, Luna inhales deeply, setting her shoulders before taking my hand and leading me inside. “We go straight to the bar, okay?” she mutters, anxiously looking around the room in search of her so-called friends. “We go straight to the bar, we take at least five shots, and then we find them.”
It's a good plan. Or at least, it would be if there wasn’t a fatal flaw. If two of New York’s most vapid inhabitants didn’t have their eyes fixed on the entrance, spotting us as soon as we appear.
“You came!” Eva and Bea rush towards us, wrapping Luna in a dramatic hug and shooting each other oh-so-subtly surprised glances.
I, unfortunately, get a hug too. An over enthusiastic one that lingers, accompanied by chirping in my ear about how Luna ‘'bagged a hottie.' When they finally let me go, I take a generous step back, purposefully angling myself behind Luna, wrapping my arms around her waist and tugging her back against my chest.
Rude and Ruder pause, their perfectly fake expressions fumbling for just a second before they fix their faces and simultaneously coo over how cute we are.
Again, I find myself thinking about how much I hate them. The way they're looking at Luna, the way they're looking at me, the way they're looking at each other, I hate it. I can't imagine Luna ever being friends with them, ever being like them.
Luna's a lot of things, but mean? Cruel? Duplicitous? Never.
I keep a strong hold on Luna as the girls guide us to our table. We’re almost there, just a few steps from the beginning of the end, when she suddenly freezes. Slowly, she lifts her chin to look up at me, a grimace already twisting her face. “I am so, so sorry.”
She doesn’t get a chance to explain why, and I don’t get time to ask. A second later, someone hollers her name. “Luna! There's my girl!”
My girl?
Before I can process anything, Luna is wrenched from my grip and tugged into the arms of someone else. Stiff as a board, she casts a muted smile at the vaguely familiar guy pawing her but he doesn’t see it.
He’s too busy grinning at me.
“Nice to see you again, Oscar.”
It takes me a second to place him.
Owen.
The guy who called me Thanksgiving weekend. Who I only spared a ‘quick’ hello when he let me into his house before darting upstairs to find Luna.
I probably should've guessed he'd be here. I can easily guess who orchestrated his presence. What I couldn't have guessed though is that he'd be looking at Luna the way he's looking at her right now when I'm standing right fucking here. Not quite as predatory, more appreciative, but still entirely unwanted.
“Damn.” He lets out a whistle. “Looking good, sugarplum.”
Sugarplum?
Oh, you've got to be fucking kidding me.
I’m about to make a territorial fool of myself when Luna saves me from that fate. She untangles herself from Owen and steps back into my grip, guiding my arm around her waist and squeezing my forearm. “Thanks.”
It’s quick, the flicker of annoyance, on Owen’s face, but I see it. Luna sees it, and she tilts her head back to grimace at me again. Shaking my head—don’t worry about it—I dip to kiss her before nudging her toward the table.
