I huff a laugh, my head falling back to rest against the mirror.
Oh my god, I’m an idiot.
And they’re dangerous.
Still, I laugh, wash my hands as I came in here to do, and when I meet my eyes in the mirror, it doesn’t wash away.
But it does when the stall to my right opens, and Amy steps out.
Shit.
I try not to swallow, to hide the shock or care, but heat is creeping up my neck, and I can’t hide it because how fucking embarrassing!
But the superior pinch of her face, the way she’s pursed her lips and lifted her nose in the air is enough to shake me out of it.
People hook up in the same rooms, cars, and hot tubs all the time.
I’ve heard Dax and Jules come more times than I care to admit, several others too, because at the end of the day, teenagers will get theirs wherever they wish, and their ‘friends’ don’t bat a lash.
The problem?
Amy isn’t my friend, even if she pretends to be in her passive-aggressive ways.
So, as she reaches the counter with her one foot in front of the other catwalk-like strut, I stand tall and dry my hands.
She washes hers as I reapply my lipstick.
When she doesn’t speak but meets my eyes in the mirror. I stare back, popping my lips once I’m done, and spin. I lean against the sink, cross my arms and wait.
I know she’s got something to say, and she will.
She’s incapable of silence.
Rather than grab a paper towel closest to her, she steps in front of me, reaches over and slowly pulls one from the dispenser at my side.
“So, you’re the new plaything.” She tips her head, takes in my outfit, and her mouth forms into a judgy little grin. “I have to admit, I wondered, but I didn’t think you had it in you.”
“Pun intended?” I pop a brow.
Her eyes flash to mine, narrowing, but she catches herself as quickly as she can. Her hundred-thousand-dollar dental implants beam as she smiles, big and fake and purposeful. She laughs, shakes her head, and begins to walk out, but of course, she has to pause for the dramatic exit.
“Just remember, toys are only fun when they’re first opened, but they grow old fast, and then to the bottom of the barrel you go.” She delivers her closing statement.
And it’s a shitty one.
I grin, but the difference between mine and hers, is mine’s real and she knows it.
Her smile falters as I approach, tipping my head as she had, my eyes three inches above hers, thanks to today’s pumps of choice.
I place my hand beside hers on the door, lean in close, and I whisper with a laugh, “I’m counting on that.”
Her face falls and I walk out with my head held high.
But even as I return to our table, Amy doing the same not three minutes later, I’m forced to face what she’s said as well as my response.
I was being honest; I am counting on being tossed to the side.
“You look flushed, Jameson.” Amy’s cheeky tone calls out, and my eyes dart to hers while everyone else’s fly toward me. “Are you feeling okay?”
I can see it, the instant regret at her choice of words, and my smile spreads slow and wide.
I laugh, nod, and push my hair over my shoulder. “I feel fantastic, satisfied even.” I lift my water bottle to my lips, pleased when hers pinch tight. “Thanks for asking.”
Bitch.
“Your birthday is almost here.” Anthony lowers his fork to his plate, sitting back in the chair. “I could throw you a party, be your date?”
I nearly choke on my pineapple juice, my fingers flying up to cover my mouth.
It’s not easy to recover from, to hide the shock of his suggestion, but I smile through it, as does he, though his is a little more strained.
“I wasn’t really planning to celebrate.”
He nods. “We could keep it simple, just go to dinner.” He flips his phone from front to back, over and over against the tabletop, staring at me.
It’s obvious how hard he’s trying not to look at my cheek. He didn’t last time I came to see him either, though, he had rushed me out as quickly as I had arrived. He hasn’t acknowledged that day once, and I’m not about to bring it up.
I am tempted to tilt my head to show him the cut is still visible. It’s on the mend and I’ve been using creams to help, not because of his scar comment, but because I sure as hell hope it goes away myself.
Anthony shifts slightly. “You could invite your friends.”
I smooth the napkin on my lap for something to do, then force a small laugh. “Trust me, my friends would bore you.”
“I want to meet them.”
His quick response has my eyes returning to his.
Smile, Jameson.
“That’s sweet, I’m glad to hear.” I pick up my drink, finishing it off, and finally, Anthony picks up his silverware and continues to eat.
He offers a small smile, and the rest of the meal is spent in silence.
After eating, he takes me out to the garden in the back of the building, shows me the fountain they added, and when we slip back inside, he follows my every move as I grab my bag.
As I walk toward the door, he heads for his desk.
“I think I like Jamie.”
My eyes fly to his, and he takes his sweet time sliding his to mine. He rolls the cuffs of his white button-up and slowly lowers himself into the chair. “It’s far more feminine, Jamie.” He says the name as if to test the sound once more.
Or maybe it’s to test my reaction.
“Do you agree?” He cocks his head.
I open my mouth, my fist clenching the handle.
Any means necessary.
I smile wide, welcoming, as if I would be happy to oblige, to erase the one thing that’s truly mine. “It is a pretty name.” Smile through your lie. “See you soon.”
He nods and I get the hell out.
Behind the wheel of my car, my body begins to shake, but I wiggle in my seat, taking a deep breath and blowing it out just as quickly.
The second I get out of the parking lot I call my mom.
“Date over so soon?” she answers.
“Did you tell Anthony I didn’t have plans for my birthday?”
“I might have mentioned something about it approaching rather soon.”
I shake my head, switching lanes. “Mom... maybe we should cut our Sunday things to once a month. It’s only October. We have months before anything changes between Anthony and me.”
“Oh please, you would simply be lounging or shopping or some other useless endeavor that in no way assists your future.”
“My future is set, Mother.”
“And you only cement it further with every bat of your lashes. Listen, I have to go, but you have to get a handle on yourself and learn how to work for things sometimes,” she says as if I don’t already. “Not everything will be handed to you, Jameson.”
No, just my life in an itinerary.
My mother hangs up.
I don’t remember the drive here, and I have no clue how long I’ve been parked in front of the driveway, blindly staring at a house that’s not mine.
I’m only jostled from my numbed state when a pair of dark blue eyes find mine through the windshield, and that’s when I realize it’s Arsen’s foster home that I’m in front of, my own house in view but clearly not where I want to be.