Page 88 of Personal Foul

But somehow I don’t think she’d find the story of how Charity and I got together all that charming. In fact, I’m pretty sure she would call me a lot of unladylike names. And as much as I would love to unload all my secrets to my sister, I don’t think now is the time for that. So she’ll get the same edited story as everyone else.

“We actually went to high school together, but didn’t really hang out there. We reconnected when one of her friends was trying to hook up with one of mine. After seeing each other again and spending time together, one thing led to another, and here we are.” It’s pretty much the same story that Charity told her sister last night. It works, it’s simple, and it’s all true, even if it leaves out some of the larger details. ‘One thing led to another,’ is doing a lot of heavy lifting in that sentence. But if that’s the version Charity is comfortable with, that seems like the best version for the general public.

“She went to Skyline Academy, too? Would I have known her? What’s her name?”

“I doubt you would’ve known her. She was a freshman when you were a senior. Did you hang out with a lot of freshman your senior year other than me?”

She chuckles. “Okay, fine. I get your point. Does she have any older siblings I might know?”

“No. She has one older sister, but she’s several years older than you. And I’m pretty sure she went to a different high school.”

There’s muffled talking on Victoria’s end, like she’s covering the mouth piece of her phone while talking to someone else. Then she comes back on the line. “Hey, Dylan. I’ve got to get going. It was good talking to you, though. Let me know if you need any more help finding a dress for your date. If there’s nothing good there, send me her measurements, and I’ll have my stylist pull a few pieces for her to pick from when you guys get into town.”

“I doubt that will be necessary, but I’ll keep that in mind just in case. Thanks, Tori. Love you.”

* * *

Since it’s Friday, when I go to pick up Charity, she has a duffel bag in addition to her usual backpack, which she passes to me when she opens the door.

“Wait, wait, wait,” calls her roommate from behind her in the living room. “Hold up. If a man is coming to whisk you away for the weekend, he needs to come all the way inside first.”

Laughing, Charity steps out of the way and gestures me in. “Better come in for Isabelle’s inquisition, and then we can head out.”

I raise my eyebrows at her. “I’m whisking you away for the weekend?”

She shrugs. “You keep asking me to stay the night. I figured you’d ask again tomorrow. Might as well just plan for it and make life easier for both of us.”

Wrapping an arm around her, I pull her close for a kiss. “Sounds good to me. I like when you decide to make life easier for us.”

“Good.”

“Alright, alright. Enough, you two,” Isabelle says from beside us, waving us apart. “We can’t all be disgustingly happy lovebirds. I just need to have some words with this guy before I send my best friend off for days.” Crossing her arms, she gives me an intense glare. “Now. I need a picture of your driver’s license, the make and model of your car, and your license plate number. If you don’t know them, I can go outside and snap some pics, or you can write them down for me.” She holds out a pad of paper and a pen.

I glance at Charity, and she just smiles at me. “General safety protocols,” she explains.

“That way if you decide to axe murder my friend, I know where to point the police,” Isabelle adds helpfully.

My eyebrows climb higher, but I pull out my wallet and offer my driver’s license to Isabelle. “You think I’d wait for the weekend to do my axe murdering? Why wouldn’t I have done it at any point this week?”

She side-eyes me. “I know you think you’re being funny, but none of that is particularly reassuring.” She passes my license back after snapping pics of the front and back, then offers me the pad of paper again. I accept it to write down the rest of what she asked for. “And to answer your question,” she continues, “everything up until now could be an elaborate ploy to allay our suspicions. But our suspicions are not so easily allayed.”

“I’m picking up on that,” I murmur, handing back the paper and pen.

“Plus, waiting until Friday night means she won’t be missed until Monday morning.”

Nodding, I hold up a finger. “That’s true whether you have my license and car information or not, though.”

“True,” Isabelle concedes, “but I’ll also be checking in via text from time to time.” She looks at Charity. “If I text and don’t hear back within an hour, I’ll call, and if you still don’t answer, I’m calling the cops.”

“Fine. Just don’t text in the middle of the night. If I’m sleeping, I won’t answer, and I don’t want to be woken up by cops banging down the door.”

Isabelle holds up her hands. “I wouldn’t do that.” She gives Charity a hug, then pushes her toward the door. “Now you two disgusting love birds go have fun. I’m going to sit on my ass, watch movies by myself, and swipe guys on dating apps. Wish me luck!”

“Good luck,” I tell her, picking up Charity’s duffel bag.

“Aww, thanks. If you have anynon-douchey friends, I’m also fine with setups.”

Laughing, I tell her, “I’ll keep that in mind.” I also make a mental note to be sure to tell Andrew she thinks he’s a douche now.

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