Page 70 of The Boy I Once Loved

“Oh, sorry, I can’t. I have plans.”

“What plans can be more important than hanging with your friends?” He asks me grinning.

I clear my throat. “I kind of have a date tonight.”

Connor blinks. “You do, huh?” I nod my head and scrunch my brow when Connor stops in his steps and stares ahead. I follow his eyes and see Dylan standing at his locker with his lips locked against Freya’s. It hurts, I’ll be lying If I say it doesn’t.

“Stupid fucker.” Connor offers me a tight smile. “I’ll catch you later, Ella.” He jogs off to where Dylan is eating Freya’s face and grabbing him by the arm, he pulls him off into the boys’ toilets. Poor Freya is left standing there with her mouth open. She regains her composure though when I pass her.

“Oh, hey Ella. Nice jacket.”

I smile in response. I know she doesn’t really like my jacket and she’s just being a shallow bitch, but I smile and say thanks, telling myself she’s not worth it. My heart hurts in my chest, wounded from seeing the guy I love kissing another girl. This is what I wanted, right? This is what’s best for me?

At lunchtime, I hesitate at the doors to the cafeteria. Dylan will be in there and Freya will probably be all over him now that she’s got her claws in him. I’m not sure if I can face it. I’m about to turn on my heels and hide away in the library when Aria appears.

“Oh no, you don’t. You are not running away and hiding. Don’t give Freya the satisfaction.”

“I don’t know what you- “

Aria arches a manicured brow. “Don’t bullshit me, Ella. I know the score okay. I see what you hope no one else sees. What I don’t understand is why Dylan’s sudden interest in Freya? Did something happen with you two?”

I groan and rub a weary hand across my face. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Aria smiles in sympathy. “Okay, I’ll not push, but I’m here if you need someone to talk to in confidence.”

“Thanks.”

She links her arm through mine. “Now head up high girl.”

With Aria for support, I manage to get my food and I take a seat next to Connor. Freya is sitting on Dylan’s lap with her arms wound around his neck, looking like the cat that got the cream. Caleb plonks himself down beside me and looks up and looks shocked when he looks over and sees Freya on Dylan’s knee.

“When the fuck did that happen?”

Dylan just shrugs, his eyes briefly meeting mine before he looks away and he carries on talking with Kim.

Caleb leans into me as he bites on a chip. “He once said he’d rather drink his own piss than go near Freya again. I don’t get it.”

I plaster on an unconcerned smile. “You know Dylan, always chasing pussy.”

Caleb snorts and nods his head. “True that.”

As if it’s not bad enough that I have to endure Freya all over him at lunch. At the end of the day, I’m making my way to my locker and I falter in my steps when I see Dylan and Freya at her locker. She’s leaning into him as he leans against the wall of lockers, pressing her body into his and looking up at him with that ‘come and lick me’ face she pulls. An image of me smacking her face into the lockers assaults my mind, and I shake my head to clear it. As I pass them, Dylan looks up.

“Hey Ella, we’re having a movie night at Connor’s tonight, you coming?” He asks as he swings his arm over Freya’s shoulder.

“Can’t, I’ve got plans,” I tell him with a tight smile plastered on my face.

He nods. “Oh yeah. The hot date. Where’s he taking you?”

I sigh. I do not want to have this conversation with him, and I really do not want to hang around and see Freya touching him any more than I have to. "He's cooking me dinner at his house."

Dylan nods, his eyes are cold and unfeeling. "Nice."

Nodding my head, I turn away and I speed walk to my locker. Fucking arsehole. I don’t know whether I want to kick him hard in the balls or punch him in the face. I throw my books in my locker and I hightail out of there as fast as I can. The more distance I put between myself and Dylan, the more my erratic heart slows down.

I'm not feeling it at all by the time I knock on Kyle's door at six-thirty. He opens the door and holds it open for me to come in. He's dressed casually in jeans and a navy t-shirt. His brown hair is styled to the side, he looks smart.

“I hope you like Spag Bol because my cooking skills are limited to that and pasta bake,” he admits as I follow him up the stairs into the flat. The flat is small but nicely decorated. It’s a typical guy’s pad, very sparse with just the essentials. White walls and black furniture and of course a massive television on the chimney breast. I notice he’s set the small table for two and lit a candle. Cute.

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