Page 70 of Little Do You Know

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Thalia

“HEY STRANGER, I haven’t seen you since you left your party. You’ve always been one for the dramatic side of things,” Vera teases behind me.

“What do you want?” I ask flatly. I don’t have the patience for this today. I don’t think I would have the patience any day.

She has the nerve to look confused. “Are you okay?”

I laugh in disbelief, turning back around. She knows exactly what she did.

“I guess whatever bug crawled up Bash’s ass went up yours too,” she mumbles under her breath. Vera doesn’t say it quiet enough to where I don’t hear her. I really, and I mean really, want to hit her. Violence shouldn’t be the answer, but it’s tempting.

“My problem is that you have no boundaries,” I retort quickly. She grabs my shoulder to pull me back around to look at her.

“Care to explain?”

“Do you?” I demand, yanking my shoulder from her grip. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I see Chris approach us.

“Ladies, as much as I enjoy a good catfight, let’s not do this here,” he says, pulling me away. I roll my eyes, letting him before I say something that further escalates everything.

“What about my coffee?” I protest as he drags my ass out of the store.

Chris pushes the coffee from his free hand into mine. “Drink that. I haven’t touched it. Your squabbling with Vera distracted me and everyone else in there.”

I take the coffee and take a short drink, stopping once I feel the scalding temperature. “Thanks.”

“You look like shit.”

I pull my hoodie closer around me. “I didn’t need you to come and pull me away. I can fight my own battles.”

Chris’s mouth ticks upward into an amused smile. “Believe me, I know you can. I was afraid to see what would happen to Vera if another person turned against her publicly.”

“What do you mean?”

“Right, you left your party early. Well, whatever argument you and Bash had—sorry, I’m assuming that’s what happened after he went out to get you. That’s usually how parties go with both of you there.” I glare at him, unamused by the joke. Chris isn’t wrong, but that’s not the point. He puts his hands up in surrender. “Sorry, not funny. He went off on Vera when he got back inside. Told her ‘fuck you, get out.’ Then Owen kicked everyone else out after Bash stormed off.” He’s watching me, baiting a reaction, and I keep my guard up. New information doesn’t change anything.

“Thanks for the rescue, but next time, leave me there.”

~

“Do we have to go to the game?” I ask Blake, toying with the material of the jersey I’m wearing over my hoodie.

She’s annoyed, probably because this is the fifth time I’ve asked the same question. “Yes. We’ve established that we’re going. I promised Owen we’d be there, and since when have you missed a home game?”

“Since Sebastian plays on the team too,” I reply shortly. I grab a white and blue beanie to match Duke’s colors, pulling it onto my head. “It’s cold outside, I don’t want to go.”

“You’ve made it very clear you don’t want to go. Penelope’s not here to tell you to suck it up, so I’m telling you to suck it up and get over it because we’re going,” Blake declares, smiling, even if her words make me want to punch her.

I miss Penelope. She left a few days ago, and I’ve been moping around the entire time. It sounds terrible, but with Penelope here, I could distract myself from how much I miss the friendship and comfort I got from Sebastian. There’s no distraction now, so I’m reminded of how mad and hurt I am every time I run into him around the apartment.

To say I’ve been a bitch would be putting it nicely. It hasn’t just been directed at him, if that makes it better. I’ve also been snapping at Owen and Blake. Pretty much everyone who has tried to talk to me since dropping Penelope at the airport. I want to blame it on my lack of sleep, but at this point, I can’t.

Running into Vera at the coffee shop we used to frequent freshman year didn’t help matters either.

Since I’m technically a team photographer, we’re let onto the field’s sidelines with the other photographers. I stuck one of my old cameras and spare badge around Blake’s neck so she didn’t have to sit alone in the stands. My parents are here, but things are questionable between her and Owen, so I’d hate to subject her to that line of questioning.

“It’s cold,” I complain again. Blake shakes her head, keeping her focus on the field.

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