Page 82 of Set on You

Holly follows Scott’s gaze and glances over her shoulder, jolting when she sees me. “Crystal?”

I smile. “Holly. So nice to see you.”

We simultaneously go in for an awkward hug. As we pull away, her face remains twisted in confusion. She whips her head back to Scott. “Wait,Crystalisn’t your girlfriend, is she?”

When Scott dips his chin, confirming, Holly doesn’t hide her bewilderment. She turns to appraise me. “Wow. You’ve—you’ve done really well. I mean... good for you.” Her tone is anything but authentic. But it also isn’t bitchy or malicious. It’s genuine surprise. “We’ll have to catch up sometime soon. Maybe do lunch,” she adds.

The fleeting thought crosses my mind:Does she have a right to be shocked? Does everyone feel this way when they see us together?

As the toxicity of my thoughts begins to burrow into my gut, I shut them away, pulling myself back to reality. “Yeah, lunch sounds good,” I tell her, maintaining a friendly tone, despite my clenched jaw.

Scott holds his hand out, straight past Holly, toward me. “Come dance.” I instinctively let him lead me into the thick of the crowd.

His arms envelop me as we sway to a slow song I recognize but can’t name. The new lanterns we ended up buying thanks to my failed tree-climbing ordeal are strewn from the ceiling, casting a golden glow off his face. “I have no idea who that was. She came up to me while I was talking to your mom,” he tells me, as if he has to justify himself.

I stop him. “Scott, don’t worry about it. She’s Ethel’s granddaughter. She’s a nice girl.”

He runs his hand up and down my back protectively, pulling me closer into his chest. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m totally fine,” I say, even though I don’t know if I am.

I try to shake off Holly’s astonishment over me being Scott’s girlfriend. I try to forget about the way she looked at me. Or how she literally congratulated me for scoring him. But for some reason, the sting is unrelenting, to the point that I no longer know what song is playing or who is dancing around me.

Scott presses his lips to my forehead when the song ends. “Wanna go back to my place soon? And bysoonI mean in exactly fifteen minutes? I have to work at six in the morning.”

I manage a half grin through the intruding negativity. “I reallywant to be horizontal with you right now, but I should probably stay back and help my mom and Tara with the cleanup.”

He gives me a chaste peck on the cheek. “No worries. Gym tomorrow after I get off work?”

I nod. “Sounds good. But seriously, go home and get some sleep.”

•••

CLEANING UP THEdécor at the end of the night is a painful endeavor that involves me limping around barefoot and tipsy, putting my lifting skills to good use. In fact, Tara has designated me the “muscle,” responsible for carrying all the heavy items from the reception room to Mom and Dad’s car.

By the time we return to my place, I’m entirely exhausted from the day and desperate to put on my trusty elastic-waist pajama pants.

As I settle into bed, I’m finally able to check my phone for the first time since last night. When my screen illuminates the darkness with its blinding blue glow, I jolt.

There are literally thousands of notifications. All on the beach photo.

chapter twenty-eight

Can’t believe a guy that looks like that would date a chick like you. Guess some guys just like them insecure.

I’ve reread those words at least fifty times. Now they’re a permanent screenshot in my head. It’s a complete manifestation of all the thoughts I pictured going through Holly’s head when she realized I was Scott’s girlfriend. And there are thousands more similar comments, all from total strangers.

He’s with her for her Instagram money. He’s totally got side chicks...

He deserves so much better!!! He’s sooooo hot.

She could eat him for breakfast.

The sheer number of vile comments and DMs rolling in on this photo every second is unprecedented. Usually, my posts reach the height of their engagement within the first few hours they’re posted. But nearly twenty-four hours after I originally posted the beach photo, the barrage of notifications on my phone hasn’t slowed. In fact, this photo has received at least five times more attention than most of my Instagram posts.

My heart sinks lower and lower into despair as I continue to scroll through the thousands of comments and DMs. It’s like a twisted addiction. Like I’m willingly injecting poison into my veins, despite knowing the catastrophic consequences. The smart thing to do would be to turn off my phone and succumb to a good night’s rest. But I can’t tear myself away, for some sick reason. I read through the comments until the strain becomes unbearable. Until my eyes are heavy, dry and gritty like sandpaper.

After less than two hours of sleep, the first thing I do the next morning is sit up, grab my phone, and pick up where I left off.

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