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“Oh, right, he’s so boring to you. Or maybe you shouldn’t stay up reading all night long. Which reminds me—” she slaps my thigh “—we’re so going out tonight.”
“No.” Usually I like going out, but lately I haven’t had the desire.
“Don’t you ‘no’ me.” Iris leans in, her silky black hair sliding over her shoulder. “You haven’t been out in weeks. Being a homebody is one thing. Turning into a hermit is just wrong.”
“You pay way too much attention to my social life.”
“Kind of hard to ignore when we live together.”
Freshman year, I started off living in a dorm, but that was a bit too much like high school for my liking, and the public bathrooms flat-out sucked. Then I met Iris, who also had a dislike of cinderblock walls and wearing flip-flops in the shower. We decided working to pay for an apartment of our own was worth it and moved out by the end of the year. Because we got along so well, we kept the place year-round rather than going home during the summers.
Iris sighs, her slim shoulders lifting high before dropping. I bite my lip to keep from smiling, but she sees and plays on my weakness.
“Come onnn, Banana.” Like a kid, she taps her feet on the ground in an impatient dance. “I don’t want to go alone. I need a girlfriend with me tonight.”
I narrow my eyes. “Where do you want to go anyway?”
Her white teeth flash, a sharp contrast against her bronze skin. “A party.”
“No.”
“Anna! You haven’t even heard me out.”
“You know I hate parties.” With the passion of a televangelist on Sunday morning. I suck at small talk and mingling. Give me a booth in a bar and a few good friends, and I’m a happy girl. Parties suck.
Slouching back, Iris picks at the edge of my notebook. “I’m not going to leave you alone. We’ll hang out.”
“We can do that anywhere.” I eye her with suspicion. “Why this party?”
She starts paying undue attention to the condensation on my cup, tracing patterns over it with the tip of her finger. “Well... Henry—”
“Fuck.”
“You have the filthiest mouth, Anna.” This isn’t a new complaint. She makes it constantly. Not that she’s wrong. I curse when I’m stressed. Or annoyed. Okay, I curse all the time.
“No shit?” My cussing also tends to increase when Henry Ross is mentioned.
Henry and Iris have been going out for two years, so you’d think I’d accept his presence in Iris’s life. But I grit my teeth every time I see him. He’s a smarmy asshole who treats Iris like window dressing. He doesn’t so much talk to her as talk at her.
And though my friend is smart, funny, gorgeous, and independent, Henry is her kryptonite. He weakens her, making her oblivious to his many faults.
Sure, he’s good-looking, dark-haired and dark-eyed with a nice smile. He’s also the captain of the lacrosse team and makes sure everyone knows it. But I’m fairly certain he cheats on her. There are too many times when he doesn’t answer her calls or has “important team meetings” on Friday nights or holidays such as Valentine’s Day. Yeah, right.
As much as I wish I could tell Iris to ditch him, experience with my mom has taught me that I’d only strengthen her resolve and drive a wedge between us.
“I know you don’t like Henry,” Iris says now.
While I’m able to keep my mouth shut, pretending to like him is more than I can take. The sleaze always, always, eyes my boobs and ass. Not in the normal way a guy might make a note of them, but in a way that makes me feel covered with slime.
“He asked me to bring you,” Iris continues.
Of course he did. He knows I don’t like him. Which he takes as a challenge to piss me off. Henry might be a dick, but he’s a wily dick. He knows I’ll look like a jerk if I resist his attempts at polite interaction.
“He wants me to be happy,” she pushes on. “And he knows I want to have a friend with me at his parties.”
Because he’ll ignore her within five minutes of getting there.
“This isn’t one of his team parties, is it?”
