Page 33 of Perfect Score

Oh God, this is my worst nightmare.

Now, the most embarrassing moment of high school is going to get told anyway, and the cherry on top? Brent is going to find out that I actually thought he was interested in me when he asked me to prom.

He’s going to find out that I planned an entire night with him, only for him to cancel.

He’s going to feel pity for me, and that might even be the worst of it.

“I booked the room you and Zoey had for your senior prom night. You’re welcome,” Abigail teases, pulling her wine glass to her lips, the red liquid hitting her lips.

It's not her fault. I asked Phoebe not to tell her that I never used it. She has no idea that Brent stood me up.

And if Brent and I had actually spent the night together as I had planned, I would be blushing right now instead of thinking of the quickest exit out of this bar.

I could die right now… in this chair.

I look over at Phoebe, and I can see the look of complete helplessness at her inability to save me from the worst nightmare—Brent knowing about the room I rented.

“You know what…. I’m not feeling all that well. I think I’m going to head up to my room,” I say, already slinking out of my chair and looking for the quickest exit.

“Zoey, what room is she talking about?” Brent asks.

He slips out of his chair right after me.

I start taking quick steps toward the bar exit, but my stomach turns when I see Brent in my peripheral, matching me step for step, following me.

Can’t he just let me slink off and pretend this didn’t happen?

Can’t he feel how desperate I am to distance myself from this truth bomb before it really blows up in my face.

“It’s nothing, Brent,” I say.

I make it out past the bar entry and head straight for the elevator.

“It sounds like something because you just left a party for your sister’s wedding. I don’t think you’d do that for nothing.”

I hit the elevator button, and luckily, the doors open immediately, letting me in.

I feel Brent’s large presence enter into the elevator with me, but I don’t dare look back.

I take a few steps in and then turn around to face the closing doors. I lean up against the back of the elevator wall. Brent steps to the side, hitting our floor number and then joins me at the back of the elevator.

The elevator starts moving before I utter a word.

“You should go back and visit with everyone. I’m just going to lie down for a little bit,” I tell him.

I look up to find him waiting patiently for me to acknowledge him.

“Did you rent a room for us the night of prom?” he asks softly, his eyes on me but I don't meet his gaze.

“Maybe,” I say with a shrug. “But it doesn’t matter.”

He takes a small step closer. “What if it matters to me?”

“Why?" I ask, my eyes reaching up to his finally. "So, you can pity the girl who spent a small fortune on a hotel room, and a Brazilian wax, for the star hockey player who’d rather shoot goals on a block of ice than to take her to prom out of obligation?”

He rears back but stays close.

“Obligation?” he asks, shaking his head like he has no idea what I mean.

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