Taylor drops my hand. Shit.

“Fuck you, asshole. Get lost.” I give Kai’s chest a shove and then try to reach for Taylor again.

“I’m gonna go,” she says hastily.

“Please. Just wait for me, T. I’ll go with—”

“Aww, come on, baby, I’m just messing with him,” Kai shouts after Taylor, but she’s already gone.

A red haze washes over my field of vision. “Listen to me,” I growl. I put one hand on Kai’s shoulder and force him between the bar and the wall. “We’re not friends. We aren’t anything. Stay the hell away from me.”

“So your fake ass got a little money now and a fancy school and you forget all about your real friends, huh? You’re still a poser, Con. I know where you come from and I know who you are.”

“I’m not messing around, Kai. You come near me again and see what happens.”

“Nah, man.” He pushes my hand away and squares up to me. At barely 5’9” he doesn’t even reach my shoulders. “You and me got history. I know things, remember? Like who helped someone break into your step-daddy’s mansion and trash the place. You don’t get to wash your hands of me that easy.”

I want to fucking hit him. For finding me. For dragging his drama back into my life. For reminding me I’m still just a punk piece of shit pretending to fit in with the fancy kids we used to make fun of.

But I go after Taylor instead.

17

Taylor

I feel like such a jackass.

Taking refuge from the throbbing music and pulsating lights down a hallway outside the restrooms, I press myself into a corner and try to take a deep breath. It’s too hot in here, too crowded. This place is pulling the air from my lungs.

What the hell was I thinking letting Summer talk me into borrowing this stupid dress?

And the hair.

The makeup.

The silver stilettos.

This person isn’t real. She isn’t me. Sure, it seemed worth it to see the look on Conor’s face when he spotted me across the room. But even a good disguise can’t hide what I am: a joke. Conor’s charity case.

He’s just too kind to see it.

“Fuck, Taylor. I’m sorry.”

Speak of the well-meaning devil. My head lifts as Conor shoves past the men stumbling toward the restroom and comes to a stop in front of me.

There’s real panic in his eyes. Whether it’s due to me or whoever that guy was back there, I don’t know. And I’m too tired to care. I’m all out of fight. None of this is his fault, but I just can’t pretend anymore.

“I want to go,” I tell him frankly.

He hangs his head. “Yeah, okay. I’ll get us a ride back to the hotel.”

It’s a quiet trip. With every minute I feel the gulf between us widening, feel myself shutting down.

My mistake was letting myself believe I didn’t care—about him, and the fact that our silly arrangement was always going to be temporary. I don’t know how sticking it to Abigail turned into me following him six hours to Buffalo, but it’s my fault that I let it happen. My mom didn’t raise me on fairy tales and I was stupid for falling for my own ill-conceived ruse.

“I’m sorry,” Conor says again when we reach my hotel room. His expression reflects my own loss for words. He doesn’t have to say it—we both know this whole thing blew up in our faces exactly the way it was always meant to. “Can I come in?”

I should say no and spare myself the torment of an extended “it was nice knowing you.” I’m weak, though. Reluctant to lose the friendship we’d only just repaired, and disappointed that I wasn’t brave enough to stand up to Abigail that very first night. If I had been, I would’ve saved myself the heartache and humiliation now.

“Yeah,” I murmur, unlocking the door. “Sure.”

Inside, I kick off my new heels, grab a six-dollar bottle of water from the mini bar and start chugging. When I turn around, Conor’s on the queen-sized bed, pillows arranged to form a barrier beside him.

A smile almost springs free as I remember how I did the same thing the night we met, arranging Rachel’s stuffed animal collection on the bed between us.

“Will you sit with me?” His tone is rough, lacking its usual laidback inflection.

I nod. Only because my feet hurt and I’m too self-conscious standing there on display for him.

“You’re upset,” he begins. “And I know why.”

I stretch out on the other side of the pillow wall, my short dress riding up to reveal way too much thigh. I feel sweaty and tired and I’m sure my hair is a wild mess of tangled waves. So how is it that Conor still looks fresh as a stupid daisy in a charcoal button-down over a black T-shirt and dark jeans?

“That guy back there is a total idiot, and you shouldn’t waste a second worrying about the dumb shit that comes out of his mouth,” Conor says. “It wouldn’t have mattered who was standing next to me, trust me. Kai would’ve found a way to insult them. He picked on you because he knew it would get a rise out of me.” I hear him sigh. “That’s not fair to you. It’s fucking mean and I’m sorry it happened, but please don’t let this ruin your weekend.”

“He hit on the one nerve,” I find myself whispering.

“I know, babe. And if you knew him like I do, you would’ve stabbed him in the nuts with one of those heels and gone on about your life without a second thought.”

“Shit.” I breathe out a sad laugh. “Why didn’t I think of that?”

“Because you have tact.”

I give him a sideways look.

“Most of the time,” he says with a smirk. “My point is, forget about what that asshole said. You look amazing tonight.”

“You always say that.”

“It’s always true.”

A blush rises to my cheeks. I hate how easy it is for him to do that, to get a physical response out of me.

I take one of the pillows from the barrier and hug it to my chest. “Who is he to you, anyway? A friend from California, I take it?”

Conor’s head falls back against the headboard as he lets out another long sigh. I wait, watching the story play out across his face, as if he’s deciding how much to tell me.

“Kai was my best friend growing up,” he finally reveals. “Back in my old neighborhood. We’d skateboard together, surf, smoke weed, whatever. When my mom got married and we moved to Huntington Beach, I’d still see him now and then, meet up to surf, but it’s hard when you’re not attending the same school anymore, you know? So we drifted apart. By college, I’d stopped returning his texts and that was pretty much it.”

I don’t know Conor well, certainly not well enough to have any read on his relationship with Kai. But I think I’ve spent enough time with him recently to know when he’s holding something back. There’s a wound there, something deep. Whatever it is, it’s a step too far to let me see it.

“You’re not convinced he tracked you down just to say hi, huh?”

“Not a chance.” There’s an edge to his voice. “I’ve known Kai most of my life. He’s never not been up to something.”