Page 33 of Bitter Truths

I don’t even know what happened with Will, but I guess Will didn’t report his face being bashed in since Griffin’s sitting here and not behind bars, which is weird but not my problem.

Griffin glances between Aaron and me with a calculating look before saying with a pretty smile, “I’m having a party on Friday. You should come.”

Narrowing my eyes, I mutter suspiciously, “Why?”

“Because,” he says, leaning toward me until his lips are a breath from mine. “It’s not a party without my girl.”

“I’m not your girl,” I growl.

Just the proximity inflames me, but it’s the tingle of pleasure at his proclamation that takes me aback. No. Fucking no.

“Hm,” he hums, giving me a satisfied grin as he pushes to his feet. “You want to come to the game on Saturday?”

“I hate football,” I say, dropping my gaze.

Before everything, I went to all his games because he loved having me there and called me his good luck charm. But during our freshman year, the first game of the season when I was still clinging to the hope he would come around, I sat in the stands with a ball of nerves in my stomach only for him to look right through me and smile with smoldering eyes at Tammy Porter instead. And if the rumor was true, he fucked her after that game in celebration of his win.

Yeah, no. Just . . . no.

“Oh sweet, not when I play,” he smirks. “Friday.”

With that, he walks away, and I gaze after him, bemused.

“Wow, that boy wants in your pants bad,” Aaron exclaims, and I laugh, smacking his arm, but I think it’s true, and I consider fucking him this weekend because so far, he’s the only one that I feel any sort of attraction to, which is mind-numbing in its ridiculousness.

Hm, maybe this is how I show him pain—by using him and walking away.

∞∞∞

Miranda texts me back the following day, and I agree to meet her for coffee, finding our usual table in the corner under a large oak tree. It’s another beautiful day, and I try to focus on the sunshine on my shoulders rather than the rock in my stomach while I wait.

Even though I think this is the right thing to do, it doesn’t mean it won’t be grossly uncomfortable. Looking at her pain will only remind me of my own. And no amount of therapy will ever change that.

Through the tables, I spy her approaching me with a frown, her long, slim legs bare under the short shorts and tiny tank top she’s wearing.

I smile sadly, wishing I hadn’t created this distance between us. I unknowingly threw her under the bus, and although the circumstances are much different, the parallels between my gaffe and Griffin’s mistake make me itchy.

But I didn’t ruin Miranda’s life. I try to assure myself, but it’s halfhearted at best.

Miranda dated Griffin, and with her long dark hair and huge tits, she’s just Griffin’s type, or so I thought, until he turned to me. She also slept with Max, to which Griffin confronted her with his customary cruel sneer. This was after I almost revealed her trauma over Jason, and the confrontation was seriously fucking awkward.

I haven’t spoken to her since, and I feel like an ass, but it’s not like we had a support group or some shit. I wouldn’t even know if I hadn’t recognized the same dead expression behind her eyes that I see when I look in the mirror.

“Hey,” she says, sitting down across from me.

“Hey,” I mutter, shifting uneasily now that she’s here. What am I supposed to say? Shit.

“How’s it going?” she asks with a smile, although her usual spirit is gone.

Miranda invited me to my first college party even though she didn’t know me. She also unknowingly helped me get revenge on Jason on Halloween with stiletto-gate and took me home after I broke down the evening I shared my story in therapy.

So, she may be the bitch who fucked Griff, but she’s also gone out of her way to be nice to me.

“It’s okay,” I mumble.

“How’s Griff and your brother?”

“They’re fine, I guess. I moved out, and Max went to rehab.” In other words, please don’t get high with my brother.

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