"Are you asking permission?"
"Kinda."
"Are you going to fuck her?"
"No. I'm not into chicks. What if I was?"
I shrug, but I don't sell it.
"You know she's going to fuck someone else one day," she says.
"You have a point?" Irritation seeps into my voice.
Dean and Leighton exchange a look. Something about me. About how pathetic I am.
But I can't muster up any concern about that either.
They're right. I'm pathetic. I'm sulking instead of figuring this out. I'm giving into every ugly impulse in my head.
I need this to make sense.
How the hell do I do that?
"You know she's an addict," I say.
"Yeah, everyone at that party knows thanks to you. Which was a dick move, by the way. You know there are ways to have fun that don't involve drinking yourself stupid?"
"Enjoy it," I say.
"I will." She folds her arms. Stares back at me. "This isn't a bluff. I want to be her friend. And I want to take someone to eighties night."
"You know I'll always go with you, Leigh," Dean says.
"Someone who won't scare off every guy nearby," she says.
"You're breaking your dry spell?" He raises a brow. "You promised you'd put me at the top of the rotation."
She laughs. "I did not. And you don't even want to sleep with me."
"Babe, how could you say that?"
"You don't."
"You overestimate me."
"Not possible." She looks to me. "I am going to invite her."
"Good." But I don't sell that either.
Chapter Forty-Two
Iris
Why is it so purple in here? At least it suits Leighton's hair. It's this amazing silver-lavender color. It's so cool. She's so cool. Even right now, in this sweaty, all-ages club, she has this effortless air about her.
The same as Walker's.
Only with a lot more tough chick and a lot less surfer boy.