“You should stay away from them, Stassie. They’re bad news. You don’t always have to go where Sabrina tells you to, y’know.”
The words are on the tip of my tongue, but I swallow them down, desperate to not ruin what’s otherwise been a great day. “Okay.”
I don’t bother telling him I’ll be spending the evening with the exact people he wants me to avoid. Despite not wanting to spend time with me himself, he won’t want others to either.
“I’m trying to look out for you, Stassie. I care about you. We’re partners, that goes beyond skating. I know you’d do the same for me.”
I make allowances for Aaron, desperate to cling to those lovely moments we share. He does care about me, and he does care about Sabrina. But sometimes, like now, he says something that makes me question his real motives.
There are times when the idea he’d say anything bad about either of us feels impossible. When he’s fiercely loyal and protective, without being toxic, and when the three of us are tucked up together in our living room, watching movies and laughing.
Then there are times like now when the nasty streak he has seeps through the cracks. Sometimes it comes so out of nowhere it feels like whiplash, making me wonder if I know him at all.
I wait for the car to stop outside our building before leaning over to hug him. “I care about you, too, Aaron.”
* * *
I’m half-readyby the time Sabrina bulldozes her way into my bedroom, hopped up on beer and Jolly Ranchers.
“I love hockey!” She looks the part in her Allali jersey and Titans beanie, and I’m a little jealous I didn’t get to go. “Not as much as I love figure skating, obviously,ya ahla superstar. But hockey has more drama; it was like an opera, but with sticks. I’m obsessed.” She looks around, realizing I’m the only one home. “Where’s the ice princess?”
“Drinks with friends. I asked him if he wanted to grab dinner with me, but he said no. Oh, and hockey guys suck, and I don’t have to go where you tell me to, which is great news.”
“Ya Allah.” She groans, throwing herself on the couch beside me. “I swear, that boy is so dramatic. We’re going to The Honeypot, we’re not getting married.”
The Honeypot is the most popular nightclub in Los Angeles. It’s super exclusive; we only get in because Briar, our neighbor, works there. Sabrina made it her mission to befriend her when she found out we live in the same building.
Brin hates working out. No, that’s an understatement. Brin despises working out with her entire being, but she went to the gym every day until she’d charmed Briar.
She was candid about her motivations from the beginning, and luckily, Briar thought it was funny. Every time we’re at the club, Brin makes me buy her a drink to thank her for her sacrifice.
“No wedding? So, I shouldn’t wear my bridesmaid dress?” I tease, poking her in the ribs where she’s ticklish.
“Don’t!” she begs, rolling away from me. “I’m too full of beer to be prodded.” Stretching out, she kicks off her sneakers and reaches for the blanket draped over the back of the couch. “As soon as I’ve had a micronap, I’ll start getting ready. I swear.”
Sabrina’s micronap turned into a real nap, and I’ve been listening to her run around the apartment cursing, frantically trying to get ready, for the past forty-five minutes.
She’s blaming me, but she doesn’t remember the abuse she hurled my way each of the five times I tried to wake her up.
I’m alone with my thoughts while I wait, and I can’t escape the realization that I’m nervous about seeing Nate. He had Robbie text Sabrina this morning to pass on a good luck message, which was sweet of him.
It’s time for us to bury the hatchet. He’s clearly a good guy, like everyone has told me he is. Now I’ve had a week to process it, I don’t feel embarrassed about my lack of willpower last week.
We’re both adults. Sometimes adults let other adults prove they don’t need navigation tools to find a G-spot. It’s normal.
“Okay, I’m ready!”
Sabrina looks unreal in a black, strapless, corseted Max Morgan midi dress. It’s her go-to when she doesn’t know what to wear; she says she needs to get her money’s worth since it costs so much. She bought it last year during a rare trip to Rodeo Drive. It’s beautiful, but her dad was not pleased when he received her credit card bill.
Her chestnut brown hair is pin straight down her back, a contrast to her normal curls, and she’s framed her honey-brown eyes with a perfect winged eyeliner. Her golden-brown skin is glowing as she rubs in the last bit of shimmer. Looking up at me, she smiles. “I know I’m hot, but we need to leave. Steve has already been waiting five minutes.”
Walking across the lobby to our waiting Uber, Sabrina giggles to herself, which is always suspicious. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“Sabrina…”
“Just wondering if you’re going to keep it in your pants tonight, but I realized you’re not wearing any anyway.”