Page 62 of Quarantine Crush
“You have to forget about how he feels and think about what you deserve. You deserve better, Em.”
Something about Taylor’s quiet words strikes a chord deep within me. For the last three years, I’ve been so worried about Knox’s feelings that I neglected my own. No more. I straighten my spine and push up from the toilet.
“I’m gonna need some more wine.”
“Hell yeah, you are,” Hadley cheers.
“And chocolate. Lots of chocolate.”
“I’ve got you covered, girl,” Nina says, whipping out her phone.
We say our goodbyes, and I march out of the bathroom. The ridiculously tight jeans and uncomfortable bra I’m wearing are the first to go. I rummage through my closet until I find my favorite sleep shirt. I swiped it from Taylor’s big brother when we all went to see him play in his final college football game a few years ago. The Penn State tee is ridiculously soft and emblazoned with their last name, Mulroney, across the back.
I slip it on sans bra and stride back out to the bedroom. My phone pings, and I glance down to see a text from Nina, telling me that wine will be delivered to my door in forty-five minutes. Good thing I have one last bottle already chilling in the fridge. With determined strides, I pull open my bedroom door and storm down the hallway.
“Emy?” Knox calls from the living room. “Can we talk? Please?”
I ignore him, continuing to the kitchen, and rummage through the fridge. I grab the bottle of wine and a couple of pieces of string cheese. That’s right. I’m a classy bitch. I eat cheese with my wine. Then, forgoing a glass because fuck it–apparently, I’m also a pirate–I slam the door and turn to head back toward my room. I stop when I realize that Knox is standing in the kitchen doorway, his broad shoulders taking up too much space for me to slide by without touching him.
“I’m sorry, Emy. I know I fucked up. Please talk to me,” he says, his eyes pleading. “I never could stand it when you were mad at me.”
“I’m not mad at you,” I say, and I’m proud that the words sound strong and clear.
“You’re not?” he asks, his eyes brightening with hope.
“Nope,” I say, shaking my head. “I’m mad at me because I should have given up on you a long time ago. I have no one to blame for this heartbreak but myself.” His face falls, and I push past him and storm back down the hall. I slam my bedroom door and tell my smart speaker to turn on Truth Hurts by Lizzo. Then, I uncap my wine and lose myself in the song.
An hour later, I’m sufficiently buzzed and sweating from too much twerking. What can I say? Club PJ, as I am now calling my bedroom, is lit. The doorbell rings, and I pause mid-hip shimmy. Shit. Hopefully, it’s not one of my neighbors coming to complain.
I stagger down the hall and into the living room, turning the corner in time to see Knox open the front door. My eyes widen as a pie is shoved in his face, followed by five more being thrown at him in quick succession.
“What the fuck?” Knox bellows, wiping the creamy whipped topping from his face.
He stumbles, sliding on the slippery dessert, and catches himself on the wall. My mouth is frozen open in shock as my eyes slide past him and catch sight of the three women standing in the hallway. Laughter bubbles out of me as I take in their all-black-clad forms. Even the masks covering their mouths are black, and I briefly wonder how the hell they found black face masks so quickly. Even with most of their faces covered, I’d know those three anywhere.
Knox’s outraged eyes meet mine, and he glares, causing me to laugh even harder at the sight of him covered in pie filling. From here, I’d have to guess banana cream. Hmm, maybe key lime too, judging from the green goo on his chest.
“This is funny to you?” he says.
I’m laughing too hard to answer.
“You deserve this and so much worse, dickhead!” Hadley shouts from the hallway. Her hands are propped on her hips, transferring some of the creamy filling onto her skintight, black jumpsuit. And I laugh even harder, unsure if it’s the alcohol, the fact that she just threw pie in Knox’s face, or the fact that she did it while dressed in her black widow costume from Halloween a couple of years ago that I find the most funny.
My eyes slide past her, taking in Nina dressed as a sexy Catwoman. Two grocery bags lie near her feet, and she picks them up and approaches the open apartment door.
“Move,” she growls, glaring at Knox from behind her mask. Her eyes soften as I take a cautious step forward, careful not to slip on the messy entryway tile. “These are for you. Love you, whore.”
“Thank you,” I say, feeling a little weepy as I take the bags from her. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you bitches as my best friends.”
“We’re simply giving you back the love you give us,” Nina says. “Anyone who can’t see how lucky they are to have you as a friend is the idiot, not the other way around.”
She shoots Knox a pointed glare.
Taylor steps forward next, pulling a pack of wipes from somewhere behind her fluffy, black angel wings. She tosses the wipes at Knox who fumbles them before holding them tightly against his chest. “Just so you know, this is why I was on Team Reed.”
Knox stares at her, a mixture of awe and shock on his face, and I can’t even be mad. Taylor is a sight to behold in her avenging angel getup.
“This is your mess to clean up. Not Em’s. Got it?”
