Page 93 of The Bad Girl List

CHAPTER 29

The Picture

TREVOR

I’m lying in bed, nursing my second bottle of wine of the evening, when Tequila hops into the doorway leading into the living room. She looks at me and yips.

“What is it, girl?” I glance away from the Food Network reruns I’ve been watching for the last two hours.

She yips again and hops into the living room. When I don’t follow, she hops back and barks again.

She’s hungry, I realize. I forgot to feed her. Thoughts of Dom and Elle have been swimming in my head since last night. I’ve been in such a bad mood today, it’s been hard to concentrate.

First, I drove to the wrong vineyard block. I didn’t even realize I was in the wrong place until one of our workers came to find me. When I went to the store to get groceries after work, I forgot to bring them inside when I got home. When I finally remembered, all the ice cream I bought had melted in the back. And now, apparently, I’ve forgotten to feed my poor dog.

I take another swallow of wine from the bottle–a Zinfandel–then leave it on the nightstand.

In the kitchen, I grab Tequila’s food bag from the pantry–only to realize it’s empty. Shit. I’d forgotten to get her dog food at the store. I briefly consider just feeding her a leftover hamburger patty from the fridge, but rich food like that gives her the runs. I don’t want to wake up in the middle of the night to Tequila diarrhea.

Shit. I’m too drunk to drive to the store now. Even if I can hold my alcohol, I’d never pass a breathalyzer test.

My parents have two dogs. I decide to drive up to their house and borrow some dog food from them until I can get to the store tomorrow.

“I’m going to get you some food, girl,” I tell Tequila. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

Her trail thumps, her dark eyebrows lifting.

I drive to the family house near the front of the property, the home where I was raised. The lights are on in the living room, telling me my parents are watching TV together.

Not wanting to deal with them and the barrage of questions they will undoubtedly throw at me, I park at the back of the house and go in through the laundry room. If I’m lucky, I’ll be in and out without them ever knowing I was there.

As I guessed, they’re watching TV. I hear the familiar music of Survivor as my mom cries, “Come on, Susie! Don’t let go!”

“There’s no way she can do it,” Dad says. “Bobby is going to win the immunity idol.”

“Don’t say that,” Mom says. “I hate Bobby!”

Hearing Survivor makes me think of Dom, which further sours my mood. I slip into the pantry and find the big bag of dog food. I’m in the middle of filling up a Ziplock when my phone pings with a text.

I immediately wonder if it’s Dom. She hadn’t replied after I texted her this morning. Not that I really expected a response after what I said and did, but a part of me had hoped.

It’s not a message from Dom. It’s a picture from Thomas. I tap on it, expecting a drunk selfie with him and his friends.

What I am not expecting is a picture of Dominique with a shot glass in her hand, standing in Zeke’s. Her hair has been slightly curled into loose waves that fall around her shoulders, her customary twin buns missing. It looks like she’s wearing make-up. She looks gorgeous, but she doesn’t look like her.

Next to her, with his clean-cut hair and million-dollar smile, is fucking Kevin Durham.

And he’s licking salt off the side of Dom’s neck as he prepares to take a tequila shot.

It’s fucking karaoke night. I’d broken my promise to take her.

And Dom went without me. She’s dressed up and looking drop-dead gorgeous with that asshat taking a body shot off her.

The text from Thomas reads, Are you really going to let this happen?

Before I can consider that my parents are sitting in the next room, I hurl my phone out of the pantry and across the kitchen. It thunks loudly against the wall.

“What the hell?” Dad comes into the kitchen, flicking on the light to find me standing in the doorway of the pantry, seething with emotion. “Trevor, what are you doing? Did you throw your phone?”

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