Chapter 1
CHAPTER ONE
BAILEY - BEFORE
I’m pretty sure there’s a scientific limit to how many times you can listen to your roommate fight with her boyfriend before you snap.
Like, literally snap—the kind that lands you on those I don’t know what happened, I was fine and then suddenly I was standing over her with a bloody knife shows where they interview your neighbors about how quiet and normal you seemed.
I think I’m approaching that breaking point.
“You’re sorry? You weren’t sorry when she sent you those nudes, were you?
” Layne paces our tiny dorm room, her side a wreck of everything she’s abandoned mid-crisis.
A mixture of half-eaten meals, inside out clothes, and textbooks she’s ignored for weeks, while I try my hardest to tune her out.
“Don’t you dare,” she continues into her screen.
Full volume speakerphone, of course. “No! You want to play like that? I’ll show up at her job and make her wish she wasn’t born! ”
Our episode of Snapped might be a double feature if I don’t intervene.
I toss my phone to the side and get up from my bed, closing the distance between us. She barely notices I’m beside her until I lay a gentle palm on her shoulder. “Hey,” I say in my most soothing whisper. “Just hang up. He’s an asshole.”
“Who’s that?” Clay asks, even though, to my dismay, he’s seen me every day this month.
Layne scoffs and points the phone in my direction. “It’s Bailey, dumbass. Who else would it be?”
“How am I supposed to know? I’m not there.”
I rub my temple, willing the forming headache to go away. I ran out of Advil and it just started raining. It would take a migraine of epic proportions to get me to leave my room and walk to the pharmacy tonight.
I don’t bother whispering this time. “Hang up. He’s not worth it.”
“Bailey says I should hang up on your sorry ass,” she repeats, her face getting progressively more red.
“Baby, please. I promise nothing happened. Let me come over there.”
I shake my head, mouthing the word no, and make the universal slashing my neck signal with my hand. It’s like one of those TV moments where the dog has to choose which owner he likes best. Will it be me or Clay?
Layne looks at me with wide eyes. Then she looks back at Clay, her expression softening as he begs and pleads. Then up at me again. I hold my breath, waiting on her to say something… anything.
Choose me. Hang up.
I’m practically chanting the words in my head.
“Bye, Clay,” Layne finally says before she hits the end call button. I sag in relief and blow out a stream of air.
“Yes, girl,” I say, squeezing her shoulder. “You don’t need him. Let him stay home tonight and stew.”
Silently, I’m thanking the universe for throwing me a bone. No Clay means maybe I can get Layne to relax, eat junk food, and watch a movie… without having to hear the two of them making out or more on her side of the room.
“You’re right. It’s just so hard. Why am I, like, programmed to accept his lying bullshit? Do you think it’s from childhood? My dad was kind of a dick to my mom.” She shoves a box out of the way with her bare foot and flops onto her unmade bed.
I haven’t started my psych classes yet and even if I did, she’d need someone much more experienced than me to analyze her.
“Maybe,” I say with a shrug. “I’m proud of you though. I know it’s hard to say no to him.”
She groans and grabs her pillow, clutching it to her chest. “Why does he have to be so hot? He looks at me with that stupid face and I want to forgive everything he’s ever done.”
Clay? Hot? He’s not my type.
“Let’s watch a movie and order some pizza,” I say, hoping to distract her. She rolls over and grabs her phone, tapping it to life. Her eyes gleam with that guilty look she gets when I catch her eating my last cheese stick. “No!”
I jump up and grab her phone. “Bitch, give it back. I wasn’t going to call him.”
“Layne Hailey Parks, you’re such a liar!” She reaches for it, but I straddle her and hold my hand up high.
“Get off,” she squeals, trying to buck me off. “I promise I won’t call him.”
I narrow my eyes. “Swear on something important.” She wiggles under me again. “You know I have an older brother who I wrestled all the time, right? I can do this all day.”
Finally, she goes limp. “Fine, I swear on my dead grandma that I won’t call him back.”
I lower the phone a few inches. “And…”
“And what? God, you’re like a fucking koala. How are your thighs this strong?” She grabs for the phone.
“And you won’t text him either,” I say.
With a huff, she agrees, so I drop her phone into her waiting hand before rolling off her, careful to avoid her sheets. She hasn’t washed those things since we moved in… there’s way too much Clay DNA on there.
“Good girl,” I say in a deep playful tone.
She snorts a laugh. “Oh my God, stop or you’re gonna make me fall in love with you.”
“Listen,” I say, plopping back onto my bed, and playing with a loose thread in my comforter. “You deserve to be called a good girl everyday. Just… not from me.”
We laugh for a good minute, my chest feeling lighter than it has all day. “What about you?” Layne asks.
“What?”
“Who’s calling Miss Bailey Shea a good girl?” Layne waggles her brows.
“No one,” I answer too quickly.
“Right,” she says with a snort. “That’s why you’ve checked your phone a hundred times in the last hour.”
I roll my eyes and drop my phone which I instinctively picked up as soon as I sat back on my bed. “It’s nobody.”
She sits up and levels me with a devious smirk. “Well, if that’s true, then you won’t mind going out tonight.”
I glance down at my baggy sweatpants and Ghostface T-shirt I’ve had since 10th grade. “Does it look like I want to go out? Plus, it’s raining.”
“Please,” she begs. “I need something to distract me. Or I can call Cla—”
“You promised. Swore on Grandma Parks. I can hear her now, rolling in her grave. She’ll haunt you to a life of stale desserts and decaffeinated coffee.”
“How could you bring up Grandma’s love of coffee and desserts in a time like this?”
“I hate Clay that much, that’s how,” I say, keeping my tone playful.
“Come on, Bails. It’s Friday night. You have the whole weekend to study and I know for a fact that they’re not checking ID’s tonight at Heat.”
“Yeah, ‘cause the creep who owns it is always in heat. The dude’s worse than a feral dog.” I laugh at my joke, but sadly, Layne does not. In fact, she stares at me with the most pathetic wide eyes.
“One drink and we can leave,” she pleads. “I promise I’ll stay with you all night.”
“Layne,” I groan. She hops off her bed and climbs onto mine, messing up the blanket.
“Please, I won’t bug you for the rest of the month. Just give me tonight. And I’ll do your hair and makeup.”
“Fine. One drink. And we’re stopping for Advil first. And you’re paying for the Uber.”
I’m such a freaking pushover.
“Anything else, your highness?” she asks in a terrible British accent, making my mind flash to the guy with the actual British accent that hasn’t texted me back all day. The guy I can’t stop thinking about.
I make a show out of pretending to think, until she whacks me with my pillow and shuffles to the closet, pulling out her shortest black dress. “Let’s make Clay and whoever the hell you won’t tell me about wish they weren’t assholes.”
“He’s not an—”
“AH-HA!,” she yells. “I knew there was a guy. That’s it, you’re telling me everything. Get over here and let me straighten your hair.”
“This is abuse. I’m going to find the RA. What was her name again?”
Layne’s too busy fiddling with her hair supplies to do anything but snort. I know when to relent, and right now, if I want any peace tonight I need to give her a tidbit. She pats the edge of her bed and I sit, pulling the scrunchie from my hair.
“Damn girl, your hair got long.” She runs the brush through my tangles, not as gently as I’d like. “Okay, you know I have no patience. Who’s the guy? It’s gotta be someone from back home.”
She snags a particularly bad knot and I wince. “I can do the brushing.” I try to grab the brush from her but she pulls it away. “This reminds me of being in kindergarten when my mom would do tight French braids because she was terrified of me coming home with lice.”
“Sounds traumatic,” Layne deadpans. “I had a bowl cut for kindergarten, so I win.”
“Oof.” I wince. “Yeah, that’s pretty bad.”
“Stop stalling,” she says. “The guy?”
With an exaggerated eye-roll, I grab my phone and swipe open my photo app. I have one picture of us from the summer. It’s not the best, but Leon’s smiling. A real smile that reaches his hazel eyes.
“This is him.” I show her my screen and she lets her hand drop, taking my hair with it. “Ow! Okay, I’m taking over the brushing.”
She grabs the phone, and zooms in on the photo. “This is the guy? This hot man right here?” Her voice could set a world record for highest octave.
“Yeah, that’s Leon.” I shake my head, holding back a laugh from how flabbergasted she looks. “What?”
“Bails, this is the hottest man I’ve ever seen holy fuck how could you have kept him from me?”
“Take a breath,” I say.
“I literally cannot. Tell me everything. Who is he? How? Why? What? Did you bang? Of course you banged. Was it good? Girl, I need details.”
What can I say without giving away too much? But really, she’s just Layne. It’s not like she knows Jasper or anyone from back home. And it’ll feel good to talk about him. It’s been kind of lonely holding in the fact that I fell in love this summer.
I tilt my head and pretend I’m thinking for an extra minute. Seeing her squirm is too much fun. When she threatens death by straightening iron, I finally give in and tell her the shortened version of my summer with Leon.
The best summer of my life.
We’re huddled under my umbrella, narrowly avoiding puddles until we reach the pharmacy.
Layne bolts over to the makeup section, while I read the signs to find the over the counter meds.
My headaches have only gotten worse in the hour it took us to get ready.
Layne’s screeching about Leon probably didn’t help.
The place is crowded, considering the weather.
Not just other students lingering around the snack aisles, but locals as well.
Couples and families, and a few people still in work clothes.
I guess everyone’s looking for a wild time.
Nothing says Friday night excitement like moderately priced laundry detergent and tampons.
I adjust my too short dress, one of Layne’s, and forge ahead, ignoring the stares from a group of guys I’ve seen on campus.
When I reach the med aisle, I scan the shelves for the cheapest ibuprofen they have. A notification sound from my purse distracts me. My stomach does a little flip of anticipation before I even look at the screen.
Leon: I’m so sorry I didn’t text you earlier… stuck in a study group all day. How’s my gorgeous firefly doing tonight?
I’m grinning like a fool in the middle of the aisle but I couldn’t care less. God, I miss him.
Me: Oh you know, taking full advantage of the college experience.
I snap a selfie and hit send.
Leon: Are those constipation medicines? I don’t know if we’ve reached that level of honesty yet, love.
Oh my God. I look up and yup, I’m standing right in front of a big bottle that says Bowel Buddy. Kill me now.
Leon: I’m joking. I think after the hot wing incident, we’ve surpassed all levels of intimacy. Also, you look stunning. Did the pharmacy require formal attire?
I’m about to type a response when someone bumps into my shoulder and I drop my phone.
“Shoot, I’m so clumsy,” the man says in a slightly accented voice. He has slicked back light hair and stinks of overpowering cologne.
I wave him off and carefully bend to pick up my phone so my entire ass isn’t on display, but he beats me to it. “Here, let me.”
He hands me my phone with a grin. Something about it makes my skin crawl, but I’ve been taught to be well-mannered. “Thanks.”
I turn back to the shelf, searching for the meds I need so I can get out of here. A few seconds later, his friend appears—tall, dark-haired, not bad looking but way older than me, and dressed in a suit. “You find the Benadryl yet?”
The light-haired man with the accent says something under his breath, but I can’t hear thanks to the PA system’s static-filled announcement about a sale in aisle three. Thankfully, they move to the other end of the aisle. I take a breath, and grab the ibuprofen.
Time to find Layne and get out of here.
As I pass by the two men, a security mirror mounted near the ceiling shows my reflection and theirs, watching me from the end of the aisle.
Why are men so damn creepy?
“Have a good night,” the first man says.
I offer a polite smile and nod before upping my pace toward the check out counter.
“What do you think of these lip colors?” Layne sticks out her forearm where lines of different lipstick shades paint her arm like stripes. “I can’t decide on dusty rose or mauve dreams. They say your perfect shade should match your nipples. I should check my phone, there’s definitely pics.”
“Uh huh,” I say, glancing over my shoulder at the two men who just joined the line.
“I guess I’ll buy both. Might as well. I have Clay’s card on my Apple Pay.
” Layne chats away beside me while I grab a water from the check out fridge and pay.
I barely take in what she says, between the pounding behind my eyes, the whoosh of the automatic doors bringing in cool damp air against my bare legs, and the leering gaze of the light-haired man.
I’m too distracted. I’d give anything to be back in my cozy bed.
A black SUV idles outside in the parking lot while we wait for our Uber.
Its windshield wipers are squealing louder than Layne’s chatter.
Through the tinted windows, I swear I can make out a pair of dark eyes watching us.
I’ve never been happier to get into an Uber by the time ours arrives ten minutes later.
Even so, the entire drive to Heat, I can’t shake that sketched out feeling. Before the night gets away from me, I text Leon back. He always makes me feel better.
Me: Grabbing a drink with Layne… wish me luck!