“I told you I was just joking about the towel.” His eyebrows lower as he studies me. “I’ve already told you I don’t think of you that way.”

“What way?” I snap, dropping the wing back into the basket. “A slut. An easy lay. A whore.” I hate the word whore. Hate it! But it sums up what I am really well.

He throws up his hands exasperatedly. “Look, I don’t want to fight with you. I’m just trying to help, but clearly I’m not doing that so I’ll back off.”

“Well, I don’t want your help because I don’t need help.” I shove away from the table, my heart racing. Is it time for another pill yet? I feel like I’m crashing. I wind around the table, picking my purse off the back of my chair, then storm for the exit and shove out the front doors, stepping out onto the street. I start to walk down the busy sidewalk, searching the streets for a cab since I didn’t drive here. I start twisting the platinum ring on my finger as my emotions take over and the need to medicate burns inside me. I know I’m acting ridiculous and probably look nuts because of my abrupt switch in moods. I could try to blame it solely on the fact that I need a pill, but it’s much deeper—like the fact I have so many bills and no money left, that I’m proving my parents right and I can’t take care of myself, that I’m going nowhere with my life and have no idea how to change it. And then there’s Ethan. God damn him for being so sexy. Seriously. I’ve liked him since the first day I met him and it gets harder to be around him when it’s clear he doesn’t want me, at least not how I want him. He just teases me. Plain and simple.

I reach the corner of the sidewalk and look left and right before I step off the curb. The evening sky is cloudy and there’s the faintest scent of rain in the air. I hope it doesn’t start raining because I don’t have a jacket on and I’m wearing opened-toed satin high heels and water will ruin them.

“Lila!” I hear Ethan shout as I reach the other side of the street.

Having no desire to talk to him right now, I pick up the pace. I hear the sound of his footsteps rushing after me, but I only walk quicker, balling my hands into fists, and the platinum ring digs into my skin. I clench them even tighter, hyperaware of the pain as the metal indents into my skin and of each scar on my body, all linked to the damn ring.

“God damn it, Lila.” He’s getting irritated. “Slow the fuck down.”

“Ethan, just leave me alone,” I call out over my shoulder, wrapping my arms around myself. “I’m not in the mood to talk right now.”

The sound of his footsteps get closer as I zigzag around a group of people standing in front of one of the older casinos. “I know you’re not, but that doesn’t mean I should leave you alone walking down the fucking strip by yourself.”

I pause near the street post beside a mob of people waiting to cross and I deliberate if I should turn around. I don’t move as his footsteps arrive beside me, but I don’t turn my head and look at him either.

“Look,” he says, panting. “I have no idea what the hell happened back there, but whatever I did or said to make you mad, I’m sorry.” In the year that I’ve known Ethan, I’ve never heard him give a genuine apology.

With my arms crossed over my chest, I peek over at him, feeling the slightest bit embarrassed over my outburst. Ethan looks sincere, his eyes dark and slightly wide underneath the flashing florescent lights, and his chest is moving rapidly as he works to regain his breath.

“You don’t need to be sorry.” I sigh as uncross my arms. “I’m not mad at you.”

He rakes his fingers through his hair. “Then why the heck did you take off?”

I shrug, shuffling my shoes on the sidewalk. “I don’t know… I guess I’m just feeling a little down lately and I was taking it out on you.” I put my fake, pill-induced game face on and smile at him. “It’s really not a big deal.”

He takes a deep intake and releases it. “Stressed out over bills?”

“That among many things.” I push my finger against the crosswalk button on the pole.

“Is it your mom again?” He folds his arms over his chest, and I can’t help but notice how his muscles flex beneath the vibrant artwork on his skin. “Has she been hounding you to move home? Or is it your dad? He’s not being a douche to you again, is he? I swear to God, Lila, you need to just tell them to fuck off if they are. They don’t deserve to even know you with the way that they treat you.”

I bite down on my lip, trying not to stare at his lean muscles or his luscious lips or the fact that he just told me one of the sweetest things I’ve ever heard. “No, I haven’t even talked to him in months. My mother’s been calling me all the time to come back home, but that’s not what’s wrong.”

“Did you finally tell her off?”

“As much as I always do.”

“Was she mean to you?”

I shrug. “It doesn’t even matter. At this point it barely affects me.” I’m such a liar and I think he can tell.

His forehead creases as he studies my face. “Do you want to just tell me what’s bothering you or should I keep guessing?”

The light flashes to go ahead and cross the street and I step off the curb. He walks with me, keeping close to my side as we maneuver through the crowd coming at us. I want to tell him what’s wrong, but I’m not one hundred percent sure what’s bothering me just yet. If it’s money, the loneliness I’ve felt for the last month, the fact that I need a job but don’t even know how to get one, or if it’s the feelings I have for him.

“Did you know that Ella and Micha are engaged?” I say, changing the subject and stepping up onto the curb.

Traffic rushes by us as we walk past the towering, uniquely shaped buildings that glimmer and shine. Each building is so different from the other: a replica of the Eiffel Tower, a massive pirate ship, a pyramid—you name it and it’s probably here. Neon lights flash across billboards and marques, trying to entice people to come gamble their money away, see flamboyant shows, or drink drinks while staring at tits. There are a lot of people whisking around and the heat, the dancing, the skimpy clothing, and the music playing make the atmosphere erotic and steamy. The combination makes me want to dance and have fun, instead of thinking about stuff.

“Yeah, Micha told me a couple of weeks ago.” He slips his arm around my shoulder and draws me closer as a guy tries to hand me a card with a picture of a naked lady on it. “Sorry I didn’t mention it. Micha wasn’t even supposed to mention it, because Ella wasn’t ready to tell anyone, but he let it slip out.”

“She told me the other day,” I say, breathing in his scent. He smells so mouthwateringly good. “And she sounded so happy.”

“I’m sure they are.” He slants his head down to meet my eyes and inquisitiveness sparkles in them. “Is that why you’re upset? Because they’re getting married?”

“No, I’m just… honestly, I’m not sure what’s bothering me. I think maybe I’m just tired. I haven’t been sleeping well lately.”

He searches my eyes a moment longer, the lights on the marque above our heads reflecting in his pupils. “Do you want me to take you home?” he asks. “So you can get some rest?”

I shake my head, even though I’m exhausted. I don’t want to go home to my empty house. “Can we go to a club or something? And I mean really nice one.” I grab his arm and pretty much beg. “I need to do something that’s fun.”

He dithers. “You know how I feel about clubs. They’re too God damn noisy and packed and fancy ones are even worse.”

“Please.” I pout, exaggeratedly sticking my lip out. “I’m not ready to go home just yet.”

“Can’t we just go to a bar?”

“I want to do something that’s my kind of fun.”

“You mean spend money you don’t have?” he says bluntly.

I glare at him. “Fine. I’m sorry I even tried.” I start to stomp away, but he pulls me back.

He sighs. “Fine.” He gives in to me, then lets go of my arm and offers me his elbow and I take it, even though I know I shouldn’t, because I’m getting too attached, dangerously one-sidedly attached. He guides me across the road, talking about how hot it is. So simple. So easy.

Too bad he doesn’t want me because I would love to let him have me.


Ethan

I really hate clubs. There are too many people packed in a tiny area and the music is always turned up to the point where it vibrates in my chest. But Lila didn’t want to go home and I don’t want her out and about when she’s obviously upset about something.

We’re sitting on barstools at the bar that probably cost more than my truck. The bartender keeps hitting on Lila, even though she seems uninterested. It’s annoying to watch, but it’s always hard to watch her get hit on. In fact, it’s harder than it used to be and I can’t help thinking she’s mine, even though she’s obviously not.

“Are you sure you don’t want a shot?” she asks me over the music as she slams down her fifth shot of top-shelf vodka, which I’m sure she can’t afford. I remember when I first met her how much of a lightweight she was, barely able to drink beers, but now she’s fucking crazy, reckless even. It makes me a little nervous and I’m seriously considering taking her fake ID and cutting it in half so she can’t use it anymore to go out, but then again I’d be a fucking hypocrite if I didn’t get rid of mine so I could stop going out.”

“Then who would drive home?” I ask loudly, glancing at the dance floor. There are a ton of women out tonight, dressed in short dresses, tight pants, their tits pretty much bulging out of their tops. It’s usually a nice sight, but I’m not feeling it tonight. I wasn’t even feeling it back at the bar with the blonde eyeing me. I kept staring at her, deciding if I wanted to hit on her or not, but Lila and my worry for her kept pulling me back and finally I’d decided just to focus on her.

“We could get a cab.” She spins the empty shot glass around on the bar. I open my mouth to protest, but she interrupts. “You don’t have to. You’re just always so tense when we come to these kinds of places and alcohol usually relaxes you.”

My forehead creases as I assess her. Typically, people don’t notice my uneasiness and it makes me question why she’s been paying such close attention to me. I remember the countless times London use to drag me to noisy places, either not noticing that I hated the noise or not caring.

“What?” Lila touches her hair self-consciously and then glances down at her dress that brushes the middle of her legs. She has a sweater jacket thingy over it, which makes no sense to me since it’s hot as hell outside. She also has a pearl bracelet on and a diamond necklace and everything about her screams money, a rich princess pretty much. We’re so opposite, yet I can’t seem to stay away from her.

“It’s nothing,” I say, patting the bar with my hand. “I’ll take a few shots with you, but you have to order them.”

She lowers her hand to the bar. “Why?”

I restrain an eye roll. “Because the bartender is obviously into you and I’m guessing he might get the shots for you faster.”

She glances over at the bartender talking to a group of women. “He’s not my type,” she says nonchalantly, looking back at me with curiosity. The lights from the dance floor flash across her face and there’s no use trying to deny how beautiful she is, princess or not.

“Not preppy enough for you?” I tease, but underneath my skin, irritation surfaces.

She props her elbow on the bar and watches me, not saying anything. It’s making me uncomfortable. I want to ask her what the hell she’s thinking about and why she’s staring at me like that, but I don’t because I’m afraid of the answer. “What do you want to drink?” she asks.

I shrug, taking an uneasy deep breath, hating how unsettled I feel inside. When did things get so complex between us? How did I let it get that way? “I’m going to have to go with tequila.”

She giggles under her breath. “To kill ya coming up.”

She raises her hand, leans over the bar, and flags down the bartender. She slips off her jacket, the thin straps of her dress revealing her shoulders and the low-cut back showing her smooth skin. I’m not sure if she does it on purpose, to get the bartender’s attention, but it works. She orders a shot of vodka and a shot of tequila. He grins at her, drinking her in, and I want to punch him in the face just for looking. I’m not much of the jealous type, so the feeling throws me off a little.

The guy on the barstool next to Lila starts flirting with her a few seconds later, eying her lips as she chews on the straw. He’s older, at least twenty-five, wearing a black suit and ridiculously shiny shoes. Lila seems vaguely interested in him, not laughing at his jokes, yet she lets him place his hand on her thigh and inch it up north.