Page 101 of The Write Track
“No, we’ll text them and tell them to act lazy and bored before coming here,” Bree countered. “We don’t want Preston getting suspicious.”
I muttered something under my breath about how I didn’t care what Preston believed, but she ignored me and started typing on her phone. I thew myself onto the couch and waited for Brody and Nathan to join us. It only took them five minutes.
“You’re not shaving your legs or anything, are you?” Nathan asked, timidly poking his head through the door. “I don’t want to see it if you’ve somehow turned it into a group activity.”
“Oh, give me a break,” Bree growled. “We were never in here shaving our legs.”
“Okay.” Nathan smiled at me as he entered, slowing when I didn’t smile back. “What is happening? I’m so worried right now.”
Andthatwas the problem. Preston was trying to ruin him because of me. This was all my fault. Just when I was about to tell him that—and maybe start crying—Bree jabbed a finger in my direction.
“Don’t,” she warned, deadly serious. “You’re about to go full-on martyr. I can tell. Nobody is falling on a sword.”
Nathan visibly braced himself. “What is going on?”
“You didn’t sleep with Heather Franklin,” I blurted before Bree could lay things out.
Confusion had Nathan drawing his eyebrows together. “I didn’t?”
“No, unless you’ve remembered something and haven’t told us about it.”
“I don’t remember anything.” He rubbed his stomach. “I feel sick about it too. What sort of guy sleeps with somebody but doesn’t remember it?”
“Not you,” Bree replied. “Bella figured it out when we were over at the picnic table. It’s the only thing that makes sense.”
“What’s the only thing that makes sense?” Nathan’s frustration was palpable. “You’re about to drive me over a cliff with this. I need to know what you’re talking about.”
“You didn’t sleep with her,” I repeated. “Preston just wants you to think you did.”
“I don’t…”
I could practically hear the gears in his mind grinding as things started coming together.
“Oh, man,” he said finally. “It makes sense.”
I wanted to curl into a ball and cry. “I’m so sorry.” My voice broke when he raised his eyes to mine. “This is all my fault.”
“That is not helping,” Bree snapped. “Stop blaming yourself for the things that guy does. You didn’t do this. He did it all.”
Nathan strode toward me, determined. “She’s right. This isn’t your fault.” He pulled me into his arms and stroked my back as the tears came. “Please, baby, don’t cry. Don’t give him the satisfaction.”
I couldn’t help myself. The tears couldn’t be contained.
“Shh.” Nathan kissed the top of my head and held me tight, swaying back and forth. “This has to stop. He’s torturing her.”
“It’s going to stop,” Bree assured him. “We have to be smart about it, though.”
“Fine. How are we going to be smart about it?”
Bree cast a look toward me—there was something there I couldn’t quite ascertain—then grimaced. “Let’s start with Heather Franklin. She has a certain reputation.”
“Like I have a certain reputation?” Nathan guessed.
“Yes, but different.” Bree motioned toward the chairs and couch. “Let’s talk.”
“This sounds bad.” Nathan scooped me up and carried me to one of the chairs. When he settled, it was with me on his lap. “Lay it on me.”
“Heather Franklin sleeps with anything that moves,” Bree started. “My friend Casey gave me the lowdown. She’s been to a lot of conferences with Heather, and she says that nobody likes her.”
