The field around the bonfire is packed tight with seniors who are going to be painfully hungover for their graduation tomorrow. I weave through their gyrating bodies, careful to dodge the cups of beer. I’m going to kill Veronica when I find her. She’s lucky it’s against Council law to attack another witch.
I’m almost to the back of the crowd when I hear her voice, low and sharp as she speaks to Savannah. I squeeze past the edge of the crowd and spot them.
Savannah leans against a tree and reaches for Veronica’s hand. “Come on, Ronnie,” she soothes. “After what she did to you? She deserved worse.”
Veronica hisses something in response, but I can’t make out her words.
My throat closes, and I see red. I am fire—pure passion and perfect aggression. All the frustrations from the shop today crackle inside, ready for a fight. Savannah sees me first. A smug look pulls at her purple lips, the color bold and sophisticated against her skin tone. Veronica turns, eyes flashing in the moonlight. She wipes her face free of expression, settles on her perfect mask.
Just seeing her, watching her as she watches me, makes my skin flush hot. I wish, not for the first time since we broke up, that I could forget how good it feels when her body is pressed against mine.
“What the hell is your problem, Veronica?”
Veronica drains her cup and passes it to Savannah. “Could you grab me another drink? I think Hannah needs a word.” She stares at me the whole time she speaks, like she’s watching to see how mad I am, to see how far she can push until I lose all sense of myself.
Times like this I can’t believe we ever dated.
Savannah glances between us, the victory vanishing from her eyes. She takes Veronica’s cup and stalks off toward the kegs.
Veronica raises a brow in mock concern when her friend is out of earshot. “Is something wrong? You look a little pale.”
“You know exactly what you did.”
She tilts her head. “I haven’t done anything.”
“Okay, fine, you had your little Reg friend do it.” I snort when she still looks confused. She’s actually going to make me say it. “She told Benton to ask me out. Lied and said I’m bisexual to convince him to do it.”
Veronica examines her manicure. “There’s nothing wrong with being bi, Hannah.”
“I never said there was. But I’mnotbi.You had no right to lie about that.” My whole body shakes as I stifle the screams bubbling up inside. But Veronica just stands there, smug. “Why are you doing this? What could you possibly gain from making my life miserable?”
She glances up, and I swear she looks sorry. Almost. “I don’t want you to be miserable.” Veronica peers out over the crowd of dancing teens. “But you’re a cute girl. You have to learn to deal with guys coming on to you.”
“Excuse me?”
Veronica steps closer until she’s towering over me. “Isn’t being single the worst?”
And there it is. Dangling in the air between us.
A humorless laugh pushes through my chest. “Is that it then? You’ll make single life so miserable that I’ll run back to you?”
“You and I were good together, Hannah.” She brushes a lock of hair behind my ear and trails her fingers down my neck, my arm, raising goose bumps all the way to my wrist. Which is not helping. “It doesn’t have to be over between us.” She wraps her arm around my waist, pulling me forward until our bodies are flush.
My skin burns, and I’m tingling all over.
Until I recognize her touch, her possessiveness, as the same controlling bullshit that ended us in the first place.
I push Veronica away, stepping back until the cool air swirls around me. “Don’t. Just don’t. This is your fault, and you know it.” I reach into my pocket and grip the keys resting there. I need to find Gemma and get the hell out of here.
Veronica glares at me. “Rewrite our history all you want, but you broke up withme.”
“Like you gave me a choice! What did you expect me to do? Go on like everything was normal? Pretend New York never happened?”
“Yes! It was one bad weekend, Hannah. You didn’t even give me a chance to explain.” She’s close now, shouting inches from my face. Heads turn in our direction. Judging glances. Curious stares.
“I don’t want to fight about this every time I see you.” My voice is hardly more than a whisper, but I know she can hear me. The air between us tells me she’s barely breathing. “I want to move on with my life.”
“Fine.” The word lands like a slap to the face. “Take responsibility for the breakup and this stops.”
