Page 77 of A Little Jaded
“You can’t go out.”
“Why not?”
“What about Drake?”
“What about him?” I ask. “He hasn’t even reached out since the game night.”
“It’s a bad idea,” he pushes.
“Seriously?” I laugh. “Don’t get me wrong. Drake’s an abusive ass, but it’s not like he’ll toss me over his shoulder and drag me away if I run into him.”
“Stay. Home.”
“Everett, I mean this in the nicest way possible, but I didn't ask for your help only for you to keep me prisoner," I point out. “You asked if I had plans tonight, and…now I do. Not a big deal.”
Something muffled echoes through the speaker, and Everett calls out, “Be right there, babe!”
Babe.
He’s talking to her.
Why do I care that he’s talking to her? Especially when I’m well aware his relationship with her is fake. Then again, his relationship withmeis fake, too, which I think we can both agree is for the best. So, what the hell is my problem?
“Raine? You still there?” Everett adds into his cell. He sounds…tense. Like a small part of him already knows what I’m thinking even if neither of us would ever admit it.
“I gotta go.”
“Raine—”
“Finley’s already offered to drive me home after, so I’ll see you at the cabin. Have a great night.” I hang the phone up and open my eyes, finding Dylan and Finley staring at me, their jaws practically unhinged.
“Did you just hang up on Everett?” Dylan asks from the passenger seat.
Did I just hang up on Everett?
Yup. Yup, I most definitely did. He’s going to be furious.
“I, uh…”
They both laugh, turning back in their seats.
As Finley reverses out of the driveway, she points out, “Well this just got even more interesting.”
Ophelia’salready waiting at the bar when we head inside SeaBird. She has a fruity drink in front of her, along with two more matching beverages and what looks like a Diet Coke beside them.
When she sees us, she stands from her barstool and waves. “Hey!” Ophelia passes hugs around like they’re confetti, then offers each of us a drink. “PS—Maverick sayshe should get a free shot to Drew’s balls since we’re ditching him tonight.”
Finley laughs. “Nope. Drew’s balls are mine to squeeze or caress, thank you very much.”
“Caress?” Dylan snorts. “Ew.”
“Hey, no kink-shaming,” Ophelia quips. “Whatever floats your boat. Right, Fin?”
“Mm-hmm,” Finley hums as she takes a long sip of her Diet Coke. “Though there will be no caressing anytime soon, I’ll tell you that much.”
“Are you gonna tell us what happened?” I prod.
Rolling her eyes, Finley decides, “Not until everyone’s had at least three drinks so they don’t judge me too harshly.”