Page 112 of Under the Influence

“Are you going to ask me about him?”

“No,” I warn. “It’s better if I don’t know.”

“Has he tried to reach out to you?”

The thought of talking to him again makes my skin crawl, remembering all the awful things he said to me, and to think I lied to my best friend to sneak around with him. What a tangled ass web I’ve managed to weave.

“No. I’ve shut down all my social media accounts and changed my number. Plus, unless you’ve told someone, no one knows where I am. My dad wants to keep it that way because he thinks I’m in danger with everyone blaming me for Aspen’s death.”

Which was my fault. Maybe not in the way everyone thought, but she might still be here if I hadn’t lied.

“Promise me if he tries to get in touch with you that you’ll tell me, that you’ll tell someone.”

“I promise,” I whisper.

At least, I think I do.

CHICAGO

THIS PAST SUMMER

“When are you going to tell her the truth, Cor? This sneaking around shit is getting old.”

“I’ll tell her soon, I promise. I don’t really feel like arguing about it right now with the showcase coming up.”

He slams the car door, rounding the hood to open mine. Even if he isn’t a gentleman, he does a good job pretending.

“It’s none of her fucking business,” he growls. “I don’t even know why you guys are friends. You are absolutely nothing alike.”

I sigh, “She’s my best friend, Kane. Can we just drop it?”

He grips the back of my neck, pulling my lips to his, “When are you going to realize that I’m the only one you need right now?”

It’s toxic, but I believe him because I want him just as much as he wants me. So much that I’ve lied to everyone for the past month about being with him.

“I know,” I whisper. “I love you.”

He wraps me into a hug, the faint smell of smoke and weed embedded in his jacket. “I love you, Cor.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” I question, pulling away.

“Yeah, I’ll pick you up after I leave work.”

I watch him get back into his car, and he makes a show of spinning the tires as he pulls away.

I walk into my dorm building, heading straight for our room, running smack dab into Aspen on the stairs. “You are awfully dressed up for someone who’s been in the studio.”

Busted.

“Actually, I signed up for the wrong studio time. So Benson and I went and got dinner.”

She crosses her arms, “Uh-huh, what did you order?”

“What?” I ask, confused. Why does she care what I ate?

“What did you and Benny get?”

“I got a Rueben, and he got soup and salad.”