“Elena is sweet when you get to know her,” Zadie said, fighting the good fight for me.
But Lachlan, beautifully dicked Lachlan, was having none of it. He’d formed his opinion of me at first sight, and nothing I or anyone else said could change it.
He chuckled dryly. “I wouldn’t use that word to describe her.”
“She’s hilarious as hell,” Theo added.
I always knew I liked that kid, even when I’d wanted to beat his head with a bat that one time he was an ass to Helen. Fortunately, he’d rectified it by worshiping the ground she walked on.
“I never said she wasn’t,” Lachlan said.
A few murmurs I couldn’t hear, probably from Zadie, then Amir spoke up.
“My girl says she’s sweet, then she’s sweet.”
Lachlan’s deep hum resounded through the darkness. “Fair enough. I know the kind of sweet she is. Grew up with it. She’s sweet like poison.”
Three things happened at once—because the universe and our electricity grid fucking hated me: I gasped at a volume that wasn’t the least bit discreet, the light flooded both me and the rest of the yard, and my sternum caved in from the force of Lachlan’s judgment.
Sweet like poison.
…like poison.
Poison.
They were looking at me. What a picture we were, all of us too stunned to move. Time suspended. Lachlan’s harsh words hung in the air like daggers poised to do serious damage.
Oh no, wait. Wrong metaphor. Lachlan’s daggers were fucking embedded in my skin. I was surprised by how much it’d smarted to hear him say that.
I would never let it show, though. With a nod, I turned on my toes and slowly walked back into my house, not missing Lachlan rising to his feet. As soon as I closed the sliding door, the floodlights clicked off, but I knew they could all still see me inside the kitchen.
My purse was on the table, so I set down my seltzers, opened it up, and pulled out my favorite pale-pink lipstick. Using my phone’s camera, I swiped it across my lips and smacked them together, then I slung my purse over my shoulder and headed toward the front door. Before I got there, it swung open, and Helen and Zadie crowded the doorway. Their faces were splashed with pity.
For me.
I could have screamed.
“Ele—” Zadie started.
I held up my hand. “I’m sorry I won’t be able to make it to your cute little shindig. I’m sure I’m missing the party of the century. It’s just that…well, I spent the day watching paint dry and I’d rather not have a repeat of that tonight. I’m going out.”
Helen crossed her arms over her chest, pity sliding into annoyance. “You don’t have to do that, act all tough like that didn’t bother you.”
I flipped my hair over my shoulder. “What would bother me about some overgrown, truck-driving lumberjack from god knows where calling me poison? It’s not like he knows me. I couldn’t give two shits about his opinion.” I started toward them, needing them to move before my frayed edges tore apart. “If you’ll excuse me, I have somewhere I’d rather be.”
Zadie stepped aside, but Helen parked herself right in front of the doorway.
“Dude, I don’t know what’s up with Lock talking about you like that, but no one else thinks that. If you heard him, I suspect you heard the rest of us. You’re not what he said, and I don’t know why the fuck he said that, but he’s categorically wrong.”
I threw my hands up. “Are you going to let me leave or not?”
Helen shrugged. “Not.”
Zadie moved next to her again. “You’re not leaving. The three of us live together, but it’s never just the three of us, is it? It’s time for a girls’ night.”
Helen held up a fat little joint between two fingers. “Does this entice you? There’s more where it came from.”
“I don’t want a pity party.” Even though I was feeling like a pitiful bitch, I did not want anyone to feel sorry for me. That would make me absolutely vomit all over the place.