Bristol is just as stunned as I am, because he’s giving Kit a what the hell? look.
Kit doesn’t seem fazed by either of our reactions. Then again, he’s not really the most empathetic person.
“I don’t know, Kit…” My heart presses painfully against my ribcage, threatening to burst out Alien style.
“You don’t have to, but if you really want to make this stunt believable, I’d keep my mouth shut.”
“I feel guilty for not being upfront with her.”
Disgust contorts Kit’s features. “Why? You just met her, right? You don’t owe her anything.”
“You don’t have feelings for her, do you?” Bristol probes, hoisting an eyebrow.
My stomach migrates to my throat. “I barely know her.”
It’s true: I don’t know Aeris that well. I guess I feel connected to her because we’re both familiar with death. But I can’t let that connection get in the way of everything I’ve worked so hard to attain—my career, my reputation. This is a means to an end. I’m not emotionally prepared to get hurt again, and I’d be damned if I let Aeris know she was the first girl in a while to have pierced the tiniest hole in my armor.
“Good. Feelings make stuff messy. Think of this like a business transaction. You dote on her in public, the fans go wild for this soft side of you, and you remake a name for yourself. They’ll forget all about how badly you’ve fucked up in the past. Now you have them rooting for you instead of praying for your downfall.”
My nerves scream at me to reconsider, probably wanting to grab me by the collar of my jersey and shake until some sense lodges itself into my brain. “What if things turn real?”
The crease in Bristol’s forehead deepens. “On your end or hers?”
“Both? I don’t know.”
“Then they become real,” Kit replies. “But if I know you, H—which I do—I know that’s the last thing you want right now.”
Kit’s words ring through me like alarm bells. I shouldn’t have even spoken that into existence. I won’t allow things to turn real. This is a fake relationship. Aeris will be my pretend girlfriend, and nothing more. I’ve dealt with plenty of girls during my time with the Reapers. I’ve trudged through heartbreak and revenge and the occasional attempted break-in. What’s a sweet little thing like Aeris going to do to me?
SOME SECRETS ARE BETTER LEFT HIDDEN
AERIS
I swing my legs against the side of my pink comforter, my hands clawing for anything that can act as a stress ball. Lila, my best friend, has somehow convinced me to go with her to a hockey game tonight. I know jackshit about hockey. Roden was more interested in the arts, and the only sport my father watched religiously was football.
Lila and I have been best friends ever since my freshman year of college. We met at a house party that I’d been dragged to by my roommate—who wasn’t the nicest person, and who also used my hand towels to dry her vibrators without telling me.
After my roommate left me to fend for myself among upperclassmen, Lila found me like the unsuspecting mouse I was in a flock full of hungry hawks. She took me under her wing that night and introduced me to all of her friends, which was a welcome change from cowering in the corner and pretending to text on my phone.
I’m lucky to have found Lila. She’s helped me cope with my brother’s death and the estrangement from my parents. I don’t know where I’d be without her.
I’m used to Lila being able to ease my worries fairly quickly, but the more I think about Hayes’ curt departure and the fact that he hasn’t texted me back yet, the more it continues to nourish my unease.
She must’ve picked up on my tortured expression because her hands are on her hips and her head is tilted. “What’s up, Aer-Bear? You’ve been quiet this whole time,” she whines.
Anxiety beats like a second heart in my head, and my qualms express themselves through irregular breaths. “Remember that guy I mentioned to you?”
“The guy you tossed your cookies all over?”
“Yes…that guy…”
She minces over to her makeup vanity on wheels, picks up an eyeshadow palette, and lifts some of the charcoal powder onto my eyelids. “What about him, love?”
“I texted him, but I haven’t heard back from him yet.”
Once Lila gives me some room to breathe, I lean down and pick up Crunch, setting her in my lap. She chirps happily, then walks in a circle before burrowing into a little ball.
“Oh, sweetie.” Lila uses her thumb to tilt my chin up. “Guys are dogs. They lead girls on because they don’t know what they want, and then they let you down gently by claiming that ‘You’re a good girl, and I’m not ready for a relationship.’ Even though the entire time you were together, he treated you like you were his girlfriend. Even kissed you on the forehead!”
“Uh…”
She exhales abrasively, her makeup brush flittering in and out of my peripheral. “Sorry, unresolved trauma. Maybe he’s just been busy,” she supplies, her butterscotch ringlets bouncing against her shoulders. “Do you know what he does for work?”
“He said he’s a personal trainer,” I say, trying to tamp down the dose of anxiety suffusing through my veins.
“Maybe he got into a car accident on his way to work, broke all the bones in his body, had to be airlifted to the hospital, and hasn’t been able to use his phone?”
I laugh for what feels like the first time in forever, and the panic in my heart immediately thaws into a lukewarm splendor.
“Maybe it was something I said.”
Lila swats my arm, making me yelp. Crunch shoots straight up into the air, her needle-thin claws piercing my legs, and she zooms out of the room before I have time to pet her back into submission.
“Stop finding ways to blame yourself. This is on him. If he can’t see how incredible you are, then he doesn’t deserve a second of your time, okay?” she growls, practically flaying me alive with her stone-cold gaze.
Angry Lila is scary. She’s never unleashed her full wrath on me, but I did witness her tearing into a pledge during a frat party after he drunkenly poured his drink all over some girl. If I hadn’t stopped her, she probably would’ve harvested his balls and hung them over her rearview mirror like a pair of fuzzy dice.
“Okay.”
“Uh-huh. Say it once more, with feeling.”
“Okay?”
“Close enough,” she sighs, standing back to admire her work. “Perfect! You look beautiful as always.”
She hands me a mirror, bouncing on the balls of her feet excitedly.
She’s gone for a smoky eye—which seems a little intense for a hockey game, but looks gorgeous, nonetheless—a touch of blush on my cheeks, a brush of mascara on my lashes, and a shiny gloss that enhances my Cupid’s bow.
My hair has a slight wave to it as it cascades down my shoulders, ending at the hem of my cropped jersey top. The top was Lila’s idea. She’s gotten me to step out of my comfort zone and experiment more with outfits that don’t solely consist of oversized shirts and sweatpants. I’ve also tried my luck at a pair of bootcut jeans, ones that will hopefully slide off my legs without resistance. And no heels tonight. Or ever again.