Page 33 of The Show

No one noticed Murray giving me a supportive squeeze to the back of my neck, and thankfully, Rafe changed the subject.

Sort of.

“Hey, did I see Bryce Wexler last night? Tell me I wasn’t so drunk I hallucinated that dickhead.”

A shooting pain speared my brain as I remembered him at the bar and spun round to Lauren. “Yeah, I saw him, too. He was asking Lowe on a date.”

Rafe coughed into his coffee.

“What the fuck was that about? What was he even doing here?” I got a sharp nudge in the ribs from my left, reminding me to tone down my outrage. “I mean, there’s no way he’d have an invite on his own merit. The guy is a douche! He’s barely mid-level management at the Governor’s Office.”

Lauren’s single raised eyebrow told me I only barely got away with my over-the-top outburst. “Yeah, okay, weirdo, how should I know? I wasn’t in charge of the guest list so I have no idea what he was doing there last night. And I didn’t know he asked Lowe out either!” She cackled at Beulah, who joined in. “Must have been that dress! I told her he would eat her up in it.”

Motherfucker. I rubbed my chest, desperate to stave off my imminent heart-attack.

“What the fuck!? I thought you just said you didn’t know he was going to be there!”

“I didn’t know!”

“Fuck, Lauren, make some sense why don’t you?”

“I am making sense. You’re the one who isn’t!” she yelled back. “Why do you even care?”

Murray thrust my coffee at me, distracting me from responding.

“I think what Pennington is trying to say is that Wexler is a piece of shit and Lowe shouldn’t be thinking of going out with him.”

Lauren scowled at him, then me. “She’s not thinking of going out with him. They hooked up a couple of times last summer and he never called her. She’s not interested.”

Rafe took a turn interrupting before I could ask, and once again, I was forever grateful for my friends. “What do you mean by ‘hooked up’? They slept together?”

Lauren slowly gazed round at the three of us waiting on tenterhooks for her answer; first Rafe, then me, then thankfully, Murray. As she narrowed her eyes, we collectively held our breath waiting for her to answer. Or maybe it was just me waiting.

Please say no. Please say no. Please say no.

She shook her head slowly without dropping eye contact. “Noooooo. They made out.”

I tried to make my exhale as subtle as possible.

“Good, good. Make sure you tell her to stay away from him, he’s a total douche.”

“I know he is, but now I want to know why you think he’s douche.”

I looked at the boys, with whom I shared the following opinion. I knew because we’d discussed it many times.

Bryce Wexler was one of those people who you just knew was a douche. Not any particular or strong reasoning behind it, no data to back it up. He just was. He had a douche aura. It wasn’t tangible, though I did legit hate him more now I knew he’d hooked up with Lowe. That he had one thing I’d never be able to have.

Murray shrugged. “He plays in the Tuesday league.”

“Your basketball games?” Lauren frowned. “And what? He beats you?”

“Fuck no!” I scoffed. “He wishes,”

“Okay then… what does that mean?”

Murray shrugged again. “We play for fun; he plays to win.”

“He doesn’t win though,” Rafe laughed. “He’s dirty. He plays rough, uses his elbows too much. Always looks like he wants to throw a punch.

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