Page 24 of One Week Hating You
The selfie is perfect.
As soon as we realize our little exercise of deception is over, it gets awkward again. I reluctantly pull from him, his words still in my head.
God, I’d have you in nothing but those shoes.
Damn, yes… please.
I stare down at my booties, not quite able to look him in the eye. “Thank you,” I mutter.
After a beat, I dare to gaze up at him. He’s watching me intently as he downs a sip of beer. “My pleasure,” he finally says, with that familiar cocky grin. Clearly, he enjoyed it as much as I did.
I wave awkwardly, and walk away without a word.
Corrie is poring over her phone. “These are perfect. I’m just fixing up the lightning and cropping, and then we can post them.”
“I don’t know about that, Corrie,” I say. It all feels a little juvenile, a little underhanded. “I don’t know if I want to play those kind of games.”
“C’mon,” she says. “Peter deserves it. He was a total dick to you. We’re just having some fun.”
Conflicting thoughts fill my mind. The thought of Peter not showing up, leaving me at the church without as much as an explanation, leaving me wondering what the hell was happening, and embarrassing me in front of all my friends and family. He’s responsible for one of the worst days of my life. The memory of his e-mail, of him telling me I’m not good enough for him, not exciting enough, not worth it.
I do really want to hurt him back. But is Blake the answer? It seems wrong to use him as a pawn in my little game.
“I just don’t know if I want Blake in the middle of this.”
“Blake doesn’t care,” she says.
I glance over at him. He’s already chatting up a blonde. Yep, I’m sure he couldn’t care less. “Aw, what the hell. Let’s do this.”
Corrie smiles wide and calls Mandy over. “Selfie!” she cheers. We all cuddle in close, and she snaps a photo.
We sign into my Instagram account, and she taps eagerly on my phone. About a minute later, she chirps, “Done!”
I grab the mobile from her and sneak a peek. She’s posted four pics; a shot of Spanky working the bar, the selfie of the three of us – we all look great. She’s also posted two pics of Blake and I, and baby Jesus, we lookhot. In one, we’re both looking at the camera but not quite smiling, his hand is hiked up my skirt, and he looks like he’s planning to have his way with me. I, with my smoky eyes and bed hair, look like I’ve just had the best orgasm of my life. Seriously, we look like a Guess ad. And the other is the selfie he took, the both of us smiling for the camera. We look like we’re having a blast. You’d never guess that this was all a setup – pictures can be so deceiving.
The caption below the photos reads:Having a blast hanging out in my hometown with old friends. #tgif #girlsgonewild #highschoolsweetheart #sloshed #hometown
“I’ve posted it on Insta and Facebook,” she tells me. “He will definitely see it.”
“And so will my grandmother,” I tell her. I’m mildly embarrassed by the post – it’s so not me. Everyone is going to think I’ve lost my mind and gone wild because I was dumped at the altar. Which, let’s face it, is kind of true.
“Damn, you two look good together,” Corrie says. “Peter is going to go wild with jealousy.”
I laugh. “If you say so.”
Mandy takes a look. “Hot,” she says. “By the way, your drinks are waiting for you. Let’s go shoot a game.”
“Sorry,” Corrie says. “We just had to finish up our little project. We’re all yours.”
I notice Blake slip away with the blonde, and it stings a bit. His gaze catches mine one last time, and I see that same intensity in his eyes I saw when I was sitting on his lap. After a beat, he tears his gaze away and rests a hand on the small of the blonde’s back. He leads her out the door with a charming smile. Here, I thought we’d just shared something special, but it obviously meant nothing to him. I’m sure he has women hanging off him every night. I’m nothing special – I’m just his childhood friend and neighbor, his first love, the goody-two-shoes who wouldn’t let him pop her cherry.
We spend the night shooting pool, and chatting up a few guys who try to pick us up, but they’re completely out of our league, and the last thing I want to do right now is hook up with some random guy. Even Corrie, who is very sexual, has high standards. If the guy is not classy and hot, he’s not worthy. She loves to flirt, but she won’t give it up for just anyone. Mandy has always been a good girl like me. She’s only had three relationships, and the last one ended not long ago – I don’t think she’s ready to hook up with anyone either.
We take a cab back home, wobbly on our heels. Corrie is completely wasted, and Mandy and I are a little tipsy. Mandy gets dropped off first. She waves us goodbye as she trudges up her walkway. A minute later, we’re at Momma’s house. I fiddle with my wallet and pay the driver.
I hold Corrie up as we make our way in. The lights are off – Momma’s already in bed. I practically carry Corrie to her room – thankfully, she’s small. I slip off her heels and make sure she lies face down on the bed, in the event that she should vomit.
“Goodnight, sss-sweetie,” she slurs, her words slow. “Had soooo much fun. You look soooo hot. Pete-er’s going to fucking jerk off when… this bed is soooo comfy. I’m soooo tired.”
