I could throw that word right back because I overdeliver in the satisfaction department. Always.
“I’ve never tried to hide my intentions,” I say instead. This is absolutely true. I don’t lie about what I’m capable of. Though Ithink offering to kiss Meg in front of her ex at her dad’s retirement party might be getting pretty fucking close to the line.
“Good,” she chirps with a satisfied nod. “Don’t start.”
After following Annaleise out of the garage, I’m cramming the beers into the cooler when Trina squats down next to me.
“Did you get my voicemail? About the support group?”
I shoot her an icy glare. Behind her, propped against the wall talking to a guy I don’t know, is Stacy.
“I found more girls who want to come forward, and I’ve been raising cash for a lawyer,” Trina says, her tone turning urgent. “It’s gonna be a thing. Momentum, you know?”
This again.
She flips her hair. “We can bring them down once and for all. Together.”
I shake my head. “Do what you want. But leave me out of it.”
Her lower lip quivers. “You’re so selfish.”
Letting her down feels shitty, but I will not be bullied into joining her. Not when it will only lead to more suffering, and possibly danger. “I’m sorry.”
But she’s already hurrying off. Stacy and I lock eyes for an instant before she chases after her.
Chapter Thirteen
The throbbingin my leg and the soreness in my armpits intensifies as the night goes on but after beer pong, I’m pleasantly numb enough to stop caring. Linden has been careful not to drink too much. Or at least that’s what it looks like to me. He also keeps scanning the room when he thinks no one is watching.
What is he looking for? Is he hoping to cozy up to someone tonight? And how does that fit with him being my fake date for Dad’s retirement party?
If you’re a good girl I’ll pretend kiss you in front of your ex.
Imagining that kiss should not make my face buzz.
“So where do you fly?” the firefighter with the mustache asks me as our foursome leaves the game room. He told me his name but I’ve already forgotten it. Grant? Gary?
“Most of the time, Alaska,” I half-shout over the noise. “But Mexico sometimes. About twice a year, Asia.”
“Where’s your favorite destination?”
I reel back in mock disbelief. “That’s like asking if I have a favorite kid.”
His eyes tense. “You have kids?”
“No.” I focus on my three-point turn to get around the corner—it’s trickier than it looks. Especially when tipsy. “Do you?” I ask Grant/Gary.
“Nah,” he replies over the loud music and conversations.
Back at the keg, while Linden fills my cup, I’m scanning the kitchen for a stool or some place to sit down for a minute when the back door opens, bringing in a gust of cool air and two brawny-looking guys laughing about something.
Next to me, Linden stiffens.
One of the guys locks eyes with Linden, then he turns away with his friend and disappears down the hall.
Linden hands me my beer.
“You okay?” I ask.
