Page 19 of A Very Addicted Christmas

Their smiles are gone.

Tom’s concerned gaze heavies on me. “What’s eating at you, Luna with No Middle Name?”

I shove my sleeves up my arms, getting hot. “This whole winter break has been…out of the ordinary. Usually, I’m down for that kind of stuff, but I feel like I’ve been fucking up every time I have a choice to make. Like the universe has provided me Option A and Option B and I always choose the wrong one.”

“Is this because of Caden?” Eliot asks, his blue eyes steeling all of a sudden.

That name twists my stomach.

Caden Moss.

The guy who took my virginity.

Or did I give it away? I’d like to think I delivered it to him. As one does when they really want to have sex. And I wanted it. Even in the backseat of his car, it was a decent time. He made me come at least, and I heard that’s difficult to do for your first time.

It happened the last day of school before winter break. Not too long ago, but long enough to have a late period and go in total panic mode.

I lean further away from the fire. “Partly.” I frown more. “I mean, there is something I have to tell you guys.”

Eliot and Tom exchange a strange look with one another. One that puts me on edge. An ember bursts in the air, and I try not to take that as an omen. I think Kinney would.

“We actually have something to tell you, too.” Tom takes off his beanie and ruffles his hair. Pieces fall towards his eyebrows.

Eliot offers me the blunt again, and I shake my head.

Now I’m worried the weed is going to make me paranoid.

Tom speaks. “Caden is an asshat.”

“A worm,” Eliot decrees.

That worm was inside me.

“With a two-inch dick,” Eliot further adds.

“His dick was bigger than two-inches,” I tell them.

“God is unjust,” Eliot says.

I look between them. “I told you guys that he was cool with me. He actually made sure I came before he did. And he knew we were just having sex. No strings attached.” I couldn’t think of a better first time. It was chill, uncomplicated. Exactly what I wanted.

Eliot snubs the blunt on a large rock next to him. “He’s been wagging his tongue.”

My stomach sinks.

Wagging his tongue. Whenever Eliot says those words, it means nothing good. My thoughts spiral right out of my mouth, “Is he like detailing the details of everything?”Detailing the details?I can’t even form eloquent words. I’m sweating. Is this fire suddenly raging hot?

I pull off my hoodie over my head. Now in just a cropped tee, the December wind hits my skin, but I barely feel the cold.

Tom looks sympathetic. “As far as we know, he’s not going into graphic detail. He’s just saying some pretty shitty things.”

“About me,” I conclude.

Tom sighs hard, his face in a grimace. “I hate him.”

“Iloathehim.” Eliot glares at the fire. “We debated whether we should tell you.” His gaze draws to me. “Our intention isn’t to hurt you with this news, and messengers are always the ones brandishing the swords—but if it came from someone at school before us…”

“I’m glad you’re telling me,” I say, a knot forming in my throat. To be the butt of a joke—I’m used to that. I’m used to all the rumors. I’m used to bad things happening to me.

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