Page 62 of The Good Girl (Nashville Neighborhood)

Her posture stiffened. “Oh.”

More like, oh, shit. I hadn’t known that at the time, either. “She came out of the bathroom after changing, wrapped in a towel, and I’d just assumed her suit was strapless. Then, she took her first step into the hot tub, tossed her towel aside, and I realized what . . . was missing.”

I got a flash of her naked body before she sank down into the bubbling water, and I’d stood dumbfounded at the side of the hot tub for a long time, considering my options. Which had been extra difficult because I was drunk.

“I should have left her,” I said, “and gone back in the house, but I was wasted, and I was pissed at Cassidy.”

Outrage burned in her eyes. “You’re blaming her for your cheating?”

“No, no.” I couldn’t get the words out fast enough. “I know I fucked up. I’m not trying to make excuses, or say it wasn’t one thousand percent my fault.”

I couldn’t even blame Stacy for it. Sure, she’d come on strong, and that was shady as fuck because she knew I was drunk, but she hadn’t forced me to get in the hot tub with her.

I’d made that choice.

“I’m just trying to explain what led to my giant fuck-up.” I placed my hands on the counter and leaned forward. “My whole life, I’d been the center of attention. For my mom, and then my dad, and then, for a while, Cassidy. That stopped when we got to college, and I didn’t know how to deal with it.”

It was embarrassing to admit, but I couldn’t help myself. My friends knew about the Stacy incident, but I hadn’t really talked about it with anyone before. It’d been bottled up for so long, it was almost a relief to get it out.

“So, I got in,” I lifted my guilty, vulnerable gaze to Sydney. “And when Stacy started kissing me, I kissed her back.” My voice lost all its power. “We probably would have done more, but my dad came home early, and he caught us. He was so pissed that it sobered me up right quick, and when I realized what the fuck I’d done, I got out and told her to go home.”

“What’d he say to you?”

“My dad? Nothing, but it was the first time I’d ever seen him disappointed in me. He knew I was still with Cassidy.”

She looked dubious. “But he said nothing?”

“You have to understand, my dad and I didn’t have a good relationship back then. Fuck, for the first twelve years of my life, we didn’t have a relationship at all. He chose medical school and his career over my mom and me.”

Her expression shifted. “What changed?”

“He grew up. Grew out of being a selfish asshole.” There was no doubt I’d gotten that trait from him, but I liked to think I’d overcome it better and faster than he had. “For a long time, I thought it was too little, too late for us. My mom made me move in with him, and at first it sucked, but then I realized I had all the leverage. He was so eager to get me to like him, he’d let me do whatever the fuck I wanted. So, no. He didn’t say anything.”

She considered that for a quiet, heavy moment. “Does Cassidy know about it? That you and Stacy—”

“Yeah.”

It looked like she wasn’t sure if she should ask it. “Is that why you broke up?”

“No. She broke up with me before she found out about that.” Before Sydney could ask, I offered it up. “I didn’t tell her because I was ashamed, and truthfully, I was a shitty person back then. Since then, I’ve been trying hard not to go down the same path my dad did. To be different.” I blinked against my uncomfortable feelings. “I don’t know. To be better.”

She gave me a discerning look, like she was reevaluating everything about me. It made me uneasy, and I hadn’t a clue what face I was making, but I hoped she could see my remorse.

“Cassidy was my best friend,” I sucked in a breath, “and the first girl I ever loved. I don’t know how I would have survived my first year with my dad without her. I’m always going to regret that I repaid her by treating her like shit.”

Sydney’s gaze was fixated on me, and the longer we held each other’s stare, the more intense and tighter it became. When I’d seen her last year at my graduation party, I’d locked eyes with her and waited for her to look away, but tonight it was my turn to break first.

I dropped my gaze to the cutting board in front of her and the shallot she’d abandoned.

“You are different,” she said finally. Her hand closed around the knife handle, readying to pick it up. “Think you’ll ever cheat again?”

“No.” My tone was absolute because I believed it absolutely. “Never.”

She seemed pleased with my answer and resumed her work. Once she finished making the cuts, she moved on to dicing. The quick cuts of her knife were so skilled and precise, it was mesmerizing to watch.

“You said you and your dad didn’t have a good relationship back then. It’s good now?” She probably wasn’t trying to sound skeptical, but I heard it anyway.

“It’s . . . complicated,” I admitted. “Living here with them is not ideal, but it’s rent free, and it won’t be for much longer.”

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