“Ali,” he said on a sigh. “You’re not fine. Kat said you couldn’t breathe.”
“As you can see, I’m over it.” I was proud of my seeming calm. “You can leave now.”
Concern darkened his features, poking at my anger.
He had no right to feel concern for me.
“Why couldn’t you breathe, Ali?”
“Does it really matter?”
At last he reached up, intending to cup my cheeks the way he used to. Just before contact he caught himself. His hands returned to the arms of the chair, caging me in, making me shiver—and hate myself. “Let Ankh run a few tests.”
“No.” I had been wrong to think I could face Cole today. It was too soon. Especially if he was going to be nice.
Why was he being nice?
“We’re done here.” I pushed him out of the way and stood on shaky legs. Frosty was scrubbing his knuckles into Kat’s scalp while she laughed and batted at his arm. Bronx and Reeve were in the midst of a glaring contest.
“We have more to do,” I said to the girls. Then I marched away without another word, my coat and bags hanging at my sides.
Both Kat and Reeve followed me, ditching the boys without hesitation.
“So...did you know that sleeping with twelve different guys is the same thing as sleeping with, like, four thousand?” Kat asked, breaking the silence, the tension.
I could have hugged her. She hadn’t mentioned our guys, and wasn’t going to. She was trying to distract me.
“No way,” Reeve said.
We cleared the doors of the mall, entered the coolness of the day. I pulled on the coat.
Kat nodded. “I crunched the numbers myself. I’m eighty-three percent sure that I’m one hundred percent sure that my math is perfect. See, if you sleep with a guy, you’ve then been with everyone he’s been with and everyone his other partners have been with and everyone their partners have been with. It goes on and on.” She held up one finger. “Frosty is my only, but he’s been with others and I’m sure they’ve been with others, so, I’m guessing I’ve been with at least fifty people—is there a scarlet letter on my forehead?”
“I wonder how many girls Bronx has gotten into bed,” Reeve muttered.
“Bronx? Did you say Bronx? Because I could have sworn you told me you’re over him and seeing someone else,” Kat quipped.
Reeve pursed her lips.
I took a breath—held it. Exhaled, slowly. Mist formed in front of my face. My first real post-breakup encounter with Cole was now history. I’d survived with the tiniest shred of dignity, and that was more than I’d expected. I was going to be okay.
A twentysomething guy stepped into our path, blocking us. We drew to a halt as he said, “Hey, pretty girl,” with a wide, toothy grin aimed at Kat. “How about some company, hmm?”
Another guy pressed into his side. He eyed Reeve up and down as if she were a stick of cotton candy and he was dying from a sweet tooth.
“No, thanks,” she said, and tried to inch around him.
He moved with her, continuing to block her. “Wait. You don’t want to go until we’ve exchanged numbers, do you?”
The other guy leaned down to sniff Kat’s neck. “My own personal brand of crack, right there.”
“Quoting romance novels?” Scowling, she leaned back, out of reach. “Lesson of the day—you don’t smell a girl until she gives you permission. Ever. It makes you a creeper.”
He pouted.
I doubted the two were dangerous. I actually thought they were going for sexy and charming rather than disturbing. And maybe I could have tried to reach a verbal resolution with them. Maybe not.
Despite being “okay,” anger still pulled at an already thin tether.
Nope. Wrong. The tether snapped.