Page 108 of Catfish

“I know that you have a few charity events coming up,” she states, ignoring what I just fucking said. “But there are some other ones I was hoping I could run by you as well.”

Mother of fucking Christ.

“Does that fall under your job description?”

She shrugs. “I figure since I was here that I’d try to help with—”

“Just your decorating and party skills will be needed, thank you,” I oppose, clutching my cell phone in my lap.

I want to be kind to her, but I can't.

I want things to be different, but they aren't.

She can only be a friend from a few phone waves away, and that's it.

Reagan takes my words as her cue to go and does. Even with my phone in my hand, I don’t want to respond to whatever it is that she sent me.

It’s too much.

But at the same time, it’s just enough.

She's what I need right now, and I'll be damned if I stop when it comes to mild and frivolous conversations. And now I get the benefits of eye-fucking her whenever I want.

Reagan: I want a secret.

She already has one.

? In Too Deep — Genesis ?

I can’t remember the last time I’ve been truly intimidated.

I recall being nervous at family dinners with the Hardisons. I never overlooked the nervousness I felt when I opened up my business and was afraid I was going to fall flat on my face.

But at this moment, I feel under-confident, if that's a word, and discomforted.

Wade Lockwood stands a few yards away from me, drink in hand, a liberal smile gracing his face, and he's every consonant and vowel of the word gorgeous.

His dark hair is styled back and to the side. His dark gray suit seems to compliment his eyes, even though I haven't been up that close to see if it genuinely does.

He stands over the group of men he’s speaking to, young and influential. A dangerous and addictive combination for a girl who used to run meth for a week at seventeen years old just to make sure our rent was paid.

The rush was enthralling when you knew risks were close behind you. I always thought of myself as an adrenaline junkie of some sort, but staring shamelessly at Wade is by far one of my favorite—less threatening—epinephrine rushes as of late.

Tonight, he's transformed.

I didn’t know he’d be here, at the charity event for Mott's Children's Hospital, but the way he talks with people, his smirks and nods, the way he glides through the room like he belongs in society—he’s addictive. I didn’t see that at the retirement party I held for councilman Malcolm White.

I saw a man that came to the event as a chore, something he had to do, and I'm sure tried to get out of. I'm almost convinced that his twin came out to play and entertain tonight. I've never seen his lips quirk up so high on his cheekbones. The playfulness in his eyes when someone must've said a joke because he laughed after. It was intriguing, to the point where I couldn't pry my eyes away.

Keeping my distance on the other side of the room, I keep myself busy by chatting with a few people that I know and have spoken to in passing. I’m asked about my business and what events I’ve done so far this year. Many are shocked and pleased to know that I just signed on to be the governor’s new event planner, which got a few people asking for my business cards.

It’s not until I’m on my third sweet and sour that I hear a voice that I both loved and never wanted to hear again in my life.

“If it isn’t the girl who made me break into her high school to drain the swimming pool. Reagan Shelton.”

The bartender slides over my drink just in time for me to take a large gulp of it before turning around.

Nothing would ever prepare me for this moment. No words would ever be good enough for me to express how truly sorry and what a piece of shit I am.

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