His jaw ticks, but he doesn’t move a muscle as he glares down at me. And I know I’ve struck a chord. I know I’ve made my point very clear. And I know it’s only pissed him off more.

“Nice little speech, babe,” he tells me. “Did you rehearse it in front of the mirror before you came over?”

I roll my eyes and shake my head. “I’m leaving.”

But as I go to slip past him, he steps in front of me again.

“He wants to get back at me, you know,” he adds with a mock frown. It only fans my frustration.

Pinching the bridge of my nose, I mutter, “This isn’t about you––”

“Yes, it is, Ash.”

“For what, Logan?” I ask, exasperated. “What would he have against you? You guys are friends––”

“I slept with his girlfriend behind his back.”

Wait. What?

The blood drains from my face as I register his comment.

I slept with his girlfriend behind his back.

Logan was sleeping with Colt’s girlfriend? Brooke? As in, the same girlfriend that made him late for one of his hockey games in high school? And not just hockey game, but the hockey game? The one before the accident? The accident that killed his dad?

My lips part on a silent gasp.

Did Colt know?

How could Logan do something like that? To his own best friend? It’s despicable. If the guy wanted to make me feel like I’ve been sucker-punched, he officially succeeded.

My mind feels like it’s short-circuiting as I stutter, “W-what are you talking about?”

“His girlfriend in high school. I slept with her behind his back, and now he’s sleeping with you to get back at me.”

“I-–” I shake my head, convinced I’m hallucinating. “You’re lying.”

“I’m really not,” he tsks. “He’s using you, Ash. He doesn’t like you. He doesn’t want you. Just like your parents don’t. He wants to flaunt you in my face to prove he won.” Tongue in cheek, he looks over his shoulder toward the main area, practically bursting with our fellow students, and lets out a low chuckle. “Honestly? It’s pathetic, Ash. I ended shit with you. Why does he even think I’d care?” He laughs a little harder. “Didn’t think you’d fall for it, though. You really think someone like Colt Thorne would want you?” Another scoff. “Tell me. How long did you wait until you jumped into his bed?” He lifts his hand and shakes his head. “Actually. I don’t even care enough to know. Run along, Ashlyn.” He steps aside, finally giving me space to slip past him. “Glad I could shine some light on the situation for you.”

But I keep my feet planted and stare at him. I want to yell. I want to scream. But I’m too stunned to do anything. Hell, I feel like I’ve been kicked in the stomach.

Breathe, I remind myself. He wants to hurt you. Don’t let him hurt you.

“Nice catching up, Logan,” I spit, nearly choking on the lump in my throat, but I swallow it back. “I hope you catch an STD and your dick falls off.”

With my head held high, I walk out of the hall and through the crowded main area, desperate for some fresh air. For a chance to clear my head. For a chance to understand.

Logan can’t be serious, can he? And even if he is––which considering the messenger, could be a load of shit––so what?

So. Freaking. What?

I don’t believe Logan.

Why should I?

He’s nothing but a liar.

A sniveling asshole who hates losing.