here now for almost two weeks and he has to be getting tired of babysitting me.
"I'll figure it out," I say.
He taps the phone sitting on my side table. "Call him. He'll take you."
"You really are in his corner, aren't you?"
"I'm in the corner that gets you healthy and whole, Peyton. And he's part of that, even if you don't want to admit it yet."
"He's not my type."
"He is. Maybe he's not the type you think should be your type, but he's who you chose. And you hated that life anyway. Don't cling to your preconceived notions of who you think you should be because it's all you know. Be the girl you want to be for the rest of your life."
I consider that for a long time after Tommy leaves me alone, and eventually I turn on the phone.
The damn thing lights up with text messages and I flush, imagining how dirty and provocative they'll be.
I'm under no delusions that Rike has decided to leave me alone because I'm being quiet.
I ignore the messages, and pull up his number, dialing before I can chicken out.
"Peyton?" he says, and I can hear the surprise in his voice.
"Hi. Sorry. I don't mean to bother you, but—"
"You aren't. You will never be a bother. I thought we'd already gone over that."
I flush. "Um. Do you think you could give me a ride to the hospital tomorrow? My cast is coming off and Tommy can't take me. I think he got in trouble last week. But if you can't, I totally get it; I can get a cab to pick me up."
"What time?"
"Eleven. My appointment shouldn't take long, but I wanted to stop in and see Lindsay. If you have the time?"
"Of course," he says immediately. A tiny weight slides off my chest and I can breathe easier.
"Do you want to grab lunch, after?"
And just like that it's back.
"I don't know if that's a good idea," I say softly.
"I was your friend, long before you realized we were together, before. Let me be your friend, Peyton. You could use a friend."
"I need a friend who doesn't send me dirty texts," I say tartly.
He laughs, completely unrepentant.
"Fine. Lunch. But nothing fancy."
A secret smile colors his voice when he says, "Deal."
We're silent for a moment, and I can hear the sound of someone in the background calling his name, and I flush. "I should let you go."
"Yeah. I left a client in the middle of a tattoo piece. I should probably finish. But I'll see you tomorrow, perfect girl."
I hang up the phone, and turn it off. Because as much as I want to look at the texts I know it’s a bad idea.
But I can’t keep the smile off my face. Tomorrow, I’m going to see him again.
Chapter 11: Before
I’m not sure what hurts more—my back or my head. It’s pounding and my back feels like I brawled with Scott. I glance down and mutter a curse.
I groan and roll to my stomach, propping my head in my hand as the world spins dizzily.
“Scott,” I croak.
“He went to get breakfast. Said to let you sleep.”
I jerk upright, and glare over my shoulder at the blonde girl leaning against the door jam.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
Lindsay lifts one eyebrow, a quiet censure in that single move, and I am suddenly acutely aware that I’m naked in a room that doesn’t belong to me. “What happened?” I demand.
“You were drunk, Rike, but I didn’t think you were that out of it,” she says stiffly. I flip her off weakly and she makes a grumpy noise before retreating. I scramble to find some clothes in her absence, and tug on my jeans.
I hear a door slam, and for a moment, I think she’s gone before I hear Scott talking to her, his voice pitched low. Then he appears, and his eyes skim over me, assessing.
“What happened?” I ask. I haven’t been blackout drunk since the night—I shut that thought down and focus on my best friend. “Did I fuck her?”
Scott’s expression turns grumpy. “You’re a self-destructive bastard, you know that?”
I stare at him.
“You wanted to do this. Remember? You wanted to get laid and get Peyton out of your head.” His voice is mocking and angry.
I do remember. But the thought of anyone…it makes my stomach twist and I want to shower that dirty feeling away. A look of disgust flicks across Scott’s face and he steps into the room, crowding into me. “You’re being