Page 17 of Bully's Darkness
I paint the gloss over my lips and take one last look in the mirror before turning to Bria, who nods in approval. “You look amazing. Are you hoping to meet a certain man out tonight?”
I scoff. “I’mdonewith men. Bully hasn’t called all week. I think he’s finally seen it.”
“Seen what?”
“What I’ve been saying from the start, that we’re not going to work.”
“Or maybe he’s sulking because of the whole lunch date thing.”
His face flashes in my mind, tight with hurt, and I sigh. “I don’t blame him,” I murmur. “I lied to him.”
“He’s done worse,” she deadpans.
“Isaidthat, and he looked at me like I was some nagging housewife.” The twist in my chest returns, familiar and sharp. “This is the longest we’ve gone without speaking since we got together.”
“Exactly why a night out is perfect,” she says, slipping back into her heels like she’s armouring up.
“You think a night out is the answer to everything.” I laugh, despite myself. “But, fine, you’re not wrong. I need to feel normal for five minutes.”
“Who knows, maybe you’ll see the guy from last weekend.”
“God, I hope not. He’s been calling and texting like crazy, asking me out.”
She frowns. “And you haven’t said yes . . .whyexactly?”
“Because Bully would murder him.”
“I thought you said Mr. Hottie was a biker too?”
“He is.”
“Then maybehe’llmurder Bully.”
I shake my head, a reluctant smile tugging at my lips. “I don’t wanteitherof them dead. Especially not overme. Can we just drop it? I’m not dating anyone. I’ve been on my own for five years. I’m good.”
Stacy places the tray of shots on the table. “Did anyone hear about that fire?” she asks, sitting down.
“Why do we always start on shots?” I complain, taking one. “Why can’t we be civilised and start with wine?”
“The fire on the High Street?” asks Laura, and Stacy nods.
“Apparently, it’s a gang war or something.”
“They always say that,” Bria states, taking a shot too. “It was probably kids.”
“So, why would they say it’s gang-related?” asks Michelle.
“Because they don’t want us to realise how bad kids are these days,” Bria explains. “They’d rather you think we have gang members running around waging war against each other thanthinking our little cherubs of society are thugs, hell-bent on causing chaos and destruction.”
I laugh. “Coming from a teacher, that’s pretty harsh.”
“You think I’m joking, but they’re animals. And don’t get me started on the parents.”
“What happened anyway?” I ask Stacy.
She shrugs. “This woman who comes in the chippy regularly said it was gangs. Some turf war.”
“Please,” laughs Bria. “Where are we, America?”
