Page 79 of The Forbidden
“Make it an hour thirty and you’ve got yourself a deal,” she drawls.
I agree, hanging up.
Then I prepare myself for a night of forgetting Evan Maxwell.
My body sways to the music, inhibitions gone as the four vodka cranberries course through my veins. In front of me, Lana dances with abandon, arms in the air as she screams out the lyrics blaring through the speakers.
After I told her everything – about Evan, the sex, the picture on Instagram –she didn’t judge me. Lana dragged me inside the club, bypassing the queue with her promoter friend who led us straight to a private booth, with a bottle of vodka and mixers.
Sure, she was shocked. But even more than that, she was hurt I hadn’t told her. But she listened to every word I said and called Evan every curse under the sun. And now? She’s here, dancing, drinking, laughing. Holding me up, literally and figuratively.
Honestly, I couldn’t ask for a better friend. I make a silent vow to spend more time with her. Lately, I’ve been so caught up in Evan, I have neglected some of my most important relationships. That ends now.
My phone vibrates in the small purse I’m carrying. I freeze my movements, pull it out and nearly drop it. My eyes nearly bug out of their sockets when I see the name flashing on the screen.
Evan.
“What the hell does he want?” I mutter, hitting thefuck youbutton.
Screw Evan Maxwell.
He doesn’t get to cozy up to another woman in public, then call me like I’m some secret booty call. No way.
I’m about to slide my phone back in my purse, when a message lights up the screen.
Hisroyalassholeness: Where are you? I’ve been outside your door for thirty minutes and you’re not answering.
The audacity. The rage returns, my body heats like a volcano waiting to explode. I glance at Lana, who is now grinding her ass into some guy’s dick.
I get her attention, shouting over the music. “I’m going to the bathroom.”
She waves me off, grinning as she wraps her arms around the guy’s neck, pulling him close. I move through the crowds, swatting off grabby hands as I go, and stepping into the hallway by the restrooms I find a quiet spot, then call him.
He picks up instantly.
“Finally. Where the fuck are you, Brat?” he growls.
I laugh, though there’s no humor in it. “I am at a club. Having some fun. Go home, Evan. Or better yet, go find Valentina to fuck,” I slur.
“You’re drunk.” He states flatly, ignoring the rest of my words.
“And you can go fuck Valentina.” I hiss. “I’m done being your dirty little secret.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” I feel his anger and impatience through the line.
“You’re an asshole.” I bite out. “I saw a picture of you with her. At your little event. You said I couldn’t go because of press. And then you show up with your ex-girlfriend.” My breath catches, my emotions getting the better of me. “Screw you, Evan.”
He sighs, and I picture him running a hand through his hair in frustration. “It’s not what you think.”
My laugh is sardonic. “Really? Because it sure as hell looked like what I think.”
“Where are you?” he repeats, a warning in his voice.
I sigh, running a hand down my face, suddenly feeling exhausted.
“At Harbor, surrounded by hot men.” I’m being petulant. Can’t help it. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to my friends. Bye asshole.” I end the call before he can respond, smiling to myself.
Screw him.
