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Pierre was silent and it was bothering me. Why couldn’t he just open his fucking mouth?
“Your turn,” I said, crossing my arms. “Tell me why you’re here.”
“You still didn’t explain why Felix was here,” he pointed out.
Shaking my head, I let out a ragged breath. He was really pushing my buttons, here. “Because,” I started, wishing we could do this somewhere other the musty top floor of a college library. “I didn’t want to come here alone. I thought it might have something to do with … Tommy.”
He didn’t know it, but I was about to say Vivian’s name instead of her cousin’s.
“I guess there’s something else I have to tell you,” I said. “Tommy has a cousin, Vivian. She’s—well, she used to be my roommate.” This was going to be hard for him to wrap his head around, and I knew it. I wished we could just calm down, chill out, go back to his apartment and laugh things off like we used to do. But he wouldn’t let this slide. Maybe it was for the better. “She and her friends are out to get me. If it weren’t for Elliot, for the others, then she might’ve gotten to me. She hates my guts. I don’t know why, but—”
“Wait.” Pierre laid his hands on my shoulders. “So … you’re saying that they’re helping you? It’s not just …”
“It’s mutual,” I said, and wanted to facepalm myself right then and there. “I mean, it’s complicated. Look, the thing is, I think whoever sent that text is somehow connected to Vivian. I just know it.”
I thought about waiting for him to connect the dots, but I didn’t have the patience for it. Didn’t have the patience more confusion, more doubt.
“I didn’t want to be alone,” I continued. “And you left, so… I called him. Asked him to come with me. That’s it.”
“I don’t understand.” Pierre ran a hand nervously through his hair, and glanced over his shoulder as if to make sure we weren’t being overheard. “Why would she text you?”
“She?”
The question caught him off guard.
“Pierre,” I said, placing the palms of my hands on his wrists, which were still on my shoulders, holding me in place. “Who are you talking about?”
He let out a long, trembling sigh.
“Remember when you were talking about Cassidy? And what she said to you?”
I nodded slowly. Was she the one who sent the text? Maybe she was after Pierre’s ass after all.
“Well, she was right.” He sucked in another breath. “I am seeing someone. Someone else. You probably don’t know her.”
“Surprise me.”
That’s when Pierre took out his own phone, and started rifling through his text messages.
But instead of telling me a name, or showing me a number, or a text, he shoved a photo in my face.
“You know her?” he asked, as if he were a detective interrogating me about a victim. It took me a moment to realize who that was, the girl with the long black hair and heavy makeup. I had nearly forgotten about her, about who she was. I couldn’t have given a shit about who she was fucking and why.
But that changed in a split second.
“Her name’s Luna,” he said, and the smile I heard in his voice made me sick. “We met online, and she gave me her number. The other day she told me she’d be able to meet up with me, so we exchanged numbers. She must’ve mistyped my number and sent it to you before sending it to me.”
Luna. Vivian’s friend. Just as much of a bitch and just as hot—in a fake way. She had accompanied me and Vivian to our first party at Freeman, where I had stumbled into Elliot and realized Eric wasn’t the one for me.
Pretty on the outside, nasty within. Not right for Pierre on any level.
“Our numbers are completely different,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Well, similar. But she must’ve sent this to me on purpose.”
“Why would she do that?”
“Because she knows exactly who I am,” I replied, stepping past him. “Come on. We should go.”
“Wait.” Turning on the flashlight on his phone, Pierre went searching through the dark and located my own phone. He handed it back to me. “How does she know you?”