slips away. “Enough work talk. How are things with Peak?”
And there it is, that little nagging feeling, subtle like having a piano dropped on my skull or stepping on a rusty nail.
imsuchanasshole
Deep breath. Compartmentalize. That’s all.
“She’s good,” I say, which is true. She’s been incredibly upbeat this whole week. It’s a little unnerving.
“Just good?”
“What do you want me to say? She’s great, I’m in love, we’re going to get married?” I shake my head. “We text, Gray—that’s it. She’s funny, she’s nice, but it’s not like it’s going anywhere.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s not, Gray. Drop it.”
I don’t want to talk about her; Peak is mine, just for me, and even talking about it could dilute some of the magic. Or make things messier. I don’t know. I’m compartmentalizing over here or whatever, and Gray needs to let me.
“Wow, okay.” She crunches one of the boxes shut a little too hard. And oh no, I wanted tonight to be good.
“I’ll let you pick any show you want if you drop it.”
She freezes, looking at me out of the corner of her eye. “Even my werewolves?”
“Oh my god, Grayson, you are too old for that show.”
“You’re never too old for werewolves. That’s a fact. Sorry, I don’t make the rules.”
“They’re barely even werewolves! They’re like Hollister models with five-o’clock shadows.”
“Oh, so werewolves can’t be hot? That’s speciesist, Ridley. I’m disappointed.”
“That’s not what I said.”
“Good—so you agree, then, werewolves are hot?”
“Oh my god,” I groan, tossing her the remote.
“You’ll watch it and you’ll like it.” She laughs. “Don’t think I don’t see the eyes you make at the alpha.”
“Uh-huh,” I say, trying to act like it’s no big deal that she’s joking about me crushing on a very hot, very male actor. She’s the only person who didn’t freak out about the “Chandler situation,” as my parents refer to my brief and dramatic relationship with a state senator’s son last year. I thought it was love; he thought it was something else—blackmail, mainly. It’s whatever.
My mom yanked me from my private school when the pictures came to light, finally relenting and letting me attend classes online instead. She also immediately put me into counseling, which is hilarious because she didn’t even do that after my dive off the roof at thirteen, the one that resulted in a broken leg, a sprained ankle, and too many bruises to count. To this day she insists I must have done it on a dare—even though I left a note.
So yeah, apparently liking girls and guys rates higher on the concern scale than . . . the other thing. I stopped going a couple months ago, though; I don’t think my mom has even noticed.
I shift in my seat uncomfortably, but Gray has already started watching the show. I try to follow along, but I’m in a weird headspace now, so I mess with my phone to take my mind off things, relieved to see that Peak has texted me twice.
“Oh my god, why is this show so good?” Gray groans, actually groans, and I raise my eyebrows.
“Let’s just agree to disagree on that,” I snort. My phone buzzes again, and it’s a picture of Peak’s cat with its tongue sticking out a little. Only, Peak scribbled on the pic so it looks like the cat’s wearing a Batman mask.
I smile and lean back in my seat. There are werewolves shoving people into high school lockers on my TV, and there’s so much food, and my sister is smiling, and Peak is being cute, and for a second everything is not so bad. Given enough time, I could maybe get used to this.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Jubilee
JAYLA SIGHS DRAMATICALLY and flips the page of her textbook. We’re spending eighth period in the library for study hall, which means we have to be mostly quiet but can still talk a little. We have a history test in three days that we’re both cramming for, though one of us is a bit more resentful about it.