Page 12 of How to Get Revenge on a Cheating Ex
“Jackass,” Grayson mutters. But his tone is affectionate. Indulgent. That’s how he always is with Zack, and I have no idea why. Maybe it’s because Grayson doesn’t have siblings so he’s cast Zack in a sort of younger brother role in his life, even though they’re the same age. Or maybe being around such an aimless screw-up makes Grayson feel better about himself.
Ormaybe I read too many self-help books and need to stop psychoanalyzing everyone around me.
Either way, I try to shake off the weird vibe Zack’s giving off just as easily as Grayson does.
I try, but I fail.
Later, when the sun starts to go down, and the real party’s getting started, it’s like a switch gets flipped in Zack’s brain. Instead of sitting on the sidelines staring at us, he becomes the life of the party.
I try to ignore him, but he’s impossible to ignore. He’s pounding beers like he’s a freshman at his first kegger, and he’s laughing too loudly, flirting too outrageously.
And his digs at Grayson and the other guys carry too much of a sting.
Zack’s always been a snarky turd, but today there are actual barbs in his jokes—a meanness that’s usually only aimed at me. But tonight, he’s not holding back, taking shots at Grayson, and the other guys on the team. Even Macy and her friends.
And yet, everyone else is laughing it off, like they don’t notice that something is different. Maybe they don’t. I seem to be the only one who sees it.
And I don’t just see it, Ifeelit. His weirdness is like a freakin’ cattle prod to my anxiety.
I haven’t taken pills in years—not since the therapist said I didn’t need them anymore. But right now, I’d kill for a little blue savior to take this edge off. And it’shisfault. It’s all Zack’s fault. Every time I see him, practically vibrating with some new inexplicable tension, every time I hear the edge in his voice when he’s supposedlyjust kidding, my stomach flip flops in response.
I’m doing my best to enjoy myself, but to be honest, even if Zack wasn’t wigging me out, this isn’t really my scene.
I mean, itisbecause it’s Grayson’s scene, but I’m personally not much of a party person. Big groups leave me with a hangover that has nothing to do with alcohol. If I don’t give myself a couple hours of decompression time afterward, I know I’ll be staring up at my bedroom ceiling for hours, praying for sleep as I replay every word I’ve spoken tonight, and overanalyzing every conversation.
Social interaction hangovers are a legit thing in my world. And yeah, I do know how bizarre that is. Which is precisely why I don’t talk about it. I just know by now that if I intend to get some sleep, I need to leave early and go through my nighttime routine in peace.
I head over to Grayson, who’s laughing with a bunch of his buddies, Zack included. I smile and laugh along with them untilI find a moment when Grayson isn’t the center of attention. That’s when I lean into him. “Hey, babe, you ready to go?”
The look he gives me isn’t just regretful, it’s filled with disappointment too.
Gah! I hate this look.
I’m the worst girlfriend ever, that’s what I take away from that look. Not that Grayson would ever say such a thing. That’s just my inner drama queen at work. But it doesn’t make it any easier when he gives one of those weary sighs. “Already?”
I shift my bag on my shoulder. I am the worst. But also... “I’ve got work in the morning, remember?”
His smile is the same kind of affectionate indulgence he uses with Zack.
I really hate this smile. But mainly, I despise that I’m beingthatgirlfriend. The one who can’t hang.
But then again, Grayson likes that I’m so responsible. He loves me for it.
He reaches out and tucks some of my hair back behind my ear. “Just a little while longer, yeah?”
My smile falters, but I’m about to sayyeah, okay. I can hang for a little while longerwhen we’re interrupted by Mr. Freaky himself.
“I’ll take her home,” Zack says.
And suddenly he’s right there. In my space.
Grayson and I both turn to gape at him.
“Um, what?” I frown up at Zack, but he’s grinning at Grayson as he slings an arm around my shoulders and tucks me against his side.
The guy is hot.
Not likehot-hot. Though he ishot-hot, that’s already been established. No, I mean temperature wise, his skin feels like fire. For a moment I ponder the rate of his metabolism if he’s putting off this much heat on a cool early summer night.
