Page 6 of Because I Liked A Boy (Because I Liked A Boy Trilogy #1)

Princess

My phone won’t stop buzzing.

For a second, I think it’s him again—the number that’s been threading ice down my spine since dawn—but the name flashing across the screen is Ruby.

I debate letting it ring. After the circus at the diner and the town already whispering like I’m Maplewood’s newest scandal, I want nothing more than to disappear into the sofa.

But Ruby doesn’t give up. The call cuts out. Starts again. And again.

With a groan, I swipe to answer. “What?”

“Don’t what me, Belle.” Her voice is sharp with amusement. “Spill. I want details. And by details, I mean everything. And by everything, I mean you’re not getting rid of me today.”

I press my palm over my eyes. “Ruby—”

“No excuses. It’s my day off. You and Hunter Hayes waltzed into the diner like it was a damn movie scene, and I refuse to let Maplewood gossip get the story before I do.”

“It wasn’t like that.”

“Mm-hm.” She doesn’t sound convinced. “Be ready in twenty. We’re going out.”

The line goes dead before I can argue.

I drop my phone onto the cushions and mutter to the empty flat, “I hate her.”

Except I don’t.

And now I have twenty minutes to make myself look like I haven’t just been steamrolled by Hunter Hayes and half the town’s curiosity.

I throw open my tiny wardrobe, flicking past hoodies and worn jeans until I land on something that at least looks like I’ve made an effort.

High-waisted black shorts, a cream blouse tied at the front.

Simple. Neutral. Doesn’t scream look at me.

Black Converse. Hair scraped into a low ponytail.

Mascara and lip balm—just enough to fake being composed.

By the time a horn blares outside, I’m clutching my tote like a shield.

Ruby’s car gleams at the curb, top down despite the chill, her oversized sunglasses covering half her face. A cropped denim jacket hugs her shoulders over a floral sundress, and her lipstick is the kind of red that makes statements before she even opens her mouth.

“Belle!” she shouts, waving like we’re in a parade. “Get in. We’ve got work to do.”

I roll my eyes, but I climb in anyway.

Ruby peels away from the curb with the kind of confidence that dares traffic to stop her. “So,” she drawls, flicking me a sideways glance, “you and Hunter Hayes.”

I groan. “Do not start.”

“Oh, I’m starting. You show up at the diner with him looking like you’ve just stepped off the cover of a scandal and sit there letting him stare at you like you’re his favourite bad idea—and you expect me to stay quiet?”

“You sound ridiculous.”

“I sound invested.” She smirks, merging into traffic. “Besides, I’ve seen the way he looks at you at the Bean. Like he’s either about to start a fight or kiss you across the counter. Honestly, better than Netflix.”

A laugh scrapes out of me before I can stop it. “You need better entertainment.”

“Maybe. But you’ve just made my week.” She taps the wheel with bright red nails, grin curling. “And speaking of weeks… Millie Carson’s already sharpening her knives.”

My stomach knots. “How bad?”

“Bad.” Ruby’s smirk sharpens into something almost wicked. “Which means we’re not hiding. We’re hitting the shops, we’re getting drinks tonight, and you’re walking in like Millie’s nightmare.”

I groan, but she only grins wider, sunglasses flashing in the sun.

“Relax, Belle. You’ve got me. We’ll play this smart. You’ll look hot, he’ll look at you, and she’ll choke on it.”

Shopping with Ruby is less retail therapy and more military strategy. She prowls racks like a predator, shoving dresses into my arms faster than I can protest. By the time she shoves me into a dressing room, I’m buried under fabric.

“Strip,” she orders through the door.

“Buy me dinner first,” I mutter, but I try on the white mini anyway.

And then I stop.

The mirror doesn’t give me London Isabella. Or shattered Isabella. It gives me someone sharper. Someone who doesn’t flinch.

Ruby whistles when I step out. “Holy shit. That’s lethal.”

By the time we collapse into the food court, bags piled at our feet, I’m still not sure whether she’s dressed me for battle or disaster.

I’m about to stab a fry when the air shifts.

Millie Carson doesn’t approach quietly. She sweeps in like she owns the place, Eleanor and two others in tow, all heels and gloss and eyes locked straight on me.

She stops at our table, arms folded, smile laced with poison. “Didn’t think you’d show your face after this morning. Guess spreading your legs for Hunter Hayes makes a girl cocky.”

The food court stalls around us—forks pausing, conversations tilting.

Ruby’s on her feet instantly, soda sloshing. “Say that again.”

Millie’s smirk deepens. “What? Too close to the truth?”

Eleanor slides forward, eyes flicking between us. “Don’t waste your breath, Rubes. She’s a placeholder. Hunter has a type, and it isn’t her. He’ll get bored. Just like Theo did.”

Ruby flinches. “Don’t—”

Eleanor leans in, loud enough to carry. “Theo never kept it in his pants for you. That’s why he always comes back to me. Ask anyone—he still does. You were a warm-up fuck.”

Ruby’s face flashes white, then red. Something sharp and old wakes in my chest.

I stand slow, chair legs shrieking against tile. “Fuck.” My voice is calm, cold, cutting. “Millie, Eleanor—you’re the town welcome mats. Walked on, pissed on, and still pretending you’re the prize.”

Millie’s face goes hot. Eleanor’s smirk wobbles.

“Congratulations,” I add, smiling without warmth. “You’ve downgraded from girlfriend to cum-dumpster. That’s not power, sweetheart. That’s pathetic.”

Gasps ripple. Phones lift. A kid nearby mutters holy shit.

I lean closer, voice soft but deadly. “Theo crawling back to your bed doesn’t mean you’ve won. It means you’re convenient. The number he dials when he’s drunk and bored and can’t find better.”

Eleanor’s mouth trembles. Millie grabs her wrist and yanks her back. They pivot away, but halfway to their table Eleanor glances over, smile poisonous. “Careful, Isabella. Small towns don’t forget. And some of us remember more than you’d like.”

The fry in my hand turns to ash.

Millie and Eleanor stalk off, perfume and venom trailing behind them, leaving the food court buzzing with whispers. Ruby still looks wrecked, shoulders tight, her burger untouched.

I lean back in my chair, fingers drumming against my phone. “What time are we going out tonight?”

Ruby blinks, caught off guard. “Eight. Why?”

“Because if Millie wants a show, I’ll give her one.”

Before she can stop me, I’ve already typed Maplewood Auto into Google, thumb hitting dial.

Theo answers on the second ring, music and tools clattering behind him. “Maplewood Auto.”

“It’s Isabella. Put Hunter on.”

There’s a pause, then Theo’s low whistle cuts through the line. “Well, fuck. He’s gonna love this.”

A shuffle, and then Hunter’s voice, rough and sharper than usual. “Isabella?”

“Yes.”

The background noise dulls, like he’s already stepped outside. “You actually called me.”

“Don’t sound so shocked,” I say, keeping my voice steady. “I’ve decided to take you up on your offer. Friends, remember? Consider this my thank you for breakfast. Drinks. Tonight.”

There’s a beat of silence, then his laugh slides warm and smug through the receiver. “Fuck. You just asked me out.”

“It’s not a date, Hayes. Eight o’clock. And bring Theo. Ruby just bought the perfect dress.”

Theo’s voice pipes up in the background, smug as sin. “I fucking knew today was my lucky day.”

Hunter ignores him, voice dipping lower. “So, drinks tonight. You, me, no excuses. Admit it, Princess—you want to spend time with me.”

“Don’t flatter yourself. Friends. That’s all.”

“Friends,” he echoes, like the word tastes different on his tongue.

I hang up before he can push further, my pulse still running hot.

Ruby’s staring at me, stunned for a beat before a wicked grin breaks across her face. “Belle, you just gave Millie Carson the aneurysm she deserves.”

Across the food court, Millie’s glare could strip paint. For once, I don’t look away.

“Good,” I murmur, sliding my phone into my bag. “Let her choke on it.”

Back at my flat, the place looks nothing like the quiet, bare space I moved into six months ago.

Ruby’s everywhere—shopping bags dumped across the couch, shoes lined up like weapons, lipstick tubes rolling dangerously close to the edge of the coffee table.

She hums off-key as she unzips garment bags like she’s staging a runway show.

“You’ve officially turned my flat into a boutique,” I mutter, wringing water from my hair.

Ruby doesn’t look guilty in the slightest. “Correction. A glow-up factory. Tonight isn’t about survival, Belle. It’s about showing up and owning the room.”

She tosses the white dress onto my bed with a snap of her wrist. “Start with this.”

The fabric slides over my skin, snug around my waist, soft against my shoulders. When I turn toward the mirror, I hesitate. The girl staring back looks different. Sharper. Stronger. Almost like she belongs to herself again.

Ruby’s eyes light up. “Yes. That’s the look. That’s you.”

“It doesn’t feel like me,” I admit, smoothing a hand down the fabric.

Ruby comes up behind me, her chin brushing my shoulder as we both stare into the mirror. “It is you. It’s the you that forgot she was allowed to take up space. The you before everything went to hell.”

Something twists tight in my chest. I’ve spent months folding in smaller, quieter, invisible.

But Ruby’s refused to let me disappear. She’s shoved lattes into my hand, dragged me into conversation, made me laugh when I thought I’d forgotten how.

And now—standing here in this dress, lips painted red the way Ruby insists—I see flickers of the girl I used to be.

The Isabella who didn’t apologise for existing. The Isabella who enjoyed her life.

“You know what I see?” Ruby’s voice softens, eyes catching mine in the glass.

“A woman who walked into Maplewood with nothing but a suitcase and built herself a life. You’ve got a job, a home, and me—which, let’s face it, is the best deal of all.

Tonight isn’t about Millie. Or anyone else. It’s about you.”

My throat tightens. “Ruby—”

She waves me off, grinning. “Don’t start crying and ruin my mascara masterpiece. Just promise me one thing: when we walk into that bar, you’ll let yourself enjoy it. No hiding. No shrinking. Just you.”

I laugh, shaky but real. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously right,” she fires back, planting her hands on her hips like she’s queen of the world. “Now come on, Belle. Let’s give you back to yourself.”