Page 23 of Never Your Girl

Willow bites her lip, giving me one of her careful looks, the kind that makes me want to squirm. “So, what really happened with you two anyway? Because the daggers you shoot at him aren’t exactly subtle, and now he’s accusing you of, what, cyberstalking?”

I roll my eyes as a slight twist of unease settles in my stomach.

“Nothing happened. At least—” The words stick in my throat. “Nothing that matters.”

They continue to stare.

“Fine.” The admission feels like glass in my mouth. “Freshman year we hooked up. Once. And before either of you say anything, just know that it was an accident and totally meaningless.”

“An accident?” Ava’s eyebrow arches. “Did you trip and fall on his?—”

“Don’t.” My lips twitch despite myself.

“Are you sure it was meaningless?” Willow’s voice softens. “Because from where I’m sitting?—”

“Trust me, it was nothing.” The words come out too sharp, too fast. “He’s an egotistical asshat who thinks I’m obsessed with him. Like I have time for that.”

“Or maybe,” Willow ventures carefully, “you’re both still a little hung up on each other?”

I turn my glare on her. “The only thing I’m hung up on is how he ghosted me like I was some random puck bunny.”

Shit. I didn’t mean to say that.

“Hold up.” Ava straightens. “He ghosted you?”

“It doesn’t matter.” I glance at the clock, and relief floods me. “I need to go. Mom stuff.”

“Holland—”

“Say hi to Vivienne,” Willow calls as I grab my bag.

Guilt twists in my stomach as I meet her eyes. For a second, I consider spilling everything. About the club, about Ice, about how that night with Bridger meant more than I’ve ever admitted to anyone.

Instead, I run.

The Envy Room is already packed when I arrive, the parking lot full of expensive cars belonging to men trying to buy what they can’t have. Rocco gives me his usual chin lift as I pass, which I return. We’re both people of few words.

The dressing room thrums with conversation and the muffled bass from the club, but I barely notice. My mind keeps circling back to Bridger. To the hurt in his eyes before he masked it with anger. To the way he’d pressed me against those library shelves like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to kiss me or kill me.

“You look ready to commit murder.” Jade drops into the chair beside me. “Bad day?”

I let out a sharp laugh. “Something like that.”

“Let me guess... Boy trouble?”

“You’re two for two.” I open the tube of lipstick, hoping the physical action will shut down the mess raging in my head.

“Holland.” Randi’s voice cuts through the chatter. She stands by the door, all sleek power in stilettos, her gaze locked on me.

When she crooks a finger, I follow.

“Is everything all right?” she asks once we’re in the hallway, her tone softer than her expression.

I blink. “Yeah, why?”

She leans against the wall, arms crossed. “Because you’ve got that look I see right before girls start making mistakes. The one that says their head’s somewhere else entirely.” Her eyes narrow. “I’m not in the business of letting my girls look lost on stage. Ruins the fantasy and kills the tips.”

I open my mouth to deflect, but something in her expression stops me. “There’s just... a lot going on. But it’s nothing I can’t handle.”

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