Page 33 of Fake Notes

The sound of her pointy-toed boots in hot pursuit followed me down the hall.

“Scarlett, hold on,” she said again, and this time I paused because where exactly was I going to hide?

With a groan, I turned in her direction, not even bothering to wipe the frown from my face. “What?” I asked without preamble. I didn’t even pretend to be pleasant.

“I was thinking . . . the guys and I are going to that new place on Main, Cue Ball, after school. The place with the pool tables?”

I blinked at her wordlessly.

“Anyway, we wanted to see if you’d like to come with.”

I stared at her. Not just because I absolutely abhorred the expression “come with”—I mean, how hard was it to add the word “us” to the end of a sentence?—but also because she was talking like I was suddenly her friend. Like we ran in the same social circles, and my joining her and the Royals was a normal occurrence and not as rare as a solar eclipse.

While some people in my shoes would jump at the opportunity to join them, I wasn’t that girl. Besides, I wasn’t dumb. Like I didn’t completely see through her nice-girl façade to the heart of her invite, which was one hundred percent on account of Thorne in the hopes that he’d “come with.”Insert eye roll here.

But here’s the thing. I liked users even less than I liked being used. So she was lucky I said “no” and left it at that.

“Oh.” She shifted on her feet, gaze darting behind me like she didn’t know what to do with my answer. Obviously, she hadn’t expected me to reject her, which boggled my mind because I hadn’t exactly been quiet about my dislike of the Royals in the past. In fact, I’d been quite clear on where I stood. If I had to choose between Royal or peasant. I’d choose peasant. Every. Single. Time.

She chewed her lower lip with her teeth, then nodded at someone behind me.

At the same moment I turned to see who it was, a beefy arm fell over my shoulders. One glance at the guy attached to the arm and I wanted to scrub my skin raw.

Mikey loomed over me with a predatory smile.

“Tell her, Mike. Shouldn’t Scar go with us to Cue Ball tonight?” Gabby asked, and all I could think wasScar?

She called me Scar.

Like we were best buds.

“Totally.”

Mikey dropped his arm. Thank God. It weighed about a thousand pounds.

“It’ll be a lot of fun, and table rentals are half-off all week. Besides, what else do you have to do on a Monday night?”

I rolled my shoulder out with a grin. “Organize my closet? Color coordinate my bookshelves? Let me see . . .” I tapped my chin like I was thinking. “I might have socks that need matching.”

“Oh, well, uh . . . there’s always time for that later, right? Come first, and then you can . . . do all that,” Gabby said, waving her hand around like I’d been completely serious.

My grin fell. “I was being sarcastic.”

“Oh, I know.” She flapped a hand and let out an artificial chuckle. “And it was so cute,” she said. “Mike, isn’t Scar cute?”

“Adorable.”

What the—“Listen, guys,” I said, because any more kissing and I might puke, “I appreciate the invite, but I’ll have to pass. I’m supposed to—"

“Hang out with me,” a gravelly voice finished for me, and it was the first time today I was glad to have Thorne around.

Gabby’s face lit up like a sparkler before I glanced up at him and smiled, my relief palpable before I remembered he was the reason the Royals were even talking to me in the first place, and then I frowned.

“Oh. Well, you should come too.” Gabby said. “I mean, the more, the merrier, right?”

I breathed fire out of my nose as I smashed my lips into a thin line. I had half a mind to hand her a tissue to catch the bit of drool pooling in the corner of her mouth.

“Maybe next time,” Thorne said, his tone smooth. “I have plans for this one.” He reached out and tipped my chin up so our eyes met. “Alone,” he murmured, and I cursed him for the way my cheeks heated at his touch. But I wasn’t about to contradict him. Not when it got Gabby and her pack of hungry wolves off my back.

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