Page 62 of The Very Naughty List

This time, she draws the word out, extending the single syllable into at least three. Knowing she won’t be satisfied with anything less than every single detail, I quickly launch into the story, filling her in on the crawl space incident and everything it led to—including the revelation of my naughty list. She throws in a few comments or startled exclamations here and there, and when I finish the story by telling her how I woke up sandwiched between two of the men this morning, she lets out a long breath.

“Wow. So you really fucking did it! I’m in shock. I’m in awe.” She chuckles, then adds, “So how were things this morning? What’s the vibe? Is this a one-time thing, or…?”

“Not a one-time thing.” I bite my bottom lip as a grin breaks out on my face. “We’re not through the list yet. But we set some terms.”

“Terms?”

“Yeah.” I tell Lorelai what the guys and I agreed to—only temporary, no telling my brother, no strings attached.

“Huh.” I can hear the slight hesitancy in her voice as she speaks. “Were these terms their idea, or yours?”

“Um, all of ours,” I say with a shrug, trying to remember who exactly said what.

“And you really think you’re gonna be able to abide by them?” she asks, skepticism in her tone.

“Yeah, of course. Why not?”

She laughs. “Because I know you, Hailey. You wear your heart on your sleeve. And as much as you like to act like your pussy is a sassy bitch, we both know you’re led by your heart—not your head, and especially not your crotch.”

She’s not wrong. Sometimes my best friend knows me even better than I’d like to admit. But it doesn’t matter if Lorelai is right or not, because the guys and I agreed to those rules, so this is just how it’s going to be. There’s no point in overthinking it, and I honestly don’t want to. I just want to enjoy it.

“It’ll be fine,” I promise her. “I’m having way more fun being back in Chestnut Hill than I thought I would. And I’m actually putting a dent in my list, which I was starting to think would never happen.”

“Okay. If you’re sure.” Her tone lightens a bit. “And I want to hear which line items get knocked out next, so keep me posted! Some of us are going through a dry spell.”

I chuckle sympathetically, because I know all about being in a dry spell. I’ve gone from one extreme to the other and I couldn’t be happier about it.

After getting a quick update from her—she’ll be sticking around LA for the holidays since she’s a born and bred California girl—I promise to call again soon and hang up. Then I turn on the water and step into the shower.

At first, I stand under the gentle spray in silence, getting lost in my thoughts as I relive some of the highlights from last night. I don’t even notice that I’ve started to hum until after I’m already doing it.

Despite the self-doubt Dylan left me with, music still comes naturally to me. But as soon as I become aware that I’m actuallysinging loudly enough for someone to hear, I start getting self-conscious again.

I wish that asshole hadn’t left me with such lasting scars. I wish I could go back to being who I was before I met Dylan and became way too wrapped up in his narcissistic manipulation. I used to embrace life wholeheartedly and welcome any chance I got to sing in front of a crowd. I used to believe in myself and my abilities without question. And I didn’t ever lessen myself or shrink myself down in order to fit into someone else’s box.

Then Dylan Montgomery happened, and I let him stomp around in my head and leave his dirty footprints there long after I left him.

No more. I’m done with that.

I shift from humming one of my favorite songs to opening my mouth and singing it. There’s something about the acoustics in a running shower that make everything sound good, like having a backup singer made of raindrops that amplifies only the best parts of your voice.

Lathering shampoo into my hair, I start to really belt it out just like Sebastian told me to, closing my eyes and inhaling the wildflower scented steam all around me.

I sing the entire rest of the time I’m in the shower.

And it feels fucking amazing.

22

HAILEY

When I headdown to the kitchen a while later, freshly showered and with slightly damp hair, I stop short in the doorway as I take in the sight of the enormous amount of food laid out on the table.

“How long was I up there?” I ask, my jaw dropping.

Reid chuckles. “Well, like you said, there are three of us and one of you. So the time it takes you to shower is the time it takes the three of us to do…” He gestures to all the food. “This.”

“Wow.” I grin. “You guys seem really committed to making sure I don’t starve.” Every place we’ve gone, they’ve practically ordered one of everything off the menu, and there’s enough food here to feed a small army. “Is that a fake boyfriend thing?”

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