Page 7 of The Pretender

Told ya. She knew I was being ridiculous.

“Anyway,” she says on a breath, “I came to make sure you aren’t wearing a t-shirt to Bennett and Drew’s birthday party. I know how you don’t like to show off the girls.”

Okay, so let me explain. It’s not that I mind showing off my boobs or “the girls” as Aspen calls them, but I find that they attract the attention of the stupidest males. Frankly, I don’t have the time or the patience to try and talk to someone while they constantly stare at my tits.

“I plan to wear a swimsuit,” I tell her. “Drew already told me it was a water-themed party.” Technically, it’s slip and slide kickball themed, which is so ridiculous only Drew would think of it.

“Which swimsuit?” Aspen probes, still blocking the window and my view of Bash-hole.

I shrug. “I don’t know. The blue one maybe?”

Aspen’s mouth drops open. “The one that looks like athletic wear?”

My lips flatten in return. “It’s a sporty swim top and shorts. There is nothing wrong with it. Especially since I’ll have to run to play kickball.”

My girls aren’t huge, but they have some bounce to them. Forgive me for not wanting an epic nip slip wearing those triangle tops that are only held together with string.

Aspen glances down at my—you guessed it—flannel pajamas. “You can wear one of mine. I invited Vance to the party and I thought… you know…. You two could…” She does this stupid face where her eyes blink fast and her mouth opens on one side.

“If you mean we could have a seizure together then I’ll pass.”

She really does need to work on her facial expressions.

Her laugh is light and bubbly. “That’s not at all what I meant. I thought you guys could talk. You’ve been at Havemeyer for almost a year and you’ve yet to go on a date. You need to mingle, Vee. Let someone take you out for a change—actually watch a movie on somethingotherthan your iPad for goodness sakes. We have theaters, you know.”

Look at her projecting her single girl problems on me.

I take the opportunity and shove her to the side, chancing a glance out the window, where I find Sebastian’s kitchen empty. Sighing, I rake a hand through my hair. I was interested in someone at Havemeyer once, it just didn’t work out.

Turning, I face Aspen and grimace. “Fine. But only this once.”

“Yay!” Her stupid clap forces a smile from me. “Vance will be all growly when he sees you in the bikini I have picked out.”

I don’t kill her joy by falling face first onto the bed. Instead, I let her dash out of the room with the promise of letting her fix my hair.

When she’s out of sight, no longer all up in my business, I slide down the window until my butt hits the floor. Today is going to hell in a designer handbag. I mean, I knew it would be, considering I tossed and turned once I got home from seeking revenge on the neighbor. Without my horror movie and popcorn under the stars, I was left to my own devices, which were as follows:

A shower.

A popsicle.

A quick scroll through my old videos, which resulted in me watching the last clip that I shot with a body cam—the one that never aired.

I lost hours of sleep replaying the video, watching helplessly as my lips pressed against his. His blonde hair had tumbled over his eyes when he pulled back, staring at me in complete and utter shock. And then it all clicked. It was as if I could see him putting the pieces together as he swiped through the layers of makeup on my face. It was a gut punch that left me with stupid girly tingles I’ve only ever felt around him.

I hate I was sucked into his vortex of charm. That stupid personality of his completely messed up my game. I would have aired that damn video if my guilt and feelings for him didn’t get in the way. But they did, and I lost a crap ton of sponsored ads because of it.

But I just couldn’t do it to him.

Sebastian might be a weasel, but he’s my weasel and, really, him knowing I beat him in our epic war of pranks is payment enough. At least it will be until I can’t make my car payment and end up begging my brother to wire me some money.

The K9 shelter I work for pays minimum wage, and honestly, that’s fine; I don’t do it for the money. Caring for retired service dogs who lost their handlers in battle is what gets me through the week. I would help out for free, but Mason, my dad’s Marine friend and owner of the facility, insists on paying me, so I don’t argue. I do need the money. My dad pays for a lot, but he insisted that his kids know the value of hard work. So my brother and I have always had a job. It’s a great escape from classes and social media. Which, obviously, I need since social media is what got me in this war with Sebastian in the first place.

“Vee!” Aspen shouts through the door. “How do you feel about a thong?”

“I feel like my butt is full from breakfast,” I return.

She chuckles. She knew my answer would be no. “Never hurts to try. One day, I’ll talk you into it.”

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