Page 65 of I Knew You Were Trouble

Wooden doors that line the other side of the hall are closed. Laminated signs hang on each one, stating they are off limits. A real smile hits my lips at the bright blue she used. She seems to use blue for warnings, instead of the typical red or yellow.

I pass each door until I get to one that has the word “restroom” carved into the wood. The door is open a crack, light spilling out into the hallway. The sound of heavy breathing meets my ears, and I know it’s just a calculated breathing technique, but I’d recognize it anywhere.

I rap a knuckle against the wood and clear my throat. “Candace?”

“Uh… yeah?”

I nudge the door open further. “Can I come in?”

“S-sure.” Her voice cracks, and I push the door open with more gusto than I intended, and it bangs against the towel rack.

“Whoops.”

She waves it off, staring at the countertop. More specifically, an open beer sitting on the countertop. The condensation rolls from the neck and meets the marble.

“Whatcha doing?” I ask, the corner of my mouth lifting. I take a step toward her, my shoes thudding against the tile. The bathroom is bigger than my bedroom; it takes me a good five steps to get to her.

“Debating.” She doesn’t meet my gaze, and I get a better look at her face from the reflection in the mirror. Her eye makeup is heavier tonight but still pretty, black eyeliner framing those dark brown irises. Her eyes swirl with turmoil, her brow seemingly relaxed but giving twitches here and there. She’s going to bite a hole through that lip if she keeps gnawing at it.

I lean against the counter, my back away from the mirror to look at her more directly when she chooses to lift her gaze. My jacket rustles as I put my hands on the edge of the smooth marble, pulling open to reveal my blue Troublemakers uniform. I wish I had time to change, but I barely had time to sleep.

“What exactly are you debating?”

She takes a deep breath in and lets it out slowly. “If it’s worth it.”

I roll my hand to get her to elaborate. She finally meets my eyes.

“I always said I wouldn’t take a sip until I was twenty-one.”

“That sounds about right.”

She narrows her eyes, but I didn’t mean that in a bad way.

“You tend to stick to your guns,” I clarify. “So if you promised yourself you wouldn’t drink until it was legal, that seems like something you could handle.”

Her face softens for a brief moment, then she turns her gaze back to the beer bottle. “You don’t think it’s another fear I need to conquer? A rule I have to break?”

“No.” Not if she doesn’t want to. Especially not if she’s doing it just for him… or anyone else besides herself.

I push up on the counter, sliding back easily on the smooth surface until my shoulder blades touch the mirror. “Why the internal debate?”

She taps her nails against the marble. “Don’t bad girls drink?”

“Some do.”

“And the ones who don’t? Do they feel pressured to drink?” Her face falls slowly into an expression that kills me. I want to scream at her, take her by the shoulders and shake. I want to tell her to stop with the charade, to go after the changes she wants, not the ones she feels she has to do.

I grimace, a burning ember bursting to life and scorching up the back of my neck. I was a part of all this. It’s my damn fault for letting her believe she had to break rules to become desirable. And for what? Money?

What felt like a good, solid reason now feels so dirty.

“Would you date me?” she asks when I don’t give her an answer.

“If you drank?”

She nods.

“Yeah,” I blurt.

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