Her words pinch my heart. Bo’s kiss felt exactly like it was supposed to, exactly mine. He sweeps me off my feet with every sideways glance and simple smile. His passion for DROP is awe-inspiring. He wants me. He loves me. What the hell is my problem?
“I think I still love him,” I admit for the first time in weeks. “The worst decision I could have made to get over him was to work on this project.” I thump the back of my head against the tear-stained window.
“Why do you want to get over him? If this is about work, have Carrie take you off the fucking project. Zoe is more than capable of taking over for you.”
“It’s Adrian, Monica ...”
“Oh, fuck Adrian.” Monica rolls her eyes and presses her head against the steering wheel.
“I care about him, Monica—he’s good to me.”
“Yeah, whatever. Just go talk to Bo and clear up what happened tonight. You still have to work together. If there’s any hope for you two, it starts with friendship. Deal with Adrian later. Will you take my advice, for once?” She gingerly slaps me upside the head.
“He didn’t have to kiss me.” I roll my eyes as my cheeks fill with fire.
“I think he did.” Monica’s long lashes sweep her cheeks as she takes a careful breath.
“How the hell am I supposed to clear anything up from tonight? I told him we couldn’t be friends.”
Monica shrugs and sweeps her hands toward the door, motioning for me to go. I shake my head.
“I’ll go talk to him,” I resign as I leave her car.
*
A twenty-minute self pep talk later, I finally pull out of the parking lot and head for Bo’s house.
You just need to say you’re sorry for bailing and that you still want to be friends...
I almost use the closed gate as an excuse to abort the mission, but I vividly remember the code he gave me. Shaky fingers tap out the four numbers, and the gate slowly swings open. I climb back in my car and head down the driveway, white-knuckled and dizzy.
Relief floods over me when I spot Rae’s car next to one I don’t recognize, maybe Regan’s, parked in the driveway. Their presence will make this easier. As I step out of the car, Regan walks onto the front porch. I hear yelling from inside the house. My feet catch up to my pulse, and I meet him on the porch.
“What’s going on?” I ask as I head for the door.
“No,” Regan huffs as he grips my upper arm and pulls me backward.
“What the hell, Regan?” I watch his face fall as he shakes his head.
Our heads turn to the voices getting closer to the front door.
“Get the hell out of my house, you tramp!” Rae’s voice is full of rage as the acid in my stomach churns wildly. The yelling continues, but I can no longer focus on the words.
“Ainsley,” I whisper, scanning the driveway. The car I didn’t recognize, I realize several minutes too late, is hers—I’ve only seen it once before. Regan releases my arm, turning me toward him. His face is full of pity.
“We came back here after going to Les’s Diner. Rae wanted to show me the place. As soon as she saw that car, she lost it. I chased in after her, and—”
“I’m good, Regan,” I put my hands up, “I can put the rest together. I’m getting the hell out of here.” As soon as my foot hits the top stair, the front door swings open, spilling three angry people onto the porch. If curling into the fetal position were socially acceptable, I’d be there in a heartbeat.
“He didn’t invite you here,” Rae seethes.
“He didn’t ask me to leave, either, did you, Spencer?” I can hear Ainsley’s snide smile tear through the back of my head.
“Stop calling him that!” Rae screams.
“Will both of you calm down? It’s after midni -” Bo stops mid-sentence and I turn around to find his eyes wide in my direction.
My face feels like it takes on the color his loses in an instant. Rae’s hand flies to cover her open mouth as Regan grabs her shoulders. Swallow. Blink. Ainsley’s momentary shock is replaced by a wicked grin that turns her ice blue eyes black. Don’t bait her. Don’t bait her. Smile. Shrug. Do something “I had a nice time tonight, Spencer.” Ainsley stretches up on her tiptoes to plant a kiss squarely on Bo’s lips. His eyes don’t leave mine before I look to the ground in nausea.
Breathe. You don’t know what happened. Well, you know a little what happened.
As she brushes past me, Ainsley’s bubblegum-like body spray makes my mouth water—the way it does right before one throws up. She snickers as she gets in her car; the sound thumps my eardrums. I watch her taillights until they disappear from sight before I turn around again. My jaw ripples beneath my skin, and I pray that my teeth won’t break as I force my anger away with a deep inhale through flared nostrils.
Bo steps toward me. “November ...”
Yep, that’s me.
“Jesus, November, what are you doing here?” Rae whispers. Apparently, we’re all just catching up that I’ve been standing on the porch for several minutes.