Page 77 of The Score

“Talking to yourself doesn’t make you a crazy person,” I call out after him. Well, unless you’re the homeless guy I used to see around Brooklyn, who would scream about government conspiracies and how aliens are stealing our brain cells via our phones.

Then again, who’s to say Lou isn’t perfectly sane? Maybe aliensaredoing that. I can’t prove otherwise.

I trudge the rest of the way home and let myself into the darkened suite. Hannah isn’t home yet. I know she went to the hockey game tonight, so I give her a call to find out what she’s up to now.

“Hey!” Wherever she is, it’s loud. I hear a cacophony of voices in the background and a pounding bass line that thuds in my ear. “I’m at the bar. You want to join us?”

I put on a casual voice. “Who’s there? Garrett and the guys?”

And Dean?

I stop myself before the question pops out. Damn it, I’m acting like a girlfriend again. An incredibly nauseating girlfriend to boot, the kind who checks up on her man when he isn’t with her.

“Yup. Most of the team is here. We won tonight, so everyone’s celebrating.” Another wave of music swells over the line. “Garrett keeps trying to challenge me to a shot contest.”

“What are the others up to?” I ask with feigned nonchalance. “Logan…Tuck…Dean…?”

I hate myself right now. I really, really do.

“Tuck isn’t here. Logan’s playing pool. And some girl is trying to eat Dean’s face off.”

My entire body goes cold.

Um…excuse me?

“Anyway, I can barely hear you,” Hannah says. “Text me if you’re coming.”

My hand trembles as I put down the phone. Dean is at the bar making out with someone else?

Two daysafter we talked about being exclusive?

Ohhellno.

18

ALLIE

My mother was a beautiful woman. I’m not saying this because I’m her daughter and therefore saw her through rose-colored lenses. I’m saying it because it’s true—Eva Hayes was a beautiful, stunning, exquisite woman. She modeled when she was in her twenties, and though she wasn’t tall enough for runway work, she was a high commodity in the print market. I still have every catalog and magazine spread she ever did in a scrapbook I keep on my bookshelf.

I inherited her blond hair and blue eyes, but my features aren’t flawless like hers. Mom had one of those classically beautiful faces that would make men, women, and children stop and stare whenever she walked by.

Me, I’m more cute than beautiful.

But I’ve learned that the right makeup and the right clothes can transform any girl fromcutetosex bomb.

I don’t know what my plan is. Dean and I aren’t dating, first off. And since I don’t want anyone toknow we’re fooling around, I can’t storm into Malone’s and dump a pitcher of beer over his head.

What Icando is show him exactly what he’s giving up.

I won’t lie—it hurts that he didn’t give me advance warning like he’d promised. And it definitely stings that he’s with someone else tonight when I would’ve been happy to keep flinging with him. But I knew going into this who I was getting involved with. Dean Heyward-Di Laurentis sleeps around. The End.

My ego, however, refuses to stand for this, which is why thirty minutes later I find myself sliding out the backseat of a taxi and stepping onto the curb in front of Malone’s.

My peacoat keeps me toasty as I linger near the door debating my plan of action. A couple of college guys pop out of the bar, and I’m gratified when both of them stop to check me out. Ha. And their appreciative gazes are based solely on my makeup and fuck-me-silly updo. They’d probably be salivating if they saw what was underneath my coat.

I reach for my phone.Here, I tell Hannah.Where are you?

Her: Pool table.

---