Page 11 of A Little Jaded

“Bullshit,” I argue. “This is incredible.”

She peeks at the work of art on the paper again, then lifts a shoulder.

“Why do you use a pen?” I prod. “You know, instead of a pencil or whatever.”

“It takes away the pressure of being perfect,” she explains before a frown mars her lips. Like she just remembered she’s annoyed with me or something. “You need to leave.”

Right.

I scribble my number beneath the kickass tree, then hand everything back to her. I stand and tug at the end of my jacket, smoothing it. “I know you don’t want my help, but if you ever need anything, and I mean anything, call or text me. I’ll be there.”

I weave my way to the front of the tattoo parlor and walk out the door without a backward glance.

CHAPTER FIVE

RAINE

Iplugged Everett’s number into my phone, replacing the contact information I had for my gynecologist. It’s stupid, but I didn’t know what else to do. It’s not like I could save it under his name. Not without poking the bear. The only reason Drake didn’t entirely lose his shit after Everett’s bold-faced lie at the LAU arena about us having a relationship for the past three months is because I don’t have a passcode on my phone, and he checks it on occasion. If he finds Everett’s name in my contacts now, he’ll never let it go. My body feels heavy as I take the stairs toward my apartment while my wary thoughts go haywire at the possibility of someone reaching out to Drake and telling him about Everett’s visit.

I wasn’t kidding when I told Everett Cedar Springs is a small town. My only hope is no one saw me talking with him and relayed their findings. It’s not like Drake has eyes and ears everywhere, waiting to catch me doing something I shouldn’t. But even so, lying to Drake is always dangerous. Lying about something like this when the wounds are still fresh? It’s practically begging for an explosion.

As I push the door open, I find Drake relaxing on the couch with his feet on the coffee table. ESPN plays on the television screen, and a bag of chips rests on the cushion beside him.

“Hey,” I call out, hoping he can’t hear the tremor in my voice.

Drake glances over the back of the gray couch. “Hey.”

I head toward him and sit on the arm of the sofa. “How’s the game?”

“Two to one.” He presses the mute button on the remote.

I want to squirm from his full attention but keep my expression blank, unsure what to say or do or…anything. Does he know? Has anyone told him about Everett’s visit? Did he see him walk in or out of Eternal?

“I got you flowers,” he murmurs.

“You did?”

“Yeah. Chocolates, too.” He smiles. “They’re on the counter.”

“Oh.” Sure enough, a dozen red roses are in a glass vase next to a box of chocolates. It’d be a sweet gesture if I didn’t know what love-bombing is. The irony isn’t lost on me. How I know all the signs, yet I’mstillhere. My family would be so ashamed.

“You’re not going to say thank you?” he challenges.

Turning back to Drake, I force a smile. “Thank you.”

“You're welcome.” He brings my hand to his lips and kisses the back of it. “I also figured out how you can make it up to me.”

It.

There are so manyitsin the world. Nailing down which one he’s referring to is hard, so I keep my fake smile firmly in place. “Oh?”

“Yeah.” He grabs my knee. “There’s a party tomorrow. I want you to go with me.”

My brows dip. “A party?”

“Yeah. I think it’ll be good for us to get out. Maybe have some fun. Reconnect.” His grasp on my fingers tightens. It isn’t uncomfortable. Honestly, it’s almost sweet, and my pathetic heart flutters at the memory of how things used to be. Before his mom died. Before his dad started coming around again. Before his possessiveness became overwhelming, and I couldn’t justify the red flags anymore. I’m not stupid. I know how abusive relationships work. I know it’s a slippery slope, and I know if they hit you once, they'll hit you again.

Why’d you have to hit me, Drake?

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