Page 53 of False Assumptions

Chapter Twenty-Three

Layla’s phone chirped. She’d turned the volume on just in case Evan actually called before she went to bed. She didn’t want to miss his call by having her phone on vibrate and not hearing it when she went to get a snack or something.

There he is, just like I expected.But when she picked up her phone, Alyssa’s name and number flashed on the screen. Weird. It was almost midnight. Alyssa didn’t usually call this late.

“Hey, Lyss. What’s up? Is everything okay?”

Alyssa let out a heavy sigh. “Hey, Layla. Not really. What are you doing?”

“Um, working on a paper for Monday.”

It sounded like Alyssa cursed, which was strange too. She didn’t normally curse unless she was really angry. Why would Layla writing a paper on a Friday night make Alyssa that mad? Sure, it was kind of lame, but if that’s what she wanted to do, wasn’t that her business?

Another sigh carried over the phone. “Pull up Facebook.”

Layla frowned, but did what Alyssa said. “Okay. It’s up.”

Seconds later, a message notification dinged and a chat window popped up on the bottom of the screen. The message was from Alyssa with a link to another Facebook post.

Layla chuckled. “Why are you messaging me on Facebook when we’re on the phone?”

But Alyssa didn’t laugh along with her. “Just open the link, Layla. You need to see this for yourself.”

Frowning again, Layla clicked the link. It took her to a picture of a party. Three girls were in three quarter profile with their backs to the camera and were holding their shirts up. Two other girls with their boobs almost spilling out of their tiny triangle bikinis bracketed two guys who had red plastic cups in their hands. One of them was the guy she’d seen talking to Evan tonight. Her breath froze in her chest when she focused on the other guy.

It was Evan.

“Motherfucking motherfucker. I knew it. I knew this would happen all along. Why did I let myself think otherwise? That charming fucking smile makes my brain turn to mush.”

Layla threw her car into park and grabbed the printout of the picture of Evan and his friend with a group of topless girls off the passenger seat. She slammed her car door and stomped up the stairs to his apartment, but she didn’t get the satisfaction of banging on his door. He opened it before she got a chance, his smile of greeting melting into concern.

She wrapped her anger around her like a shield. She couldn’t let that smile get to her.

After she’d seen the picture on Facebook last night, Alyssa had said, “I’m so sorry.” Layla had hung up after that, too numb to try to have a conversation. She couldn’t even process what she’d seen, so she’d gotten a drink of water and finished her paper. She’d been nearly done when Alyssa had called.

With that distraction out of the way, she’d clicked back over to the picture, staring at it for long minutes, studying it, trying to figure out a way for it not to mean what it meant. She couldn’t.

At first she’d blamed herself. She’d cried. She’d told him to go to the party. What did she think would happen? He flirted with everyone. Maybe not in front of her, but without her there, what would stop him? She’d overheard his conversation in the library with his friend. Not once had he said she was his girlfriend or that they were together. Nothing. He’d let the guy talk about her like she was just another piece of ass. A diversion.

So maybe that’s all she was. A diverse piece of ass. He wasn’t any better than Mark. Evan hadn’t really cared about her after all, either. She’d been delusional to think he was different. And now her eyes were open.

That was when her self-pity turned into anger. Anger that fed on itself and grew the longer she stewed. When he’d called an hour after Alyssa, she hadn’t answered. He’d sent a few texts, and he’d seemed sober both in those and in the voicemail he left. So she couldn’t even blame alcohol, not that that would make it much better.

She’d decided she needed to confront him. In person. Show him the proof of his transgression and kick his ass, at least verbally, before leaving and telling him to never contact her again. If they weren’t so far into the semester, she’d consider dropping World Lit so she wouldn’t have to see him again. Or telling him he had to. Why should her graduation plans get screwed up by him being a manwhore?

That had almost taken her back to self-recrimination again. Because she’d known he was that way from the beginning. That was why she’d hated him at first. Well, she could just go right back to hating him again. The last couple of months would be a blip on the radar. A brief respite in which she liked him—really liked him. In fact, she’d been almost ready to admit she loved him.

But no. She couldn’t love someone who did this to her.

So now here she stood in his apartment. She slapped the printout of the picture against his chest before he could say anything. His hand went up in reflex, trapping the paper. She tried to ignore the feel of his pecs, the electricity that still ran through her at the touch of his hand against hers. She didn’t have time for that.

Pulling her hand back, she gestured at the paper. “Care to explain that?”

His brows crumpled together, he looked down at the paper still trapped against his chest. He pulled it away, the confusion morphing into something like dawning realization.

She forced a harsh laugh. “Recognize it now?”

“Layla—“

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