Page 8 of The Girlfriend Agreement (Conwick U #1)
Still, at least if Ronnie tells her, I won’t have to.
A sudden panic washes over my best friend’s face, and she reaches across the table, anxiously grabbing my hand. “Wait. I haven’t asked the obvious question. Did you consent? Do I need to go have words with that bastard?”
I wave my free hand dismissively at her. “Poor life choices aside, I consented.”
She releases me and sits back, her expression contemplative. “Can you really consent if you were wasted?”
“We were both drunk,” I point out, “and trust me…we both wanted it. Not saying that makes it okay, I’m just pointing out that it was as much my fault as it was his, so I don’t think you can hold that over him.”
Ronnie offers a noncommittal “Mm,” but looks unconvinced.
Leaning forward, I prop my elbows on the table and grip my head in my hands. “God, I am so pathetic. I’m officially never drinking again if these are the kinds of decisions I make when I surpass a 0.08 blood alcohol level.”
Ronnie giggles. “You’re such a nerd.” When I glower at her, she reaches across the table again, and lovingly pats my cheek. “Maybe we should just get you a collar that shocks you if Damian gets too close.”
“Ha. Ha.” I cross my eyes at her behind her gargantuan sunglasses, pulling a face.
“This isn’t a cry for help, right?” she asks after a moment, her tone and expression now apprehensive.
“What?”
“You aren’t, like, rehashing your fling with Damian for attention, or because you have PTSD or something, are you?” she clarifies.
While I do feel fairly traumatized by the events of last night, I don’t know if I would call it PTSD.
“I think that’s a little dramat?—”
“Post traumatic sex disorder,” Ronnie interrupts. “I promise you, Lexi, it’s a thing.”
Scoffing, I slump forward, dropping my head to the table, wishing for a swift death or, barring that, some Aspirin. “I don’t have post traumatic sex disorder, Ronnie. I’m just an idiot.”
“Well, yeah, you’re right about that. Was it at least good?”
I lift my head just enough to peek up at her. “Was what good? The sex?”
“No, your last gynecology appointment,” she deadpans. “Of course, the sex, you dummy! Was it worth knowing you sold your soul for a good dicking?”
“Classy.” I sit up, ignoring the throbbing in my temples when I reach for my coffee again.
I nurse it for a beat before willing myself to answer.
“Honestly, I don’t remember a lot of it.
If it was anything like last time, well…
” I bring one fist to the side of my head and thrust my fingers outward, making an exploding sound with my mouth.
Her face lights up with immediate understanding. “Mind-blowing. Typical.”
“Why are the assholes always so good at sex?” I whine. “It hardly seems fair.”
Ronnie clicks her tongue and tuts. “Because they get a lot of practice, duh. These frat jerks are vagina magnets, and our darling Damian is no exception. Did you at least manage to give him the slip before he woke up?”
My cheeks burn as I recall our interaction this morning and what I did prior to storming out of his dorm. I’m pretty sure I bruised my kneecap. “Not exactly…”
“Alexandria Renée Dornan,” Ronnie shrieks, “you did not fuck him again, did you?”
The other patrons sitting within earshot shoot us curious looks, some laughing at Ronnie’s outburst, while others whisper behind their hands as they take in my disheveled appearance.
“No way in hell,” I growl. “And keep your voice down.”
She exhales a quiet hmph . “Okay, then what did happen?”
A grin hitches up the right side of my mouth that quickly drops into a frown.
I replay my final few moments with Damian, but instead of the triumphant fury that consumed me earlier, now, I feel kind of bad about what I did.
I wouldn’t normally react to any situation with physical violence.
Internal rage, yes, but violence? No. Though, maybe that’s not actually true considering this is the second time I’ve done this to him.
Maybe Damian’s crappy personality and overall douchey demeanor simply bring out my inner lunatic.
Or maybe I just wanted to hurt him as badly as he hurt me, and a kick to the sack is the closest comparative pain to what I experienced. Past Lexi certainly seemed to think so.
The worst part is I thought I was over it—over everything that happened between us. But seeing him this morning, and having my naivety thrust in my face again …it just brought me right back to last spring. And now, I just feel like an idiot.
I guess I’m not over it after all.
“I…” I swallow thickly, then clear my throat. “I kneed him in the dick.”
“Oh, honey.” Ronnie’s tone oozes with pity.
“Assault is not a good look on anyone. You really are just trying to relive all your worst choices from freshman year, aren’t you?
At this rate, you might sterilize the poor boy.
” She hesitates for a few seconds, then adds, “We’re sure this isn’t a cry for help? ”
Rolling my eyes, I bend forward again until my forehead is touching the table…then proceed to bang my skull against it despite my splitting headache. Once, twice, three times.
“Hey!” Ronnie reaches out to stop me. “First, these are Chanel. Be careful.” She plucks the sunglasses from my face and pushes them onto the perch of her own nose. “Second, what are you doing, you maniac?”
“Trying to give myself amnesia so I can forget this ever happened.” I turn my head and press my cheek flat to the metal surface.
My forehead aches; I may have actually killed a few brain cells with that final impact, assuming I have any left after last night since I clearly lost my mind when I chose to sleep with Damian again.
God, anyone listening to this would never believe my IQ is 212—higher than Einstein’s, not that it shows with the decisions I’ve made this past year.
Hell, I can practically feel him condemning me from beyond the grave.
I guess it just goes to show that a high IQ doesn’t guarantee common sense…or good judgment.
Ronnie considers me for a moment. “I think you’re going to need to give me a full play by play if I’m to properly assess the situation. Don’t leave out a single detail. No matter how sordid, I want to hear it.”
Lacking the will to fight her any longer, I relive the horror of the previous night and this morning, while Ronnie gasps every five seconds, doing her best impersonation of an actor practicing for their Oscar win.
By the time I’ve finished recounting my tale of woe, she seems to have run out of air, and reacts only with a hand pressed to her lips.
“He didn’t even remember who I was,” I finish.
“What a tool.” She shakes her head, her loose locks fanning over her shoulders. Her expression intensifies as she lowers her sunglasses and meets my gaze over the top of the frames. “What did he say when you mentioned the bucket list?”
“I didn’t stick around long enough to find out.” One, because I had just assaulted the man, and two, to spare myself further embarrassment.
Ronnie frowns and reaches for my hands, cupping them in both of hers. “Oh, sweetie, want me to gouge out his eyes with hot pokers? We can go to prison together. We’d look cute in matching jumpsuits.”
I bite back a grin. “Thanks, but I think he’s been punished enough for one day.”
My phone buzzes, vibrating across the table, as Ronnie pats my arm with one hand and blows me a silent kiss with the other. I catch it and bring it to my chest as I peer down at the screen. “Hang on, it’s my mom.”
My finger swipes the answer button as Ronnie sings, “Tell Carol I said hi!”
“Hey, Mom,” I say, bringing the phone to my ear. “How are you—” Before I can get the full thought out and ask how she’s feeling—the first day post-treatment is always the worst—the crying on the other side of the line makes me go silent.
“Lexi, I?—”
Panic ignites inside me like fire, and I can feel my heartbeat in my veins as I bolt upright, standing so quickly I nearly knock over my chair.
“Mom? Are you okay?” I breathe, even though I’m terrified of the answer.
Ronnie shoots me a worried look, mouthing, What’s wrong?
I hold up a finger and stare down at the pavement underfoot.
“I just…” Mom’s voice breaks on those words, and she sniffles loudly. “I need you to come home.”
A chill of fear creeps up my spine, and I shiver despite the sun beating down on my skin.
Something isn’t right. I mean, it’s normal for Mom to not feel great after one of her infusions, but she’s never called me crying before.
Besides, my aunt should be with her today, and since she’s a nurse, she has any sickness-related side effects handled.
Which means this is about something else.
A terrible thought takes shape in my brain, but I shake it away. I can’t let myself go to the worst case scenario. Not yet.
“Okay…I’m on my way. I’ll see you soon.”
Mom abruptly disconnects the call, which isn’t like her at all. She’d never hang up without telling me she loves me or saying something maternal like, “Be safe! Call me when you get there!” regardless of how awful she’s feeling.
“What’s up?” Ronnie touches my hand, and I jump at the contact.
“I don’t know, but Mom’s upset. I gotta go,” I say, shoving my phone back into my pocket.
“Okay, girl.” Ronnie stands and gives me a one-armed hug, planting a soft kiss on my cheek. “Call if you need me.”
“Yeah.” I offer her a forced smile. Then, adjusting my glasses with trembling fingers, I turn and sidestep the table, walking as fast as my trusty heels can manage, leaving Izzy’s, Ronnie, and my horrible choices of the last twenty-four hours behind me.