CHAPTER 21

We should ask Timothy if he wants something.”


The sound of the sliding door at my back has me smiling. “Hey, we were just going to...” My jaw goes slack. Timothy’s wearing a tux. A fucking tux. He looks handsome enough it steals my breath. My first thought is that he wants to take me to prom, that he wants to tell my Dad and say fuck it to the rest of the world. Then I take in his expression. The firm line of his mouth, the lack of sparkle behind his beautiful eyes, sends off alarm bells. “I’m going to prom,” he answers, and my heart lifts for the first time all day. “With who?” My Dad’s voice is suspicious. “Carla.” No. No, that’s impossible. “No takeout for you, then.” Dad turns to me. “Can you watch Sophia while I pick up food?” “Um, sure Dad,” I manage. Once the door closes after him, I whirl on Timothy. “You’re not going to prom with Carla, Okay.” Timothy heads for the hallway, giving himself a critical once-over in the hall mirror. Jealousy is a tidal wave ripping through my body as I bound after him. Timothy ignores me, adjusting the cuffs of his black jacket. “I’m getting your letter back.” My jaw hits the floor, both at the fact that he’s so calm and that he somehow decided this without me. “That’s insane. You really think she’ll give you the letter in exchange for being on your arm?” I move behind him so he can see me in the mirror, too. “I get that you’re prince of the school, but she won’t buy this. She knows you hate her.” “She doesn’t know I hate her.” His gaze locks with mine. “Which, for once, I’m grateful for.” “So, what, you’re going to pretend you actually like her?” Horror sets in as I realize the truth. “How are you going to do that? Dance with her? Kiss her? Fuck her, huh, Timothy!?” Each possibility is worse than the last. Each word slices me raw. This feels wrong. The deepest wrong I’ve ever known. It’s not only because I’m jealous—it’s because I know how much he loathes her. The fact that he’s actually considering letting her touch him, pretending he likes it— “I have a plan.” I round to stand between him and the mirror, and he lifts a brow. “I’ll meet her tomorrow,” I rush on. “Talk to her, find something else she wants.” “As much as fucking with you? Not likely. You threaten everything she is. You have everything she wants.” “No, I don’t,” I say softly. If you walk out that door, I don’t. Timothy’s composure slips at whatever he’s seeing in my eyes. His handsome face fills with regret. “It’s my fault she’s been so into you. The way I cut her and Chris down in public set her off.” I grab his arms. “Timothy, I’m telling you I can take care of this. You don’t get to decide what’s right for me or what’s fair. If you go, in some ways, you’re no better than her.” He shakes off my grip, eyes flashing with anger. “That’s bullshit.” “Is it? If you go with her, it isn’t just about my letter. It’s about you needing to have control over everything.” Timothy pushes past me, pulling on the door handle. When he speaks, his voice is flat. “A bunch of us are meeting at Carla’s.” I’m about to argue when the sound of a car purring up the driveway interrupts us. I follow him outside, but it’s not my Dad. It’s worse. “A limo,” I blurt. A sound from inside the house—Sophia crying—makes me wince. “Don’t go anywhere.” I take a step back. “I need to get Sophia, but don’t leave.” He shifts into the car. “Timothy. Damn it, Timothy!” The taillights fade down the driveway, and my hands clench into fists. I didn’t hate Timothy three months ago after he called me nothing. Now, I remember how hot and cold he’s been. How he won’t let me fight my own battles because he can’t stand the thought of me losing them. How he makes me feel like I’m part of something bigger than myself. I hate him for all those things. I’m also falling in love with Timothy. And I hate him for that most of all.



“Pass me that bottle.” I hand Carla the booze in the car. She leans over me, shoving her chest in my face. “I can’t believe you bailed on Chris,” one of the minions says. “Can’t you?” Carla coos, eyeing me. “I’m glad you came to your senses. I don’t know why you’ve been hanging around that trash lately.” Every breath takes effort. “It’s easy. I live at her house.” It was one thing to pretend Emily was nothing when I held her at a distance, when the person I said it to didn’t know her and never would. Now, I’m saying it to her worst enemy. I hate the lies. I hate that I’m here with Carla, but it was the only option. Every second the limo glides through the silent night, I remind myself why I’m doing this. It’s about you needing to have control. No way. It’s for her. If she thinks I’d be here if this wasn’t the only way to save her ass, she’s nuts. Prom’s being held at a museum. The limo pulls up outside, and I shift out first. I force myself to hold out a hand, and Carla takes it, smiling. “Aren’t you a gentleman? I hope you’re not a gentleman all night.” Bile rises in my throat as she steps closer and runs a hand up my chest under my jacket. “Come on, you guys!” someone calls from ahead of us. “I’ll be right there,” I tell Carla, nodding toward the doors. She pouts but starts after her friends. I check my phone. No missed calls from Emily. Some part of me hoped she’d try to reach me. She’d been furious when I left, and all I wanted to do was grab her and kiss the hell out of her. On impulse, I pull up the image of her in that dress. She’s beautiful. Making a face at the camera, holding her hair up with one hand, the other on her hip. Every muscle in my body squeezes at once, my heart most of all. I wanted to bring her. I wanted to ask her yesterday before I realized this was the only option to fix the problem I created. Carla and I head inside, her hand tucked in my arm. I feel eyes on us everywhere. “You realize it’s as good as done,” she murmurs near my ear. I turn my head to avoid her lips.



“What is?” “Prom king and queen.” Carla blinks as if she’s surprised I’m not thinking about this. The last thing I want to do is spend another second with her, and the more public it is, the more I’m reminded that everyone will think it’s real. At least I’m doing a good job of selling it. “I’m going to make a lap,” Carla informs me. My gaze locks on an incredulous face by the bar. “I need to see someone first.” I don’t wait to hear her response as I cross to Brandon and Avery. Avery looks murderous. “What the hell are you doing here, fucker!?” “Dude,” Brandon says, looking back to where Carla’s giggling with her friends. I rub a hand through my hair, lowering my voice. “Carla’s blackmailing Emily. I’m fixing it.” The anger on Avery’s face fades to disbelief. “We went dress shopping.” “She showed me the purple one.” “Did she tell you she bought it?” The sadness in her voice is a kick in the gut. “No, she didn’t.” I rub a hand over my face. I swore I’d never put myself in a position like I was with my Dad, where I felt as if I owed him something, where I compromised myself for another person. But here I am, caught between obligations. Prostituting myself for a girl I can’t stop thinking about. And somehow, I feel like the asshole. This is why you don’t fall for someone. Why you don’t lay yourself on the line for them. Why you don’t depend on them, let them depend on you. I need a drink. I signal the bartender, then glance at Brandon. I figured I’d stay sober to get through this, but now, I’m not sure I can stand it. There’s an ounce of relief as Brandon slips a flask from his pocket. “You really care about her, don’t you?” Avery sounds concerned as I take the spiked drink and toss it back. Whatever’s on my face seems to convince her. “Then leave.” “I can’t. And this is going to get worse before it gets better.” I survey the room. “Carla took something that doesn’t belong to her, and I need to get it back.” Avery shakes her head.



“Emily’s never going to forgive you.” The possibility settles into my stomach, burning at my insides like the alcohol. “I hope you’re wrong.” I return to Carla’s side. We mingle, and she drinks. I try to feed her alcohol—not so much as to get her incapacitated, but enough to keep her oblivious to my limited attention. I figure it’s working until she drags me onto the dance floor. “So, when do you want to get out of here?” I deliberately pitch my voice lower, trying to sound as if I’m looking forward to getting her alone and not counting the seconds until I can ditch her. “We can go back to your place.” “I’m not leaving prom early. Not even for you.” My hope fades. There’s no way she has the letter on her. I need to get to her house, her room. Which means getting close to her. She narrows her eyes. “You don’t seem excited to be here.” Her suspicious expression has me on alert. “It’s a dance,” I drawl. “It’s not my scene.” “Whatever. I should’ve brought Chris.”



She looks past me. Shit. “I should’ve—” I grab Carla’s waist and pull her against me. I kiss her and hate the second her mouth softens under mine. I hate her and every person smiling and drinking and having a good time. Everyone who wants to see and be seen and use people to do it. Most of all, I hate myself for staying away from Emily when all I want is to hold her close. If we both get through tonight, I’m never letting her out of my sight again. When I pull back, Carla’s smiling and breathless, her fingers lingering on the skin above my collar. “That’s more like it.” I want to throw up. “What is it with Ant Man?” Dad gripes. “He shouldn’t be a hero.” “He’s the Every man. It gives us hope any of us could be exceptional under the right circumstances. Like ray guns.” Dad looks across the sectional in our living room as the credits scroll. “You barely ate three bites of dinner.” “I’m not hungry.” I check my phone again. “We can jump over to Endgame,” Dad offers, searching my face. “Fine. I’ll make popcorn.”