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“The question crossed my mind,” I say.

“The thing is,” Charlotte starts, then exchanges a meaningful look with the others, “Chris came to me last night with some kind of harebrained scheme of setting Damon up on a date in the hopes of finding him a genuine connection, which”—Charlottechuckles—“at first, we got a pretty good laugh out of because let’s be real, Damon finding a connection with anyone seems pretty unlikely. I know you’re crushing on him, but he’s bitter and jaded and has shownzerointerest in dating.”

My pulse accelerates. They want to set him up on a date,afterthe moment we shared at the dance?

Shit, that can’t be good.

“So, naturally, we asked themwhythey wanted this,” Brynn continues, “and they were pretty evasive. Something about focus and distractions and getting over the past.” Brynn flaps her hand. “Basically, Chris was speaking out of his ass. No offense,” she says to Charlotte.

“None taken. The description is accurate.” Charlotte shrugs.

“Okay?” I say, wondering where this is going.

“Well, so Charlotte and I got to talking, and agreed that there’s something they’re not telling us.”

My stomach sinks.

“So, I did a little snooping,” Charlotte says with a grimace. “I know you shouldn’t eavesdrop on your boyfriend’s conversations, but I might have pretended I was still sleeping when Damon called last night. And I might have heard your name mentioned at least half a dozen times, along with something aboutmoving onandletting go of the past.”

They know.

The realization knots in my chest, and I wipe my sweat-damp palms on the front of my thighs, trying to think of an explanation they’ll understand.

I knew I’d have to tell them the truth about me and Damon sooner or later, but that doesn’t make the fear of their judgment any easier.

“I can explain,” I hear myself say. “Damon and I . . . well, we used to be . . .”

Shit. Why is this so hard?

Just say it, Avery. Let the cards fall where they may, and if they judge you for it, they’re not your friends.

“We dated,” I blurt out. “More than dated,” I wince. “We were together all through high school.”

I bite the inside of my cheek as I slide my gaze to each of them, unable to read their expression. If they’re shocked or angry, I can’t tell.

The room falls silent. The only sound is my pulse, loud in my ears.

“Seriously?” Charlotte asks, the first to break the silence. “But how?” Her forehead knots in confusion. “You said you met him in class.”

I grimace. “Technically, I said he’s in one of my classes, not that I met him there. We met in seventh grade when he got a scholarship to play football at the private school I attended. We became fast friends at a time when I had no idea what real friendship felt like,” I explain, chest aching with the memory. “By our freshman year, I knew my feelings were deeper than that, so when he asked me to homecoming, I agreed to go and that was it. We were together all through high school and past graduation. We had our whole future all mapped out.” My voice grows thick as I think about how many plans we had and how badly I wanted them. “Damon would start at AAU in the summer, and I’d follow. He’d get drafted to the NFL, and we’d get married, so I could follow wherever he went. But before I was supposed to leave for school, I . . .” I swallow the lump in my throat, unsure of how to explain our breakup in a way they can understand without telling them the truth.

“You, what?” Charlotte prompts, searching my face for answers.

I sigh, glancing down at my hands. There’s no way around this. No way to make them understand without the truth I can’t share.

“I broke up with him,” I say, the truth bitter on my tongue. “Completely blindsided him.”

“Wait a minute.” Liz closes her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose before she blinks them back open. “You were high school sweethearts, madly in love, and planning a future together. Then just before college,youbroke up withhim?”

“It doesn’t make sense.” Brynn frowns.

“I would have guessed it was Damon that ended it, considering his surly disposition,” Charlotte chimes in.

“No. It makes sense, if you think about it,” Samantha says, after a beat.

When all eyes turn on her, she shrugs. “The way Damon’s bitter about women and relationships.” She motions toward me, and I wince. “That’swhy.”

An ascent of agreement rumbles through them.