“An illusion.”
Corey laughs. “Maybe you do know your shit.”
Tyler hasn’t said much, but I turn to Corey. “So none of you have a girlfriend? You just upped and dumped them because of Brett’s say so?”
“That’s not—” Brett starts.
I hold up my hand and eye Corey.
“I dumped my last girlfriend before Brett ended things with Andrea,” Corey says. “I don’t need a girl to nag me to death about this or that.”
I nod slowly. Maybe because of his sister he doesn’t feel like he has time for a romantic girl in his life, just his sister. Damn, that’s sweet.
And Tyler… maybe his father hadn’t been as abusive until recently. Maybe the bruises were easier to hide, but with a girlfriend, if they have sex… well, if the lights are off… What could’ve changed to make his father so abusive?
As for Shane… I eye him, but he’s polishing off his plate with gusto, so I let him enjoy.
“See you all tomorrow,” Brett says.
The others all stand and say goodnight and leave. I stand and go to leave, too, but Brett grabs my wrist.
“What are you doing this weekend?” he asks.
“None of your business,” I snap, my buzz gone, my good mood evaporated away just like that.
“Don’t be like that,” he says.
“Like what? You think I’m going to spread my legs—”
“Are you going to take that apartment?” he asks.
“What apartment?”
“The one from the flier that I put in your locker.”
“You didn’t—”
“I did.” He releases my wrist and leans back in his seat.
I sit back down. “No, you didn’t. You only know about the flier because you grabbed it out of my hand.”
“I thought you might not accept the flier if I gave it to you outright.”
“So why tell me now that it’s from you?”
“Fucking wine,” he grumbles. He drains the rest of his. Again, it’s in a water glass. They’re all underage, even if they look like they could pass as twenty-one.
He expects me to believe that he’s had enough to drink that his lips wagged unintentionally? When Brett makes eye contact with me, I realize his eyes are a bit glassy from drink.
I swallow hard. “I might go check it out. Thanks.”
“Good.” He nods and stands.
“You aren’t going to drive, are you?” I ask as I get to my feet too.
“Aw, your concern is touching. I would’ve thought you would want me to smash my head on the pavement.”
“I don’t want you to die.”