She shrugged, the motion tight. She seemed to be holding her breath.
“Gina and I have a lot of the same friends,” I told her. “One of them is throwing a party tonight. We go, we act like we’re fucking, and the gossip mill will do the rest. Gina will hear about it in minutes. That means Bank Boy will hear about it. Our work is done.”
She thought about it. She wanted to do it, but she was wavering. I could practically see the argument in her head. “I have to go to work tomorrow,” she said. “I can’t stay out late.”
It was Thursday. I always forgot, because I didn’t have a job. “No problem,” I said. “We stay just long enough to be seen.”
She was still wavering. “You can’t kiss me or grab me or anything,” she said. “You know, to make it look convincing.” She cleared her throat. “No making out.”
I put my hand to my heart. “No making out. I swear.”
“Then how will it look like—”
“Trust me,” I said. “We show up together, I tell them we’re dating, and it’s done.” I couldn’t resist. “Unless, you know, youwantto make out.”
“I do not,” she snapped. Then she ran a hand through her ponytail. “I can’t believe I’m considering this. A bunch of people will think we’re dating. It’s, like, a lie.”
“So? I’ll just wait a few days, then tell them you dumped me.” I leaned toward her a little. “When was the last time you went to a party, anyway? I told you, you’re missing out. You should try having some fun.”
For a second, something flickered in her expression. Temptation. And, I thought, familiarity. Good girl Evie had been to a party before. Maybe not recently, but she had. Maybe a lot of parties. And she’d liked it. Good girl Evie had maybe done a few bad things in her time.
Then she closed her expression off and put on her pinched, nice-girl scowl. “Fine, jerkoff,” she said. “I’ll do it. But just for revenge. And I’m bringing mace.”
“You really know how to show a guy a good time,” I said. “I’ll pick you up at nine.”
EIGHT
Evie
There was too much sunlight.
I rolled over in bed. I was warm and comfortable, but there was something… wrong about this bed. Something unfamiliar. I rubbed my aching head and stared up at the ceiling, which was also unfamiliar.
It was not my ceiling.
This was not my bed.
My breath stopped in my chest as everything came back to me.
Last night. The party. Oh, God.
It was in a big house, and there had been a lot of people there. Interesting people and great music. There had been fruity drinks, and then shots. New Evie never did shots, but Old Evie… Old Evie came out after the third fruity drink, and downed all of them.
The night had gone downhill from there.
Nick had looked hot as hell in jeans and a leather jacket. We’d acted like a couple, like we’d agreed to, sticking close, but he’d followed the rules. We played it just right, him leaning in to me, saying things in my ear, almost touching me, never going far. He’d introduced me to his friends, who had looked at me with raised eyebrows, because every single one of them knew who I was. Knew who I’d been dating until a few days ago.
It was perfect. We’d caused a quiet little sensation among those people. After the wound-up stress I’d been feeling, it was freeing, and I’d been excited and—okay—really turned on. And his friends were fun. And I’d had a few more drinks, and those shots, then we’d—and then we’d—
I sat bolt upright, making my brains slosh in my head. I was drunk last night, but not so drunk that I didn’t remember. I remembered everything. And Nick and I—
Oh, shit.
I looked around. I started with the window, which showed the sun just coming up. Then the floor, which was strewn with clothes—Nick’s jeans, his jacket, his motorcycle boots thrown in the corner. I very purposefully didn’t look at the body next to me on the bed. If I didn’t look, it wasn’t happening.
Quietly, I lifted the covers and peeked down at myself. I was wearing underwear and a T-shirt—Nick’s T-shirt. It was dark gray with a faded Harley-Davidson logo on the front. I remembered that too—spilling one of the fruity drinks on my shirt, so Nick had given me his to wear instead while he grabbed a shirt from the guy hosting the party. The fruity drink had soaked through the shirt to my bra, so I’d taken that off, too.
Yes, I had done that. I had taken off my freaking bra. At a party with a bunch of strangers and a hot, strange man. I could practically hear my mother screaming in the back of my brain.Not again, Evie!