Page 2 of How Jenna Became My Dilemma

Nina’s eyes are still on me. “Was The Promised Prince the first time you met Cody?”

“Yes,” Cody quickly answers.

“No.” My stony eyes flip to him. “I met him eight years ago at an after-party at Jennifer Lawrence’s house.”

“I don’t think you can really call that meeting someone.”

“Actually, he’s right about that. More like we bumped into each other briefly.”

Nina Gregory leans forward as if she’s a teenage girl getting the gossip about my boyfriend. “Was Cody every bit as charming as you imagined?”

I prefer not to imagine Cody in any capacity.

“Words can’t even describe.” There goes my big smile again, doing what it does best.

“What did you guys talk about back then?” She gets her pen ready, like I’m about to tell her the cutest story ever. “Can you remember the details?”

“You know, we didn’t talk much.”

“That’s because I had my hands full.”

“Yes, you did,” I say under my breath while maintaining my smile.

JENNA: EIGHT YEARS AGO

Why did I drink so much Diet Coke?

Oh, I know.

Because I’m starving, and liquid is a better option than the trays of delicious hors d’oeuvres floating around the party. I’m sure one brie-and-prosciutto shortbread is at least three hundred and fifty calories—a hit I cannot afford with Fashion Week coming up. But now my bladder is paying for my attempt to fool my stomach into thinking I don’t need food.

Sixth door on the right. That’s where Jennifer said the upstairs bathroom is. There’s been a hijacking of the downstairs bathroom by a couple working off their prosciutto shortbread with a hot and heavy makeout.

Three. Four. Five.

The door is cracked open, making it easy to hear what can only be described as female giggling. The giggles are followed by a man’s short, choppy words.

“Whoa. Oh. No. Eh. No.”

More high-pitched laughter. “Don’tcha like to be touched?”

“Depends on the night.” His words come out in a rough spurt. “And it depends on the woman.”

There’s a stumble and noises. My mind takes those noises and fills in the blanks: two bodies slamming into the wall, plus something really heavy crashing to the ground and then rolling across the floor.

“Whatch about you and me tonightch?” Her words are tagged with a drunken slur from too much partying.

“Oh. Hey. Uh.” Alarm coats each of his words.

More crashing and thrashing.

When did bathrooms turn into brothels instead of a place to relieve yourself?

My restroom needs can’t wait any longer, so I push open the door, ready to face whatever indecency there is. The momentum of the door stops when it bangs into someone.

“Oh, boy!” the man grunts.

I peek my head in and watch the last moments of him falling on top of the woman lying on the floor by the toilet. There are a lot of arms and legs and just a general blob of bodies, so it’s hard to tell what’s happening.

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