Page 6 of I Knew You Were Trouble

I sigh and shake my head. Always a stickler. “Maybe closing early when there is no one in the arcade can be your next thing.” I wave my hand around the empty arcade, then hop over the counter and start shutting it down. Time for easy cleanup and a nice long ride on the bike. Unlike her, I don’t have a bedtime.

Candace

I roll over in my comfy queen bed with 1200 thread count Egyptian cotton sheets. My alarm clock says 10:13, and I’m nowhere near sleep. My mind better shut the heck off if I’m going to be asleep by 10:30.

I roll to my back and stare at the ceiling, blowing out a long breath. My fan rotates in the corner, even though it’s the dead of winter. It’s easier to sleep with the white noise and bundle up under a thousand duvets than to hear the endless quiet of my house.

I have my own place—kind of. I mean, Dad technically owns it. And it’s on his property. Like his backyard.

But when I graduated high school I said, I need independence! And he offered me the guest house at the Indiana farmhouse we use for about half the year. It was tempting. Too tempting. And I’m weak and frail and scared to death about being on my own.

But I was determined to have the same college experience as someone who didn’t grow up with all that I did, which is why I applied at Troublemakers and pledged as many sororities as I could and took the maximum amount of classes available for my major.

Freshman year I spent by my lonesome. No sorority accepted me, and the classes became way too overwhelming with my job on top of it. I wasn’t able to keep my sleep schedule, and I was crab-tac-ular on my best days and a downright…b-word… on my worst.

When enrollment came around again, I bit the bullet and transferred my credits to art school instead. My parents are supportive as heck, and they backed me up completely… and financially.

I’ve heard it my whole life—spoiled, privileged, trust-fund baby. I’m not insane enough to argue the point, and I may be a bit naïve. It does put a hitch in making friends sometimes.

Speaking of friends, I frown at the thought of trash talking one of them tonight. My tongue was a rabid dog, taking off and biting at whatever it could to make a connection with Zach. (Mmmm, Zach…) In the process, I’m pretty sure I called my best friend in the world dumb.

Guilt pops its head up like a meerkat in the corner of my mind. Yep, it’s definitely the guilt that’s keeping me from my perfect sleep schedule.

I push up on my elbow and flick the horse-carved lamp. The entire house is a combination of rustic cabin and modern mansion, and it’s the best inspiration for my off-kilter style of art. My gold iPad sits neatly next to my phone, both of which are on the charging station. I take the iPad, preferring to work with that at night and my phone during the day. They equally need to be used so I can justify owning both.

After using my thumbprint to unlock it, I tap my way to Amber’s message feed.

Hey,

I need to apologize to you. I was trying to impress a guy tonight, and I may have said you were dumb, and I didn’t mean to, but I did, and I’m so sorry. Please forgive me.

I miss you. Hope we can get together soon.

Candace

I read it over to check my grammar and correct any autocorrect blunders. Once it’s perfect, I nod once and send the apology off with a whoosh. A sigh of relief escapes me, and I tap the edges of the iPad while I wait for her response, refreshing every few seconds. (Okay, exactly every fifteen seconds.)

Two minutes and forty-five seconds later, I refresh to her response. My heart thuds uncomfortably, my eyes narrowing at the three laughing faces. There’s nothing else.

Why are you laughing at me? I AM sorry.

I refresh some more, and it’s only thirty more seconds this time.

Was he impressed? ;)

Not at all.Boy was he not impressed by me. He probably thought I was on something.

Too bad. Throwing a friend under the bus and not even a phone number.She sends more laughing faces before another message comes in.Look, we’re good. I’ve called you much worse behind your back. ;)

Like what??

I’m kidding! Relax, Candace. I’m not mad, and don’t beat yourself up about it. I am dumb sometimes. You can sleep easy. I mean, you’re bed time is in ten, right?

I grimace at the message.*your

GO TO BED, GRAMMAR POLICE. Love ya!

A small chuckle rumbles my lips, and I exit our chat. 10:21, and my mind is not any more de-cluttered. Amber didn’t give two fluffs about what I said, and she never would’ve known if I hadn’t said anything. And why did I have to message her? Guilt? Why did I feel bad? How dare I say something negative about anyone, ever.

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