Chapter 14

fourteen

LOLA

It was hot as hell when I got off the bus in Barrington, and over the twenty-five-minute ride, I still couldn't work out what the hell I had been thinking about sleeping with Hendrix, let alone agreeing to move in with him. But I was desperate, and I knew I'd be safe with him. Physically at least. My heart, not so much.

I walked past the restaurant, stopping at the pharmacy on the corner to pick up the morning-after pill before my shift.

The woman behind the counter swept a judgmental glare over me. I was tempted to flip her off when I chucked the fifty bucks I couldn't afford onto the counter.Pissed wasn't even the word for how I felt about spending my hard-earned money for Hendrix Hunt to nut. Half my weekly rent. But what else was I supposed to do?

I collected the bag and left before crossing the highway and clocking in at The Squealing Hog.

Halfway through my shift, I'd only made twenty bucks—which was half what I normally would have by then. Every table of Barrington kids I waited on stiffed me, and I wasn't na?ve enough to think that was a coincidence.

Hendrix had beaten the shit out of Ethan Taylor, and I had no doubt word had spread by now. Barrington needed no extra reasons to hate anyone Dayton, but especially Hendrix.

I cleaned off another table with no tip, then went to the back to do some of my side work.

I'd just finished filling a bucket with ice when someone touched my shoulder. "Hey. You didn't answer my texts."

I closed the freezer door and glanced over my shoulder at Chad. I hadn't answered because I'd been busy doing things I shouldn't with my ex-boyfriend. "I haven't had a chance—"

"And you've been avoiding me all shift."

"I'm not avoiding you. I'm busy. You're busy…" And I hadn't yet thought of a good explanation for why I had ditched him mid-party.

"Ethan told everyone Hunt beat his ass because he walked in on you two in the bathroom. Not that it's any of my business, but—"

"He's a lying piece of shit." I hoisted the bucket of ice up and started out of the back. I wanted to tell him the truth, but I wouldn't say anything that might implicate Hendrix if Ethan decided to press charges. He was the snakey sort.

"Lola!"

My gaze snapped to the end of the corridor where Pete, our manager, stood with a deep frown on his sagging face. He thumbed behind him.

"My office."

This couldn't be good.

Chad gave me a concerned look before I cut down the hall and ducked into the dingy, windowless office.

Pete closed the door. "I've had several complaints about you today. Slow service, no drink refills, and an attitude."

Three guesses which tables had made those complaints.

I tapped a foot over the grimy floor. "Barrington High School tables by any chance?"

"It doesn't matter."

"They don't like me—"

"I don't give a crap about your teenage drama. Do better." He turned to his computer, dismissing me. "Get back to work."

Of course, he didn't care that I'd done nothing wrong. Asshole.

I went back to work, and every Barrington table that came in requested to be seated in my section, complained to Pete, and then stiffed me. I was pretty sure I would end up losing my job.

Kyle's headlights reflected off the Victory Lane street sign. Just as he neared Hendrix's house, my phone pinged with a text from the devil himself.

SATAN: I have to handle some shit. Do you remember where the spare key is?

Me: Yeah

SATAN: Don't forget the Taco Casa.

SATAN: Extra picante sauce.

Me: I didn't get picante sauce.

This was too normal. A conversation I would have had with him before everything had gone to shit. Kyle's Honda came to an abrupt stop beneath the glow of the street light right outside Hendrix's place.

"Kyle, you can pull into the drive."

He shook his head adamantly. "No. Who knows what he'll do if I'm trespassing on his property."

I glanced through the window at the dark house. "He's not even here."

The puff of his inhaler sounded. "He'll know!"

Kyle was beyond ridiculous, but there was no changing him.

On a sigh, I took the Taco Casa bag from the footwell, then got out and hauled my sole box from the back seat. The engine revved before Kyle pulled away, the glow of his taillights fading as he rounded the corner in a squeal of tires.

He'll know … I almost rolled my eyes as I trudged through the tall grass. Like Hendrix had some kind of Spidey-sense…

I rounded the side of the house. The motion light cut on, shining over the old trampoline in the backyard. The one Hendrix and I had played on as kids. The one we had made out on as teenagers. Everything in this place was attached to a happy memory.

I set my box on the porch steps, then swiped spiderwebs away from the little wooden birdhouse on the top stair and grabbed the spare key from inside.

It felt so weird to walk into his house the way I used to.

My gaze drifted over the old cabinets, the peeling wallpaper, the crayon drawings Hendrix and I had doodled on the wall when we were six.

Moving in here may not have been smart, but I couldn't deny it felt good to be home. I dumped the Taco Casa bag on the counter, then carried on through the house, glancing through Hendrix's open door when I reached the top of the stairs.

A sliver of light from the hall cut across his room, catching on something sparkly on the floor. I shouldn't have looked, shouldn't have pushed open the door or stepped inside… I scooped up a glittery hair clip that sure as hell wasn't mine.

I hadn't noticed that before I had let him fuck me.

I didn't know who had left it or when. I didn't need to. We were roommates. A one-night stand. Roommates!

God, if ever I needed any confirmation of my sheer level of pathetic desperation, then willingly subjecting myself to this was it.

I broke the stupid clip, tossed it into the bathroom trash can, then stormed into the spare room and unpacked my meager box of belongings. I didn't have much. Some clothes and toiletries, mainly trinkets and notes from Hendrix—the guy who kept sparkly hair clips.

Finally, I pulled out Sid the Sloth, a stuffed toy Hendrix had won me from a Wal-E-Mart claw machine when we were kids. It was my most prized possession, the only thing I couldn't bear to lose.

And he had glittery, shit hair clips…

I'd just placed Sid on the worn bedspread when the doorbell rang. Then rang again. And again.

Annoyed, I jogged down the stairs and opened the door.

Virginia Ford stood on the threshold in a pink sundress, blond hair swept up in a high ponytail. She'd had a thing for Hendrix freshman year. Just like most of the girls.

One time she came over to one of his and Zepp's parties and flashed her tits. Hendrix screamed and said his corneas had been burned. She didn't find it nearly as funny as I had. Why in the hell was she here?

"What do you want, Virginia?"

"It's Gigi now." She gave me a once over, then popped her gum. "I just stopped by to get my hair clip."

Her hairclip? That sparkly, glittery piece of shit belonged to Virginia Ford. He had fucked her? Fucked. Her. A nuclear blast exploded in my brain, and I fought to keep it off my face.

She twirled a strand of hair around her finger. I wanted to rip out every over-bleached lock and set fire to it in front of her.

"I left it here last night," she said with a smile.

Last night?

Last.

Fucking.

Night!

My pulse raced so fast I nearly choked on it.

This bitch wasn't here for her Dollar Store, five-year-old's party bag piece-of-sparkly-shit hair clip. She was hoping for a repeat, and everything about her made me want to take her broken hair clip and shank out her eyes.

I inhaled a deep breath, willing my psychotic tendencies to calm as I painted a smile on my face. "Hendrix doesn't do repeats, Virginia . Unless it's me." I swept my gaze over her. "And I broke your stupid hairclip." Then I slammed the door in her face. Cunt.

I stood in the entranceway, staring at the staircase while the thought of him screwing her only hours before he was inside me burrowed into my brain. Everything about it sent me descending into a blind rage. I felt soiled and disrespected in the absolute worst way.

I stormed into the living room and picked up the first thing I saw—his PlayStation controller—and launched it at the wall on my way to the kitchen. It made a wonderful crack. Good, I hoped it was broken.

Next, I opened the pantry and took his entire new box of Pop-Tarts before stomping back to my room. If there was one thing that had always pissed off Hendrix, it was someone stealing his precious Pop-Tarts.

I'd eat the whole box, even if it made me sick.