Chapter 2
NOW
Paloma
The cold night air bites at my cheeks harshly instead of relieving my overheated skin like I’d hoped it might.
“You sure you don’t need a ride?”
I’d rather gouge my eyes out with my dull kitten heels.
“I’m fine, thanks,” I say, pretending to search for my keys while keeping a close eye on the man just feet away. Saying I’m scared wouldn’t be correct. I’m just cautious. Aware. I’ve seen enough of the malice of ordinary men that I don’t underestimate any of them.
“You did well, Ms. Blake,” he praises me. I let it bounce off me easily. He might as well have said, You didn’t scream when I put my hand on your thigh beneath the table. This was supposed to be a job interview, not an hour for him to openly leer at me. “We’ll be in touch.”
“Great.”
I hope I never see him again.
Frustrated and still a bit shaken up by the whole thing, I pretend to text on my phone and walk into the still-open Thai place next door, just to wait for my rideshare away from him.
The low ambient lighting of the modern interior is warm and comforting. The place is mostly empty this late—except for one booth near the back filled with two couples I recognize.
Sadie Brown and Rhys Koteskiy, across from Ro Shariff and Matt Fredderic.
You have got to be kidding me.
I don’t chance asking myself if this night could get worse—there’s always room enough for that to happen—but instead duck down a little ridiculously, hoping they haven’t seen me as I squeeze back out into the frigid air.
My stomach rolls. Maybe from the constant tossing as I tried to nibble on bread through the interview, desperate to get out of there. The meeting was supposed to be a dinner with several of the hiring committee, but that didn’t happen; now I’m starving and cold.
But it’s most likely the sight of the two happy couples sharing warm food and laughing without a care in the world.
Why does she get to move on? Why can’t that be me?
I attempt to shut down the ridiculous whiny train of thought before it can devour me or send me spiraling out of the controlled existence I’ve been working toward.
Sadie was the other half to my bad decisions junior year.
I’d seen her before, at parties or in passing: a figure skater by day and a girl with a bit of a reputation by night.
She had a penchant for athletes as much as I did, which meant we often ran in the same circles on accident. It wasn’t hard to switch to on purpose.
It was less lonely, for both of us.
I heard what people called us. Cleat or jersey chasers, puck bunnies . . . endless names for both Sadie and me. We didn’t let it bother us.
Though I did punch someone once for calling her a whore.
Once upon a time, we’d been close, thick as thieves, flouncing through frat house parties side by side. Sadie had my back, even if we’d never been actual friends.
But then, last semester, she and Rhys Koteskiy found each other. I figured it would be brief—the girl never did much beyond quick hookups or friends with benefits—but . . . they just stayed. Together. Happy. And despite all her usual hang-ups concerning relationships, she seems content.
There’s a flash then, of tangled wet hair, of calloused hands carefully scrubbing every piece of sand off my skin. A big, warm sweatshirt and a handful of cheese crackers pressed to my lips as I doze off slowly on a soft chest.
Stop it. I shake my head, refocusing on the couples in the window.
Rhys tucks an arm around Sadie’s shoulders and brings her closer, pressing a soft kiss to her temple before grasping her chin to direct her eyes to his. She softens for him, the angry figure skater I’m so used to gone beneath the care of the campus golden boy.
Jealousy wriggles in my gut like a fish out of water.
Sadie was stressed. She just needed help. You can’t be fixed.
The reminder strikes between my ribs, but I find my balance and force myself to the car now waiting for me outside in the cold, alone.