I'll stop distracting you.
Jess: Thanks. I have a lot to do today.
Pete: How are you going to celebrate?
Jess: I don't have time. I have work. I have to pick classes. I have to call my dad.
Pete: Fuck that. We're celebrating. And you're quitting that job. I'll take care of you.
Jess: I don't want to take advantage.
Pete: You're not. I need you for those hours. I'm gonna work you hard.
Jess: Are you sure?
Pete: Yeah. How long have you wanted to be a lawyer?
Jess: Since I read To Kill A Mockingbird in eighth grade.
Pete: Really?
Jess: I know. It's too cute for words. That's what everyone thinks of me—blond hair, blue eyes, big glasses.
Pete: You dye your hair that color.
Jess: You're not supposed to accuse a woman of dying her hair.
Pete: Looks good on you.
Jess: Thanks.
Pete: I'm looking forward to dragging my fingers through it the next time you're screaming my name.
Jess: Are you trying to make me blush?
Pete: No. I'm making you wet.
Jess: I plead the fifth.
Pete: Stop dodging. We're gonna celebrate. I want to get you off after you get off.
Jess: Excuse me?
Pete: Try saying it.
Jess: It's too embarrassing.
Pete: At first. Then it's freeing. Try.
Jess: I'm going to have fun with you after I'm done with work.
Pete: That wasn't so hard, was it?
Jess: Let's hope it's hard.
My chest heaves as I inhale. God, this is beyond embarrassing. But once I see the words on screen I feel exhilarated.
Pete: Go on.
Jess: It's too embarrassing.
Pete: You want my cock hard. What's embarrassing about that?
Jess: You know what's embarrassing about that!!!
Pete: Do I?
Jess: You're a tease.
Pete: Yeah. We covered this.
Jess: But it's alarming how much of a tease you are.
Pete: You've seen nothing.
Jess: Really?
Pete: Don't tell me you don't like it. I'll have to prove you wrong.
Jess: I admit nothing.
Pete: Guess I'll have to prove you like it. Do me a favor.
Jess: What?
Pete: Skip the underwear tonight.
CHAPTER TEN
––––––––
A fter work, I change into a cocktail dress and wedges in the backroom. For a second, I consider doing as Pete asked and skipping the underwear, but I can't muster up the nerve.
He's due to pick me up in ten minutes. I boot up my phone to pass the time.
Damn. I have a hundred new texts, a few dozen missed calls. My Facebook is slammed with people who want to get in touch. There are lots of questions and comments but most of them boil down to the same thing:
Oh my God, Jess, is that you with Pete Steele? No fucking way! He's so hot, you lucky bitch.
All of a sudden, all the friends who chose Nathan over me desperately want to talk to me. One measly video making out with a rock star and I'm Ms. Popularity.
My thumb hovers over my cell screen. I should feel powerful, victorious—my old friends, the ones who were perfectly happy to ignore me, are desperate to talk to me now that I'm a rock star's girlfriend.
My stomach churns. I don't feel powerful. Instead, my head is heavy and my shoulders are tense. Those friends felt real, once upon a time. But they don't care about me. They never did. I'm still a tool to them.
How the hell am I supposed to know who I can trust when I can't trust my sister?
My phone buzzes in my hands. Pete. He's here. I wipe my misty eyes. I'm celebrating tonight. No matter how much the thought of Madison still makes my stomach clench.
I shove my phone back into my purse and shoot Rick a goodbye forever wave on my way out the door.
There's Pete, leaning against the passenger side door of his black Tesla. He's wearing black jeans and a black button-up t-shirt. He's wearing eyeliner again. A hint. Just enough to make it impossible to avoid staring into his deep brown eyes.
The smile falls off his lips as he takes me in. "What's wrong?"
I shake my head and smooth my cocktail dress. "Nothing."
He squeezes my hands and pulls my body into his. "Let's try again. What's wrong?"
"All my old friends want to talk to me."
"Fuck. I forget to