Page 43 of Exes That Puck
She follows me down the hall.
“I need to tell you something.”
Her eyes widen. “Is it about Zeke? You’re seeing him again?”
I nod.
She squeals quietly. “I knew it! So, scale of one to ten?”
Heat creeps up my neck. “Don’t make me say it.” I laugh into my hand. “It’s stupid how good we are in bed together. I don’t understand.”
She leans against the sink. “I knew you couldn’t stay away because it’s that good. Ugh, I’m so jealous! And you don’t understand because chemistry isn’t a spreadsheet. But you don’t owe anyone an explanation for what your body knows.” Her voice drops. “Just... guard your heart while you enjoy your life.”
When we return to the room, Tori’s holding up two lip colors. “This one or this one?”
“The red,” I say.
“You look suspiciously glowy,” she says, studying my face. “New highlighter?”
I flip my hair over my shoulder. “Maybe it’s Maybelline.”
Payton’s phone buzzes. “Uber’s here.” She grabs her purse, practically vibrating. “Let’s go find Wolf Boy.”
We laugh on our way to the Uber, remembering the last time we went out. Emma was drunk singing on the couch and swaying like she was at a concert. We’re all laughing at her, mocking her when we step into the Uber.
On the drive, we take a selfies and chat about our plans. This feels so freeing, so fun. I know these girls will be my friends forever.
The party is blasting music when we walk in. Bodies fill the kitchen, creating a bottleneck near the keg. I follow the girls through the crowd, watching Payton’s head swivel as she scans faces.
“There.” She grabs my wrist, nails digging in. “Blue eyes, grey cap. That’s him. Wolf boy.”
Shit. I finally get to see him. I look where she’s pointing. The guy leans against the far wall, arms crossed, talking to someone I don’t recognize. When he laughs, his head tilts back, and I catch his profile.
Sharp jaw. High cheekbones. The kind of face that photographs well.
“Yeah,” I say. “Wow. He is cute.”
Payton squeaks. “Right? Okay, I need more drinks. Liquid courage.”
I fetch her a beer while she fixes her hair in her phone camera. When I return, she’s taken three deep breaths.
“How do I look?” she asks.
I smile. “Like trouble.”
She grins and straightens her shoulders. “Perfect.”
I position myself near the kitchen island where I can watch without hovering. A girl from my dorm starts talking about her organic chemistry midterm, and I nod along while tracking Payton’s approach in my peripheral vision.
Lola appears beside me, bumping my shoulder. “You okay?”
“Yeah, I’m good.”
She studies my face. “You actually look it.”
“Shocking, I know.”
“Text me if you Irish-goodbye.” She raises an eyebrow. “I won’t tattle.”
