“What’s going on?” Val demands at lunch on Friday. “And don’t say nothing because you all look like a royally depressed mess. Even Easton looks like someone kicked his puppy.”
“Is that a euphemism?” I try joking.
Valerie glares at me. “No. Not really.”
I pick at my meal. I haven’t been able to eat much this week and I think it shows. Every time I try to eat, the vision of Brooke telling us all about her pregnancy pops up, except it isn’t Callum at her side. It’s Reed. And then my terrible mind runs with it, showing me images of Reed holding the baby, pushing a stroller in the park with Brooke looking like a fitness model beside him, the two of them cooing over their stupid baby’s first steps.
No wonder I can’t eat.
This morning when I pulled my jeans on, they felt loose. The clothes are wearing me instead of the other way around.
I’m not ready to tell Val about how the entire Royal household is rotting from the inside out, but if I don’t give her something she might stab me with her fork. “I thought being an only child sucked, but family drama is a hundred times worse.”
“Reed?” she asks.
“Not just him. It’s everyone.” I hate the tension in the house. The way the brothers don’t look at each other over breakfast. And I can’t even escape because I’ve lost my job. I guess I should start looking for a new one. This time it’s not because I need the money, but because every time I walk into the house, I feel like a hundred pound weight descends on my shoulders. And it’s going to be even worse once the baby arrives. I don’t know how I’m going to deal with that.
“Life sucks, but if it makes you feel any better, I blocked Tam’s phone number.”
“You did?” It’s about time. Tam’s stupid suggestion of having an open relationship was basically his way of keeping Val locked down while he spread his skanky ass all over his college campus, and she doesn’t deserve that. “Because that does make me feel better.”
“Yup, and it felt good. I was tormenting myself reading all his texts and I could feel myself weakening.”
“You know you can do better.”
“I know.” She takes a sip of her Diet Coke. “So last night I blocked him and I slept well for the first time in a long time. I woke up this morning and, yeah, it still hurt, but the pain wasn’t as bad.”
“It’s going to get better.” The words come out limply. That used to be my personal mantra.
I don’t know if I believe it anymore.
She fiddles with the can. “I hope so. Is there a real life block button? Because I need that in my life.”
“Sunglasses. Really big sunglasses,” I advise. “Or wait, even better—a shield.” I could use one at home against Reed.
A reluctant smile spreads across her face as she considers my silly suggestion. “Wouldn’t it be awkward trying to maneuver in that thing?”
“Nah, it’s brilliant. Let’s patent the sucker and make millions.”
“Done.” She holds out her hand and I slap my palm against hers.
“God, Val. I think you’re the best thing that happened to me since I moved here.”
“I know.” She gets a speculative look in her eyes, slides a glance toward the football table, and then returns to me. “Let’s go to the game tonight.”
“Um, no thanks. I take back every good thing I’ve said about you.”
“Why not?”
“First, I don’t like football. Second, I don’t want to cheer for people I don’t like. Third, other than you, all the rest of Astor Park can die in a fiery blaze.”
“You can pick me up at six thirty.”
“No. I don’t want to go to the game.”
“Aw, come on. Both of us need a distraction. You need one from Reed and I need one from Tam. Everyone goes to the Riders’ games. We can inspect the man stock that’s available and pick one to ease our broken hearts with.”
“Can’t we just eat a barrel of ice cream?”
“We’ll do both. We’re going to eat our ice cream and get eaten.”
She waggles her eyebrows at me, and I laugh reluctantly, but inwardly my heart’s protesting. The only touch I want is Reed’s. The cheating bastard. Dammit. Maybe I do need a distraction.
“Okay, let’s go.”
“Get out of the car,” Val orders when she climbs into the passenger seat later that night. “I need to get a better look at this outfit.”
“You’ll see it when we get to the game.”
“Are you doing this to make Reed come in his football pants or to make the girls at Astor Park freak out?”
I ignore the reference to Reed. I definitely wasn’t thinking of how I wanted to make him burn with jealousy. Nuh-uh. Not at all.
“You told me I’m supposed to pick out a new man tonight. This is my man-hunting outfit.” I wave a hand toward my clothes.
I paired striped knee socks over black leggings topped with an old jersey I found at the secondhand store I hit after school. I couldn’t tuck the material into the top of the leggings without it looking like I had a bunch of socks stuffed down my pants, so I bought a big black belt and bunched the jersey around my hips.
Two loose braids and smeared eyeblack—which in my case was a load of black eyeliner over a heavy priming base so it wouldn’t budge—under my eyes complete my pinup football look.
“I suggested one man, not a whole herd,” Val says wryly. “But maybe this works for my benefit. You pick the one you want and you can leave the rest for me.”
“Very funny.”
“Seriously. I’m thinking we need to get the twins to escort us inside. I’m afraid of what the girls are gonna do when they get a load of you.”
Val’s prediction isn’t that far off the mark. The football girlfriends scowl at me when we walk past the area where the girlfriends and parents wait for the players to run from the locker room onto the field.
A few insults—“slut”, “trailer trash”, and “what do you expect”—trickle down the crowd from the other girls.
“These chicks are so jealous they won’t even have to shove their fingers down their throats tonight,” Val snarks. “Their jealousy will eat away at all their extra calories.”
“Is that a euphemism?” I try joking.
Valerie glares at me. “No. Not really.”
I pick at my meal. I haven’t been able to eat much this week and I think it shows. Every time I try to eat, the vision of Brooke telling us all about her pregnancy pops up, except it isn’t Callum at her side. It’s Reed. And then my terrible mind runs with it, showing me images of Reed holding the baby, pushing a stroller in the park with Brooke looking like a fitness model beside him, the two of them cooing over their stupid baby’s first steps.
No wonder I can’t eat.
This morning when I pulled my jeans on, they felt loose. The clothes are wearing me instead of the other way around.
I’m not ready to tell Val about how the entire Royal household is rotting from the inside out, but if I don’t give her something she might stab me with her fork. “I thought being an only child sucked, but family drama is a hundred times worse.”
“Reed?” she asks.
“Not just him. It’s everyone.” I hate the tension in the house. The way the brothers don’t look at each other over breakfast. And I can’t even escape because I’ve lost my job. I guess I should start looking for a new one. This time it’s not because I need the money, but because every time I walk into the house, I feel like a hundred pound weight descends on my shoulders. And it’s going to be even worse once the baby arrives. I don’t know how I’m going to deal with that.
“Life sucks, but if it makes you feel any better, I blocked Tam’s phone number.”
“You did?” It’s about time. Tam’s stupid suggestion of having an open relationship was basically his way of keeping Val locked down while he spread his skanky ass all over his college campus, and she doesn’t deserve that. “Because that does make me feel better.”
“Yup, and it felt good. I was tormenting myself reading all his texts and I could feel myself weakening.”
“You know you can do better.”
“I know.” She takes a sip of her Diet Coke. “So last night I blocked him and I slept well for the first time in a long time. I woke up this morning and, yeah, it still hurt, but the pain wasn’t as bad.”
“It’s going to get better.” The words come out limply. That used to be my personal mantra.
I don’t know if I believe it anymore.
She fiddles with the can. “I hope so. Is there a real life block button? Because I need that in my life.”
“Sunglasses. Really big sunglasses,” I advise. “Or wait, even better—a shield.” I could use one at home against Reed.
A reluctant smile spreads across her face as she considers my silly suggestion. “Wouldn’t it be awkward trying to maneuver in that thing?”
“Nah, it’s brilliant. Let’s patent the sucker and make millions.”
“Done.” She holds out her hand and I slap my palm against hers.
“God, Val. I think you’re the best thing that happened to me since I moved here.”
“I know.” She gets a speculative look in her eyes, slides a glance toward the football table, and then returns to me. “Let’s go to the game tonight.”
“Um, no thanks. I take back every good thing I’ve said about you.”
“Why not?”
“First, I don’t like football. Second, I don’t want to cheer for people I don’t like. Third, other than you, all the rest of Astor Park can die in a fiery blaze.”
“You can pick me up at six thirty.”
“No. I don’t want to go to the game.”
“Aw, come on. Both of us need a distraction. You need one from Reed and I need one from Tam. Everyone goes to the Riders’ games. We can inspect the man stock that’s available and pick one to ease our broken hearts with.”
“Can’t we just eat a barrel of ice cream?”
“We’ll do both. We’re going to eat our ice cream and get eaten.”
She waggles her eyebrows at me, and I laugh reluctantly, but inwardly my heart’s protesting. The only touch I want is Reed’s. The cheating bastard. Dammit. Maybe I do need a distraction.
“Okay, let’s go.”
“Get out of the car,” Val orders when she climbs into the passenger seat later that night. “I need to get a better look at this outfit.”
“You’ll see it when we get to the game.”
“Are you doing this to make Reed come in his football pants or to make the girls at Astor Park freak out?”
I ignore the reference to Reed. I definitely wasn’t thinking of how I wanted to make him burn with jealousy. Nuh-uh. Not at all.
“You told me I’m supposed to pick out a new man tonight. This is my man-hunting outfit.” I wave a hand toward my clothes.
I paired striped knee socks over black leggings topped with an old jersey I found at the secondhand store I hit after school. I couldn’t tuck the material into the top of the leggings without it looking like I had a bunch of socks stuffed down my pants, so I bought a big black belt and bunched the jersey around my hips.
Two loose braids and smeared eyeblack—which in my case was a load of black eyeliner over a heavy priming base so it wouldn’t budge—under my eyes complete my pinup football look.
“I suggested one man, not a whole herd,” Val says wryly. “But maybe this works for my benefit. You pick the one you want and you can leave the rest for me.”
“Very funny.”
“Seriously. I’m thinking we need to get the twins to escort us inside. I’m afraid of what the girls are gonna do when they get a load of you.”
Val’s prediction isn’t that far off the mark. The football girlfriends scowl at me when we walk past the area where the girlfriends and parents wait for the players to run from the locker room onto the field.
A few insults—“slut”, “trailer trash”, and “what do you expect”—trickle down the crowd from the other girls.
“These chicks are so jealous they won’t even have to shove their fingers down their throats tonight,” Val snarks. “Their jealousy will eat away at all their extra calories.”
