intricate thin-line tattoo that snakes up the side of her ass and down part of her leg. Right now, mud hides her inked skin.
“I can’t keep it a secret anymore,” Luna says. “Celebrity Crush posted something on their Twitter account about how I didn’t show my legs all summer, and I don’t want my dad to jump to conclusions like I’m…” She exhales sadly.
Jane tells me, “Like she’s hurting herself.”
I nod, more understanding. It sucks that the media is forcing her hand in this. But I think it’s good that Luna is coming clean, even if Uncle Lo is going to flip. Honestly, I’m impressed at how long Luna has been able to shelter a visible secret. It’s literally written on her body.
The cougar attack is written on mine, but it’s not something I want to keep quiet when I go home.
“So you’re telling your dad now?” I ask Luna.
“Yep.” She unlocks her phone screen. “I’m mostly just worried about the fallout with Donnelly. I don’t want him to get in trouble for a tattoo that I asked for.”
Moffy chimes in, “Donnelly said he was cool with you telling Dad.”
My jaw drops a fraction. “When?” How did I miss that too?
“Earlier this morning,” Luna explains, “I talked with Moffy, Farrow, and Donnelly about telling my dad today, while we’re all here. I think it’ll give my dad some time and space to process.”
Jane lifts her beer goblet. “Cheers to courage.”
I want to smile, but little ole me is sitting here with a huge ass secret. And it’d be nice to have advice from Moffy and Jane like Luna has been getting lately.
Luna taps her finger to the goblet in cheers, then taps her phone. “Sent.” She looks more nervous as reality sinks in. “I did the right thing? Dad had to know?”
Jane holds her gaze. “Better from you than from the media.”
Moffy nods. “It was time.”
I try to give Luna an encouraging smile. “You got this, Luna.”
Jane’s phone buzzes the same time as Luna’s. While Jane smiles at her screen, Luna is frowning at hers.
“Shit,” Luna curses. “He’s asking me who did it?”
“You should tell Dad the truth,” Moffy says.
Luna inhales, then types out a message. I scoot closer to Jane as I catch the bride-to-be swooning at her phone.
She smiles over at me, then flashes me her screen. “Thatcher’s mom stopped by to check on Lady Macbeth and the others. Thatcher texted me the pics she sent him.”
Her cats.
Thatcher messaged Jane a photo of their fur babies rolling on the carpet like cat burritos, and they’re making silly faces. I laugh. “Are they strung out on catnip?”
“On love, apparently,” Jane says, unable to stop smiling. “They adore Gloria. Thatcher said his mom grew up feeding strays and bringing them inside.”
Gloria. That’s also Banks’ mom. Obviously, but I find myself hanging onto Jane’s words for different reasons now. I want to know more about Banks and the woman who raised him.
Is she cool? Does he have a good relationship with her or is it more strained like the one with his dad? Things…I don’t exactly know that deeply, but I really, really fucking want to.
There is a path where I never do.
Where I never get closer to Banks, and that sits inside me like a ball of misery and desolation. Like some post-apocalyptic scenario that I didn’t choose.
I’d never choose that.
But I may.
I try not to wince even thinking it, and I concentrate on Jane.
She shows me another cat photo. “Ophelia is licking her lips after a tuna treat.”
Adorable, but my eyes immediately jump to the text message sitting above the photo.
I’m going to push inside your wet pussy, honey. – Thatcher
Suddenly it’s a million degrees and my eyes have popped out of my fucking head. Do I alert Jane and make the situation awkward? Or do I ignore the fact that I just read a dirty text from her future husband, one that is super direct and assertive?
“Uh…” I stammer.
Jane frowns, then follows my gaze. “Merde.” She’s beet-red and clicks out of the text thread.
Maybe I should go to college and take up Acting 101 to save other people from myself. “I didn’t see anything,” I lie.
She smiles, but her face is as red as mine. I mean, we’re all pretty open and talk about sex, but it’s not like I’ve ever heard Thatcher tell Jane that he wants to stick it in.
“That is a big fat lie, Sullivan Meadows,” Jane notes sweetly. “But I appreciate you lying on