Page 70 of Double Dared
Happy I was. There was no doubt about that. I was so happy with how things had turned out that I missed Harrison even in these brief hours when I wasn’t near him.
He’d refused to join us on purpose tonight. “Your friendships shouldn’t change because of me,” he’d told me.
“I want them to,” I’d said.
“Is Bennet coming?” he’d asked.
I’d had to shake my head in response.
“There you go. I’ll see you tomorrow. And you’ll have fun with your friends like you used to. Isn’t that the point?”
I’d kissed him on the lips to shut up his impenetrable logic, then left him in his apartment so I’d make it to our bar on time.
My being happy wasn’t the issue. The issue was that Finn was onto something. I didn’t know how I’d gone all my life without realizing I was a little bi. I didn’t know how I’d been smitten by so many girls for so many years, only to truly find myself with a guy. I didn’t know what it was that made me so comfortable around Harrison. Because I was. When he was around, I was at ease. I was someone else entirely, someone I’d always wanted to be, but someone I’d kept quiet and hidden out of caution.
Greg showed up after we’d already ordered our second round. He’d missed all the jokes about me never backing down from a dare, but bending down for one. He came to the table with a beer of his own, plopped into the booth, and exhaled. “You won’t believe what I just witnessed,” he said.
“Running late to see the only people who still tolerate you?” Finn supplied.
“Nah,” Greg said, waving that off as irrelevant. “I just watched the worst breakup ever. I almost got splashed with beer.” He pulled out his phone, unlocked it, tapped on his screen a few times, thenset it on the table. “Check it out. Right there in the open.”
The image was grainy, and the bar was dim, but Greg was filming from the next table over, so the characters of his little farce were in clear view, even with Greg’s shaky camera work.
My blood curdled instantly when I realized who he was filming. I’d recognize those rich, curly locks anywhere. I knew them from the image pinned to the corner of Harrison’s corkboard, the image from which she watched us make out and fuck and dance in his living room.
“That’s Emma,” I whispered in horror.
“…do this to me? She’s my best friend, Michael,” Emma cried. The guy sitting across from her looked guilty as fuck, but indignant, too. He was tall, lean, and very handsome in a dreamy, innocent way. “My best friend,” she repeated.
“I’m sorry,” Michael said. “I mean it. Truly. I’m sorry. I fucked up bad, Emma. I didn’t want to. It didn’t mean anything.”
“It didn’t mean anything? You ruined everything for something that didn’t mean anything, Michael,” Emma said, furious.
She went to stand, and Michael reached for her wrist. My stomach felt like I’d eaten an anvil. That asshole. He held her wrist, and Emma reached for the glass on the table, beer still foaming to the rim, and she spilled all of it straight into his face before he let go of her hand.
“Are you fucking crazy?” he shouted, but Emma was already hurrying away.
Michael turned for a moment, looking straight into the camera, his eyes outraged, and then the phone moved quickly before the video ended.
“Delete that,” I said.
“No. Why?” Greg asked.
“Because I am asking,” I said. “Delete it, Greg. It’s someone’s life you’re laughing at.”
Greg narrowed his eyes. “You know her. That’s why.”
“Yeah, I know her,” I said. “She’s…Harrison’s ex.”
Finn let out a falling whistle, and I knew what it meant. I knew exactly what he was hinting at because the same thought had been plaguing my mind since I recognized Emma.
I pushed my drink away and found myself spiraling into the abyss of thoughts, each darker than the one before it. Emma was in trouble. She needed someone. Her friend was just as guilty. She needed a friendly face. And who had a friendlier face than Harrison?
Emma needed Harrison.
And Harrison loved Emma. He had to. He couldn’t have moved on completely in such a short time, not when two months apart had only fueled his need to make herfeelsomething.
And I was the one who knew about it. I was the one who was sick to my stomach with the information I couldn’t share.
