Never Sweeter (Dark Obsession #1)(17)

It was disconcerting enough that she didn’t know how to answer.

The piece of paper he’d slipped into his wallet now seemed like a lie.

Worse: it seemed like a hallucination.

“Oh, you know he was civil. He didn’t do anything awful, if that’s what you mean.”

“Well that’s a start. At the very least I don’t have to murder him now.”

“You would murder him for me?”

She tried to keep the hopefulness from her face.

She knew she failed, however.

“Totally. I know you’d help keep me out of prison.”

“I was just thinking how hard I would cover up your crimes.”

“Bros for life, man,” Lydia said, then held up her plastic cup for Letty to knock hers against.

It was a pleasure to do it—and especially when she considered that word choice. Lydia was making fun of Tate. She actually had someone to make fun of him with.

“I think this might be the best party I’ve ever been to.”

“You know, broseph, I was just thinking the same thing.”

“Even though we are just standing in this corner drinking lemonade?”

“Especially because we are just standing in the corner drinking lemonade. I never met anyone who hates beer and just wants to loiter at parties as much as I do. Typically, by this point I’ve been shamed into dancing and throwing up the five Jell-O shots I didn’t want.”

“I didn’t even get as far as the shaming. Usually I’ve escaped by now—and that goes double for anything Tate turned up at. Even seeing him now is giving me the urge to just go.”

“We can if you want, you know.”

“No. No it’s okay. I mean he’s not even paying attention,” she said, though some part of her already knew that wasn’t true. There was something about the way he was behaving that set her nerves on edge. As though his awareness of her was a ghostly presence around him, invisible to everyone else but clear as day to her. He knew she was here. She knew he knew she was here.

Though it still stabbed her in the gut when he glanced her way.

He did it so stealthily, so carefully—it looked like he was just nodding along to his buddy’s chatter, as casual as you please. And then he dipped his head and scratched a thumb over his brow, effectively shading the direction of his gaze from view. Gaze flicking up to her so quick you could almost think it hadn’t happened at all. Certainly Lydia missed it.

But Letty never could.

That light in his eyes was too familiar—shot through with the kind of teasing laughter she had grown to loathe. And then there was the way he narrowed them, as though planning on doing some mischief. He was with his boys now. Mischief was the thing to do. There was no room for brittle brand-new friendships and banter about headlocks here.

She knew there wasn’t, before he even started pushing through the crowd.

“Is he coming over here?”

Lydia sounded as terrified as she felt.

Comforting, in one way.

Awful in another.

“I think he might be coming over, yes.”

“Is he going to pull some shit?”

“Also possible.” She paused, trying to swallow the rising bitterness in her voice. “Goddamn I knew I shouldn’t have worn a dress.”

“Are you kidding? That dress is f*cking amazing.”

Lydia was right, too. It was the sort of thing she’d always wanted to wear: the skirt was so full it rolled like a wave when she walked, and the bodice gave her both a waist and a hint of spectacular cleavage. In certain lights she could have passed for a 1950s pinup—though she knew that didn’t matter. What mattered was that the dress ended just above her fat shins. What mattered was that it wasn’t black, or loose, or designed to hide every single body part she had.

“I know. But he won’t think so.”

“Okay, we’ll get ready to defend me in court,” Lydia said.

But the best part was the way she took her hand and squeezed, just as he strolled up.

If she lived to be a thousand, she would never know how to thank Lydia for that.

“Hey, ladies. You enjoying the party?”

“We are. Hoping to continue that trend…Trent, is it?”

Letty wondered if living to a million would be enough time to think up an adequate thank-you. The tone Lydia used alone was enough to send a bolt of glee through her. But then there was the way she purposefully said the wrong name. God, it was beautiful. It was wondrous. She wanted to clap her hands.

Until Tate started talking, and all of her hate Tate instincts started to crumble.

“Oh, my bad. Let me properly introduce myself and my friends—I’m Tate, and this tall f*cker with the insane eyebrows is Chad, and the even taller dude with the crew cut is Derek. Guys, this is Lydia, I believe…and of course the babe in blue is Letty.”

One of them—Chad, she thought absently, because his eyebrows seemed to consume almost all of his forehead—stuck out his hand.

Only she couldn’t shake it. She couldn’t move at all. Most of her was still waiting for the punch line to a joke that hadn’t been told, and the rest was too shocked to do anything at all. For a full thirty seconds she just stared at the outstretched hand, unable to believe this was for real.

No insults. No bros being bros. No mean commentary on her dress.