Page 21 of Set on You

“Are you sure there’s nothing wrong?”

I pin her with a grave expression. “Scott Ritchie, Martin’s grandson? He is Squat Rack Thief.”

She covers her mouth with her palm. “What? Actually?”

“Yup.”

“That’s the guy you made out with in the gym locker room?”

I give her a curt nod.

She raises her brow, coming to the realization. “And he has a girlfriend...”

“Yup. He’s a disgusting pig. Surprise, surprise.”

Her shock transforms into a scowl. “This is why I don’t trust the male species anymore.”

“Tell me about it.” I pause, taking in her anger. “But don’t say anything. I don’t want to ruin the dinner. That’s why I’m leaving.” I take stock of my Uber as it pulls up in the nick of time.

“I really want to go in there to give him a piece of my mind,” Tara declares, turning on her heel as I open the car door.

“No!” I shout after her. Revealing Scott’s infidelity at an engagement party feels petty and juvenile. It also makes me look like the scorned and jealous “other woman,” which I’m not.

But it’s too late. She’s already inside.

chapter nine

I’M NEVER EATINGdairy again, I vow. Unfortunately, lactose intolerance was destined to befall me. Dad’s entire family suffers from it.

Making quick work of unfastening my bra from under my dress, I carelessly discard it on the living room floor before sprawling on the couch in a food coma. I’m about to fire up Bravo when my phone lights up on the coffee table. My throat constricts. I hope it isn’t Neil.

And it isn’t. It’s an Instagram direct message. From Ritchie_Scotty7.

Oh hell no.

I pick up my phone and open the message.

RITCHIE_SCOTTY7

Hey Crystal. Your sister told me you were upset.

I stare at his message for a few moments before violently shaking my phone. He isn’t even the slightest bit unique. In fact, he’s a textbook cheater, desperately sliding into a girl’s DMs.

And how am I supposed to respond to that message? I decide to remedy the situation by avoiding the shit out of it. I’m not enabling his behavior further.

Tossing my phone aside, I reach for the remote and turn on a rerun of my belovedReal Housewives of Orange County.Halfway through, amid an all-out screaming match between Tamra and Vicki, my phone lights up again.

RITCHIE_SCOTTY7

I see you read my message. Are you planning to respond? I’ll even accept an emoji response.

I almost catch myself snorting at the message, because I can picture his punchable face and hear his deep voice as I read the DM. I spend the entire rest of the episode shamefully stalking his Instagram. He doesn’t have tons of photos, but I analyze each one forensically.

In his profile photo, he’s wearing aviators against a sunny, azure sky. He’s holding a huge, leggy goldendoodle in his lap. The doodle is literally smiling. With teeth. Apparently, I was wrong in my Instagram rant. He does like puppies. In fact, he’s seemingly obsessed with his dog, because his Instagram bio readsDog dad to Albus Doodledore.

Against my better judgment, I continue to hate-scroll. There is no sign of Diana, the figure skater girlfriend Martin and his mom were talking about. Instead, there’s a plethora of nature pictures, some solo photos of Albus Doodledore on hiking trails, and a couple shots of fire trucks and other guys in firefighter gear.

There aren’t even any shirtless gym-bro selfies. In fact, there’s only one shirtless photo, of him with another friend on the edge of a dock on a lake. I zoom in with surgical precision, so as to ensure I do not accidentallyLikethe photo. His abs are unmistakable. And this photo is from 2016. Damn. He’s livedyearsof his life this beautiful. It’s almost unjust.

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