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I’m focused on her.
“Cassia, I need to talk to you.”
She’s not paying me any attention. Ignoring the urgency in my voice that’s lost in the commotion around us.
“Hey, Brooks,” she greets, smiling at him. “Finn just mentioned you were here.”
The blonde—Bailey—is looking this way.
Walking this way.
I can’t believe this is happening.
It’s one of those terrible moments where everything is happening in slow motion, but you can do nothing to stop it.
I’m still planning to tell Cassia about the drunken mistake that was last weekend. But Ihaven’t. I’ve put it off and allowed interruptions because I never foresaw this situation. I knew it would look bad—the longer I didn’t tell her.
The test results are supposed to come back next week, and I was waiting to lump it all into one sucky conversation.
To explain the entire situation at once.
Why I was in Pembrooke.
Why I was so upset that night.
What my choice is. Either I’m not a match and my mother will most likely die, or I am a match and I’ll have an impossible decision to make.
Knowing the blonde’s name.
Having her here—in the same house as my girlfriend—means my time has whittled down to nothing.
I waited to tell Cassia so I could share the full story, and now I don’t even have that. I just waited to tell her, and that makes a bad situation look even worse.
Brooks glances over at me. He’s the only one who has any clue what’s about to take place. His expression is caught somewhere between distaste and pity, like a judge handing down a guilty verdict.
“So this is where you guys all went off to. Stick around so a girl can get her bearings next time, huh?” The sound of her voice grates my ears, like nails screeching on a chalkboard.
“What happened to Kayla?” Finn asks.
I guess he knows her too.
Bailey shrugs, then tosses her hair over one shoulder. She’s wearing a tight, short dress meant to draw attention. The nearest group of guys are all laser-focused on her ass.
Her eyes settle on me. “Nice to see you, Holden.”
I want to walk away, but I force myself to stay still and simply nod. I feel Cassia’s eyes on me.
“I didn’t know you guys knew each other,” Finn says, glancing between me and Bailey. He’s drunk or oblivious or both.
“We don’t, really. He just spent a Friday night in my bed.” Bailey smirks, then takes a sip from the cup she’s holding.
Cassia stiffens beside me.
I want to punch something.
Finn scoffs. “What the hell are you talking about? Holden wouldn’t—” Then he catches a glimpse of my face, which must convey that Iwould, that Idid, and he finally shuts up.
“Excuse me,” Cassia says. Then walks off.
