to get us more drinks. April leaned forward and slapped my knee, scowling.
“That’s it,” she whisper-shouted over the music. “I’m staging a one-person intervention. You’re the most awful datee ever.”
“Datee?” I spelled out each letter. April was pretty good at making up words.
“Person you date.” April rolled her eyes and exhaled, sending a lock of her colorful hair flying.
“It’s not a date,” I signed.
Josh and April had presented this outing as hanging out. Since there was nothing romantic about strangers grinding against each other on a dance floor, I’d believed them. Plus, I didn’t want to stay in the dorm in case Knight showed up. I still hadn’t told April he was here, but I figured tonight, I’d have to come clean about plenty of things to my roommate.
April was so understanding, she didn’t even care that I’d lied to her about my relationship with Knight and told her he used to be my boyfriend.
“Come on, dude.” April patted my thigh.
I was wearing ripped boyfriend jeans and a hoodie, a stark contrast to my friend’s purple mini-dress.
“The guy is legit in love with you. If you’re not going to let him screw your brains out again, at least have the decency to tell him now.”
“I did,” I signed. In the letter I gave Josh, I’d explained I just wanted to be friends.
“Well, then stop dangling yourself in front of him like a shiny prize. He had a taste once, and now I’m sure he wants a rerun.” April barked out a good-natured laugh.
Suddenly, I remembered something very important—I’d never told April I slept with Josh. My jaw dropped.
“Had a taste?” I arched an eyebrow.
The only people who knew about Josh and me were my family, as Knight had so generously offered the information at Thanksgiving dinner, and Josh and me.
April waved her hand, laughing more awkwardly now. “It’s not a big deal.”
“Oh, it’s not?”
“Guys talk.”
“Last time I checked, you’re not a guy.”
“Well, Ryan is, and I’m his girlfriend, so he told me. It’s not like the entire school knows. Or cares. Just a few of our friends. Jesus, Luna, you’re not five. You think your alcoholic, scumbag crush who’s screwing someone else to get back at you is better than Josh?”
“Don’t you dare talk about him like that.” I slammed my empty drink on the table.
I understood fully that April was on my side, but I hated that she spoke badly of Knight without really understanding where he came from or what he was going through.
“Why not? He wasn’t even your boyfriend. You’d never protect Josh like this, and he’s been nothing but nice to you.”
“I don’t want nice.” I narrowed my eyes at her.
Really, what I’d meant to say was I didn’t want anyone who wasn’t Knight.
I flipped my phone again mid-argument. Ten past ten. My heart hiccupped.
“Of course not.” She gave me a sarcastic smile, leaning back in the leather booth. “He doesn’t treat you like shit, and therefore, is an awful candidate as a boyfriend.”
“Knight doesn’t treat me like shit.”
“You’re right. That would imply that he is treating you at all, wouldn’t it?”
Her words stung so much, I physically coiled.
“Why are you doing this?”
“Because.” She took a deep breath. “You’re hurting yourself, and you need to open your eyes and see the situation for what it is. You will always be poor Saint Luna because you insist on taking the mutt over and over again.”
“He’s no mutt. Stop saying that.”
“He screwed another girl.”
“He had every right.”
He did. I realized it now.
April ran her gaze over me, her eyes sad and disappointed.
Twenty past ten.
April was trying to help me—but that didn’t make her right. I’d portrayed Knight as the villain, when really, he was a misunderstood prince. I hadn’t agreed with all of his decisions, but he didn’t want to hurt me. Not truly. He wanted to stop hurting, and he sometimes ran over people in the process.
I darted up, helplessly searching the bar with my eyes. Josh and Ryan were leaning against it, laughing between themselves. Ryan said something that made Josh shake his head, pretending to finger-shoot his temple. I felt my fury rising from my toes to my head.
I looked back to April, smiling now, mustering every ounce of self-control I had in me.
“You know,” I spoke, my voice dark and smoky, coming from the depths of my soul.
Her eyes widened in disbelief, her cocktail glass—blue liquid, like the tips of her hair—slipping from between her fingers and crashing on the floor.