Page 71 of Loving the Liar

Downstairs, the opening of the front door sounds again.

“Ella. Baker!” Peach screams from downstairs.

Another set of feet run up the stairs, and then my fiery friend bursts into my room. She doesn’t bother knocking like Alex.

I’m the only one who sees her since Alex’s head is resting on my shoulder, facing the window rather than the door.

“You’re not having a hug session without me. Tell me I’m dreaming.” She drops her bag on the floor, jumping into bed with us and making us shriek as she forces herself between us.

“Ella, please tell me you weren’t in some dark place in your mind,” she implores. “Tell me you didn’t think we’d ever see you differently.”

“Peach, you’re choking her,” Alex scolds.

“Maybe I should. For ignoring our texts all day.”

“Can’t. Breathe,” I wheeze.

She finally lets go of me, poking the side of my head. “Are you okay in there? I was worried to death. If I hadn’t been stuck in a four-hour biology mock exam, I would have called the cops. Search and rescue. The president.”

My gaze drops to my lap. “I was scared of facing you. Both of you.”

“Maybe Peach a little more,” Alex laughs softly.

“Maybe.” Lips quirking, a chuckle escapes me.

Peach gives us each a middle finger, sending us into a laughing fit.

“So, your dad roped you in to organize illegal sex parties. I’m sure that surprised absolutely no one from Stoneview?” She shrugs. “We know you’re not some perv, Els.” Her glinting green eyes search mine. “I’m sorry that he put you through this,” she says in a calmer tone.

I nod and swallow past the lump in my throat. “I’m sorry I never told you. It was easier to ignore if I kept it to myself.”

Alex gives me a look full of empathy. “Don’t apologize to us. You never have to apologize to us.”

Peach huffs, leaving us another few seconds of silent love before revealing, “I’ve got tequila. And there are two losers downstairs who followed me home. They said they’re our neighbors. I don’t know. Weird guys.”

My heart squeezes thinking Wren and Achilles are here. They didn’t do anything wrong yesterday, but they’re not good people. I’m not sure it’s safe to have them around the house anymore. Especially if the girls don’t know who they’re facing.

“Let’s go get drunk,” Peach concludes. “We need it.”

My face falls the second we’re downstairs and turn right into the living area. Chris is sitting on one of the three sofas we have arranged in a U-shape around the coffee table. Achilles is sitting on another, and Wren on the third.

“What the fuck?” Peach mumbles. “Did we just walk into a Godfather meeting? When did you get in here?” she aims at Chris.

“When I opened the door,” Achilles answers casually.

“It’s our house, Achilles. You don’t just let strangers in,” she bites back.

“Strangers? We’re friends.”

“Oh yeah, since when? I don’t remember you ever braiding each other’s hair. You couldn’t fucking stand him in high school.”

Chris chuckles, his gaze briefly leaving me to dart to Achilles. Of course, Peach has no idea that the three of them are part—or almost part—of a secret society that keeps them close.

“Enemies-to-lovers. Ever heard of it?” our supposedly best friend replies, his haughtiness getting annoying.

“Achilles,” Wren scolds. He’s trying to act like the voice of reason, when we all know he’s only stepping in because Peach is the current target.

“Go calm down your woman, Wren. She’s getting on my nerves.”

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