Page 113 of The Very Naughty List

“Don’t lie to us, Hailey,” Reid scolds me gently. “You know we can tell when you’re upset, and you look pretty damn shaken up right now. What is it?”

As much as I want comfort, I don’t want to tell them that I went to meet with Dylan alone. And I don’t want to tell them what he said and did, because they’ll likely want to go beat the shit out of him, and that will make matters even worse than they already are. I also don’t want to tell them how I’ve probably just escalated the bad situation my parents are in with the diner.

“I don’t want to talk right now.”

My voice is trembling as I stand up from petting the dog and look at all three of the brothers, suddenly filled with the intense desire to be held by all of them.

“I just… want you to kiss me,” I whisper. “Please.”

Sebastian steps forward and pulls me into his arms, embracing me and planting a soft kiss on the side of my temple. The other two men follow suit, and within moments, I’m encased between the three of them as they take turns kissing me over and over.

I cling to them, letting their touch and their closeness soothe the raw parts of my heart.

This is where I feel safe. This is where I feel athome.

38

HAILEY

Since Dylan’soffer was obviously contingent on me getting back together with him, my parents still desperately need my help at the diner. So when I wake up the following day, I offer to pick up another shift.

I figure it will give me something to put my mind into since I’m still reeling emotionally from my interaction with Dylan. I haven’t mentioned it to my parents or even Lucas or Pippa. Mostly because I still feel guilty about the fact that Dylan is essentially punishing our family over my choice to break up with him.

Not only is it wrong and childish, but I don’t know how to handle it at all. Dylan did so much damage to my heart and to my ability to let love in again without waiting for the other shoe to drop, that it sometimes feels like I have crippling anxiety anytime I’m around him. I hate that he still is able to rouse any reaction out of me at all. I just want to forget about him and that whole shitty time of my life.

It sure isn’t easy when he’s got a chokehold on the diner though.

When I get to The Griddle House, I try to just forget about all of it and focus on working my shift. It’s funny how there’san easy rhythm of being here, even though the diner is currently buried under a stressful predicament. This place will always bring me comfort, no matter what. At the end of my shift, I take my time cleaning up. I actually enjoyed working here today more than I thought I would, and it helped to give my troubled mind a break for a few hours. But just as I’m finishing up and getting ready to go home, I notice a few of Brielle’s stuck up friends walk past me and sit down at a table.

I plan to simply ignore them since my shift is over and I’m almost out of here anyway. But I can’t help noticing the way they start to stare at me and whisper amongst themselves. They snicker and giggle and then turn up their noses as if I’m garbage compared to them with their designer handbags and people like Dylan Montgomery on speed dial.

One of them says something that unmistakably sounds like juicy gossip, but I can’t quite make out what it is. I can hear my name mentioned though, which is no surprise since the Divas seem to love using my life as fodder for their rumor mill.

I scowl at them and dismiss it. I’m used to them being rude to me, and it’s honestly not even worth my time.

I walk into the back to get my phone, remembering not to leave it behind at the last moment before I head home. But as soon as I reach for it, the screen lights up and I see a ton of missed messages and calls, and I get immediately anxious. Normally, no one blows up my phone unless there’s been some sort of emergency.

What the hell is going on?

It takes me only a few seconds to realize that it’s not just texts and missed phone calls that are slamming my notifications feed—it’s all of my social media channels too.

Even as I stand here holding the phone in my hand, the notifications are popping up faster than I can read them. Everysingle one of my social media outlets are blowing up. And everyone I know is trying to get hold of me.

I click on the first notification that my finger touches and it pulls up a social media story that was posted to my story and just commented on again a few seconds ago. When I see what it is and read the title of the post, I feel like everything in the room starts to spin.

Ho, Ho, Hoe—it’s a Merry Christmas for Hailey Bennett. Imagine sucking on those three candy canes this season. #ChestnutHillSlut.

The picture is a photograph taken of me and the three Cooper brothers at the Christmas Parade. It must have been taken right after we got off the float. I’m standing at the side of the street looking disheveled in my sexy Mrs. Claus dress, after just having orgasmed on Nick’s lap. And all three of the guys are standing around me with hungry looks in their eyes—looks that most definitely translate into the picture. The three guys look as if they want to each ravage me on the spot.

I remember that moment clearly. I just thought that we had done a pretty good job of covering it up. And I don’t remember anyone being around us at that exact time that could have taken a?—

Dylan.

Oh fuck.

Dylan Montgomery walked right past us while me and the guys were standing there after we had just gotten off the float. I remember how he glared at me and looked as if he was fuming with jealousy as he walked past us. He must have taken this picture and just happened to have lucked out that it depicts the perfect expression on all of our faces to imply there’s something going on between me and all three of the guys.

My feed is exploding faster than I can look at it, with both strangers and people who actually know me weighing in on mypersonal life. Several of the Divas are coming up with creative synonyms for slut, shaming my relationship with the Cooper brothers and calling it disgusting. People I’ve never even met are making jokes at my expense, labeling our relationship immoral and taboo.

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