Page 3 of Love Bleeds Red
“And what? God, you’re like a fucking koala. How are your thighs this strong?” She grabs for the phone.
“And you won’t text him either,” I say.
With a huff, she agrees, so I drop her phone into her waiting hand before rolling off her, careful to avoid her sheets. She hasn’t washed those things since we moved in… there’s way too much Clay DNA on there.
“Good girl,” I say in a deep playful tone.
She snorts a laugh. “Oh my God, stop or you’re gonna make me fall in love with you.”
“Listen,” I say, plopping back onto my bed, and playing with a loose thread in my comforter. “You deserve to be called a good girl everyday. Just… not from me.”
We laugh for a good minute, my chest feeling lighter than it has all day. “What about you?” Layne asks.
“What?”
“Who’s calling Miss Bailey Shea a good girl?” Layne waggles her brows.
“No one,” I answer too quickly.
“Right,” she says with a snort. “That’s why you’ve checked your phone a hundred times in the last hour.”
I roll my eyes and drop my phone which I instinctively picked up as soon as I sat back on my bed. “It’s nobody.”
She sits up and levels me with a devious smirk. “Well, if that’s true, then you won’t mind going out tonight.”
I glance down at my baggy sweatpants and Ghostface T-shirt I’ve had since 10th grade. “Does it look like I want to go out? Plus, it’s raining.”
“Please,” she begs. “I need something to distract me. Or I can call Cla?—”
“You promised. Swore on Grandma Parks. I can hear her now, rolling in her grave. She’ll haunt you to a life of stale desserts and decaffeinated coffee.”
“How could you bring up Grandma’s love of coffee and desserts in a time like this?”
“I hate Clay that much, that’s how,” I say, keeping my tone playful.
“Come on, Bails. It’s Friday night. You have the whole weekend to study and I know for a fact that they’re not checking ID’s tonight at Heat.”
“Yeah, ‘cause the creep who owns it is alwaysinheat.The dude’s worse than a feral dog.” I laugh at my joke, but sadly, Layne does not. In fact, she stares at me with the most pathetic wide eyes.
“One drink and we can leave,” she pleads. “I promise I’ll stay with you all night.”
“Layne,” I groan. She hops off her bed and climbs onto mine, messing up the blanket.
“Please, I won’t bug you for the rest of the month. Just give me tonight. And I’ll do your hair and makeup.”
“Fine. One drink. And we’re stopping for Advil first. And you’re paying for the Uber.”
I’m such a freaking pushover.
“Anything else, your highness?” she asks in a terrible British accent, making my mind flash to the guy with the actual British accent that hasn’t texted me back all day. The guy I can’t stop thinking about.
I make a show out of pretending to think, until she whacks me with my pillow and shuffles to the closet, pulling out her shortest black dress. “Let’s make Clay and whoever the hell you won’t tell me about wish they weren’t assholes.”
“He’s not an?—”
“AH-HA!,” she yells. “I knew there was a guy. That’s it, you’re telling me everything. Get over here and let me straighten your hair.”
“This is abuse. I’m going to find the RA. What was her name again?”
