Page 27 of Audiophile

Livi bristles. “Well, at least let me do your eyeshadow.”

“I want to keep it simple.” Together, we’re a pair of porcupines.

“I’ve known you my whole life. I know how you do your makeup!” Livi yells, stomping her foot. “Let me do this for you!”

Underneath her frustration is a sweetness that I’m not used to. I was a shell of myself, dead inside, until Reed walked in. I’m still prickly, climbing out of a long emotional hibernation, but Livi genuinely wants to help. “Okay.”

After Livi’s done with my face, I glare at her over the bra and underwear choices and retreat to the bathroom. I’m tempted to keep my plain pair on just to annoy her, but I need all the confidence I can find to keep up with Reed. I draw the line at the lacy, sheer underwear, and change into a slightly more modest pair.

Livi rifles through the tote when I get back from the bathroom and scoffs when she finds the lacy pair. She folds them up and sticks them in the zippered pouch of my purse. “Seriously? Be bold! Better to have them and not need them, than to need them and not have them,” she chirps. It’s one of Papa’s favorite idioms, and I hate that she’s applying it to sexy underwear, of all things.

It’s close to eight before I’m done being Livi’s project. Not much can be done about my hair without a straightener, but the rest came together. “Thanks for your help, Liv.”

I bundle up the bags, but Livi tugs them out of my hands. “I’ll take them. You don’t want to carry around more than a purse. It’s not sexy.”

I laugh as we walk out into the cold. “Thanks for the advice.”

“Hey, I’m the one who had twins at twenty-one,” she jokes. “I’m an expert at sexy.”

I stop dead, jerking out of her hold. The world grays out, and I swear there’s a knife in my chest where my heart used to be because it hurts. Ithurts.

Livi reaches for me. “Troni, I didn’t mean—I’m sorry—”

“Stop talking.”

She does, thank God, though her lipquivers.

My head, however, is far from silent. The pain is a slap across the face, and I remember why I don’t date. Why I don’t sleep with anyone.

My hand flies to my necklace, and I crumple under the crushing grief of her name.

My Natalia.

Chapter eleven

Reed

A short run worksthe last dregs of the wine out of my system. I’ve barely stepped out of the shower when my phone rings with an LA number that might be my realtor’s office. “Isaac? What’s up?”

“Reed!” A bright voice exclaims. “How are you?”

I frown. “Sorry, who is this?”

The woman loses some of her excitement. “Oh. Um, it’s Colleen. We used to get together sometimes on Saturdays. At Raspberry Zebra?”

Raspberry Zebra?The bar? I don’t remember dating anyone named Colleen. But then it clicks.Colleen.One of Kinley’s club friends. The back of my neck prickles as if a thousand needles tap at the surface of it.

“Kinley told me about what happened,” she says. “She’s sorry, Reed, and she wants a chance to work it out.”

I’m not doing this. “I’ve made it abundantly clear that she needs to stayaway from me. Have a nice day.”

“Wait!” Colleen exclaims. “She—”

Adrenaline floods my system until I’m seeing red. “If I never see or speak to her again, I will live a full and happy life. You need to understand—Kinley doesn’t give a flying fuck about anyone but herself. The minute you don’t do as you’re told, she will tear your life apart. Get out while you can, and find some new friends.”

With shaking hands, I hang up and block Colleen’s number. I don’t know how she got mine, but Amanda is right, Kinley isn’t giving up. Maybe Ishouldreport each infraction to the police. I still can’t believe she got a fucking plea deal.

I fight the urge to chuck my phone across the room. I power it down and shove it in a drawer, wishing I could disconnect from Kinley that easily.

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