Page 62 of The Revenge Game
“Sure. I can mingle.”
Maria gives me a big smile. “Help yourself to champagne. I promise I’ll return him in a few minutes.”
Maria whisks Justin away to a crowd of people, and I watch him transform. His shoulders straighten, his smile brightens, and suddenly, he’s the charming, gorgeous golden boy I remember from high school. The one that everyone gravitates toward.
Watching Justin dressed in a tuxedo, surrounded by a crowd of admirers, I suddenly realize this is what he would have looked like at prom.
My stomach twists.
I didn’t go to prom. While Justin was crowned prom king alongside his girlfriend Maddie Birwood, I was huddled in my bedroom coding until my fingers cramped, telling myself I was choosing not to go to prom rather than admitting I was too scared to show up.
Telling myself that high school wouldn’t matter in ten years.
The familiar resentment swirls inside me. I grab a glass of champagne from one of the circulating servers and try to wash down the bitterness.
When I look back at Justin, I find him watching me, and for a split second, his mask slips and he gives me a warm, real smile—the same smile he gives Tabitha and Cassie—before someone else demands his attention and his professional smile clicks back into place.
Shit.
It’s constantly like this when I spend time with Justin. This rollercoaster of emotions. The high I get when he acts so kind toward me, which then plunges into the low of remembering what he did to me in high school.
It’s just so hard to reconcile the Justin I knew back then to the Justin I know now.
I’ve been trying not to think about it too much because it hurts my brain and stirs up deeper feelings about my revenge plan that I don’t want to examine too closely.
But now that I can accept that Justin has changed and the version I’m seeing is genuine, I find myself desperate to knowwhy.
Why has Justin changed so much?
But it’s not like I can ask him directly.
Justin makes his way back to me, weaving through the crowd with the same grace he shows in everything.
“Sorry about all that,” Justin says when he reaches me.
“That’s okay. I know you’re in hot demand.”
His shoulder bumps mine as he reaches for a glass of champagne, and my heart does this stupid little skip thing that I really wish it wouldn’t.
Luckily, Maria is taking the stage, distracting me from analyzing my reaction to Justin.
“Ladies and gentlemen.” Maria’s voice carries across the room. “Welcome to our annual fundraiser. Thank you so much for coming.”
“As you know, Second Chances Animal Shelter specializes in helping animals that others might overlook—the scared ones, the defensive ones, the ones carrying scars from their past. We’ve discovered that with enough patience and understanding, even the deepest wounds can heal into something stronger.”
When Maria finishes her introductory spiel, she hands things over to the auctioneer, who grips his gavel like it’s a magic wand capable of transforming wealthy donors’ guilt into shelter funding.
Which, I suppose, is exactly what it is.
The auction begins.
I’m so familiar with the auction items that I could probably recite them in my sleep, complete with suggested retail values and Maria’s carefully crafted promotional blurbs.
The beach house getaway sparks a brief bidding war, while the kitten-naming rights sell for an impressive amount to awoman who keeps shooting meaningful glances at her teenage son.
As the bidding finishes for the professional photoshoot package promising tocapture your pet’s inner supermodel, Justin extends his champagne glass toward me. “Can you please hold this for me?”
His face is pale.
