Page 62 of Well, Actually
I know I should wait my turn for the restroom, take a moment in there to pull myself together, and handle this like a grown-up. I should apologize for being so harsh, and make sure we’re on the same page.
But the idea of hearing Cooper agree with me that this was a fun, one-time thing rips down my spine, and I get out of bed, frantically grabbing my clothes and pulling my skirt onbackward, my bra inside out. Some deranged, scolding voice in the back of my head tells me a UTI would serve me right for the stunt I’m about to pull, but I’ve never prided myself on acting like an adult, so why start now?
I hear the flush of the toilet and water burbling from the sink, and my movements speed up double-time. I finally remember my shirt is in his damn foyer, and, with one final look at the bathroom door, I sneak out of his room and bolt down the stairs, throwing on my shirt haphazardly before disappearing into the night.
Chapter 15
Ray is FaceTiming me incessantly this morning. Aida too, which is a terrible sign, because I still haven’t smoothed work things over with her.
But, because I’msogood at addressing problems head-on, I once again decline Ray’s call. He takes it to the group chat.
Ray: ummmm bitch you better fucking answer because you have some explaining to do
He attaches a link to a social media post. The thumbnail preview makes my stomach drop—a red skirt twisted at the waistband, disheveled white T-shirt, purse clutched in a fist like a weapon. I click through, one hand darting to my mouth in horror. It’s a carousel of three pictures of me fleeing Cooper’s place last night like I just committed a capital offense. I can’t stop myself from reading the caption.
I live in the same neighborhood as Rylie Cooper and when I was taking my dog out last night Eva Kitt wasn’t so much doing a walk of shame as she was a dead sprint of one
Comment: the only person who should be ashamed is rylie’s dick for going so much lower
Reply: I FUCKING KNEW THEY WERE HOOKING UP. YOU CAN’T FAKE CHEMISTRY LIKE THAT
Reply: kind of needing a video of her eating his hot dog ngl
Reply: the adage is true, men really do love bitches (or at least banging them)
I keep reading until my eyes blur, stunned and disoriented as I try to process what this means. The internet knows I hooked up with Cooper.
No, that’s not true. Theythinkthat. They don’t have proof. These blurry photos of me aren’tproof… because the internet always places so much value on legitimate proof over gleeful conjecture…
Fuck.
It terrifies me that my first impulse, besides wanting to curl up into a ball and die, is to call Rylie, to seek shelter in his voice, the effortless way he can make me laugh even when I feel my worst. I feel so exposed, so irrevocably perceived, I want to crawl out of my skin.
Okay. Maybe this can be fixed. I look at the post again. It only has a few thousand views and far less likes. It hasn’t taken off yet. I go through and report a few of the nastier comments, then the video itself, needing to do something to regain an ounce of control in my rapidly spiraling life.
My intercom rings, the sound grating down my nerves, and my sweat-slick palms almost send my phone flying acrossthe room. The buzzer goes off again, someone hitting the button incessantly.
“Hello?”I hiss into the speaker, not playing at politeness for someone so damn impatient.
“It’s me.”
I know that voice. I hate how intimately I know that voice. Despite the hard edge of it, it sends a shiver down my spine as memories of that voice from last night swirl through me.
“Me who?” I squeak out, trying to buy some time as panic sets in that Cooper is at my door.
“It’s Rylie,” he says, making it clear he isn’t looking to play my game. “Let me up.”
“How do you know where I live, you creep?” I say into the intercom, butterflies erupting in my stomach.
“I picked you up here on our first date, you headstrong fruit loop. Now let me up.” His voice is louder, and the rough frustration has me backing up a step. There’s a pause, then a long sigh travels through the tinny speaker. “I’ve brought you food. Please let me up.”
Food? What kind of food?
Like an animal sniffing the edges of a trap, I scurry over to my window that looks down to the entrance of my building. I crouch down, the top of my head peeking over the windowsill to try and see if he’s being serious.
Rylie Cooper is staring straight at me from the street below, his mouth pressed in a frown. His gaze locks me there and, after a moment, he lifts up two large brown bags of what appear to be carry-out like he’s making a crude hand gesture at me.
I go a bit weak in the knees.
