Page 12 of Fire

Her smirk turns into a full-blown smile, and the sight of it makes my heart rate double. “Bring back an A on your first quiz, and I’ll reconsider.”

“Deal. But you’re stuck with Cupid either way.”

I not only scored an A on that first quiz, but managed to pull an A for the whole damn semester. Considering I bombed the class the first time around, it was a goddamn miracle.

Shewas a goddamn miracle.

And now, she is standing in Edwin’s master bedroom with me.

I slam the door behind us.

“What the hell?” She looks up at me, her eyes wide.

“Sorry,” I say. “Panicked. Didn’t want to be caught near the scene of the crime.” Of course, now I’d inadvertently put myself backatthe scene of the crime.

With a witness.

This is so dumb. I should have just walked out like I planned. The moment I stepped up to the grand entrance of Edwin’s mini-mansion, I knew this was a mistake. But I charged ahead anyway, and less than two steps into the entryway, I heard his stupid fucking laugh and panicked.

What was I thinking?

Was I really going to storm into his engagement party, filled with all of his fancy ass friends and family, and do what? Brag that I finally scored a temporary gig on a tour with my best friend’s band?

He would laugh in my damn face.

So I turned around and bolted, but not before I made a quick detour back to my car and snuck back in here for a bit of revenge work.

After all, he’s the one with a house so wide open that any asshole could waltz right in.

Tonight, I’m that asshole.

“Why—” Her words are cut off, and her eyes widen as she takes a wide look at the room.

“Yeah, that.”

“Oh my god. What have you done?” Her voice is a mixture of awe and horror. Honestly, I get it. I feel the same way as I take it all in.

I may have gone a bit overboard. But I’m petty as fuck.

“Okay, so I might have discovered Edwin’s fiancée is a bit of a Manic at Midnight fan,” I tell her as I awkwardly shove my hands into my pockets.

“And so you decided to do…this?” She gestures toward the gaudy display of Manic memorabilia. “Where did you even get all this stuff?”

There’s the T-shirt Zander signed. That’s honestly what started this whole shitshow. While he was digging through boxes in his cluttered office to find one, I started pulling out randomswag he’d received—beer koozies, posters, hats—and had an awful idea.

A lot of women love the band. Well, they mostly love Asher. But still…

Just a few minutes on Instagram, and I had my answer. Miss Leann soon-to-be Eaton is a totalManic Fanatic.

Yup, that is indeed what the fans call themselves.

“My best friend is the lead guitarist,” I tell her, pointing to the poster I haphazardly stuck on the wall. “And I did it to piss Edwin off.” I shrug, still unsure why she’s even at this party. Not that I’m complaining.

Her eyes drift over to the T-shirt of Z, sweaty and shirtless on the front—signed, of course. Just when I’m about to say something, though I’m not sure what, I hear a laugh. It starts out quiet, almost a snort, and then Zara Valentine is practically doubled over in that skin-tight dress, cracking the fuck up.

My shoulders sag in relief as she looks up at me in amusement. “Wow, you were not kidding. You really aren’t friends anymore, are you?”

“Nope.”