“He’s great, and you’re not getting those kind of details.”
“Party pooper.” She rears her head as Foo Fighters Learn to Fly fades and drifts into another song. “ABBA. They’re actually playing fucking Dancing Queen in here.”
Wren and I burst out laughing at Mila’s horrified face.
“I didn’t know anywhere still played this track,” I say.
Mila shakes her head. “It was supposed to die with NSYNC. Who the fuck do these people think they are?”
Wren sits taller. “Oh, I know you didn’t mean that! Justin Timberlake can sing to me anytime.”
She tilts her head. “Wren, the things I want Justin Timberlake to do to me don’t involve singing.”
“Ooh, the hottie neighbour just walked in with a hottie friend,” Wren says, ignoring Mila, looking over my shoulder.
I glance over but turn back before they catch us.
“Reid is lovely,” I say. He’s much more Mila’s type. They’re both book nerds.
Wren sighs dreamily. “If I wasn’t married. You should go talk to him, Mila.”
“I have a half boyfriend.”
“I said talk, not lick.”
“This is a girls’ night. I’ll say hi to him the next time we’re taking a bin bag out at the same time.”
“You got something against your neighbour?” I ask.
“No, why?”
“You just sometimes seem… irritated with him. I’m not sure why.”
“I’m not irritated at anyone besides the dickhead who put ABBA on. ABBA! Oh my God, there’s a woman dancing to it. No shame.”
“Mila,” Wren scolds, laughing a little too much to have any authority.
Reid walks past and does a double take.
Wren lifts her hand. “Hey, how’s it going?”
His intense eyes reluctantly shift away from Mila. “Hey, Wren.”
Mila holds her hand up before he can say another word. “Do you like ABBA?”
“No,” he replies, frowning.
“Mila’s angry with the music. Ignore her,” I tell him. “Would you two like to join us?”
Neither of us dare to look at Mila. We don’t have long left to convince her that she’s with the wrong person. She needs someone who looks at her the way her sexy neighbour does.
“Sit,” I say, patting the empty stool between Mila and me. “There’s a spare stool near the bar for…”
The friend leans over. His black skin and dark brown almond eyes are as hot as sin. “Jason. Hey.”
Jason drags a stool over. They both have a Coors Light, but Reid goes back to the bar to buy another pitcher of Woo Woo for us.
I give Mila a pointed look. How are you so blind?
Reid’s eyes, possibly even darker than my own, find their way to her more often than anything or anyone else. They’re sitting quite close—almost touching. If she feels the tension, she’s not letting on.
“This song better?” Reid asks Mila as NSYNC’s Bye, Bye, Bye plays. She rolls her head towards him, and his eyebrows rise. “That’s a no.”
“I’m going to get shitfaced,” she says.
He smiles. “Are you a happy drunk? Emotional? Fighter?”
“I’m a friendly drunk.” She smiles. “You need to promise to not let me hug everyone in here. Some of them dance to ABBA.”
He chuckles and necks more of his beer. “You’ve got it.”
Wren, Jason, and I exchange glances.
I suddenly really want Spencer. Watching people flirt together makes me miss him more than ever. He can’t really come though. We’re out of town and there are a lot of people in here who would probably crowd him.
That’s fine. I get to see him in two days. I told him that I need a full uni day to catch up tomorrow so he’ll have to survive without me. Really, it will be me trying to cope without him. Spence pouted but said he was going to catch up with a couple of friends from his old school.
What I really have to do is pick mum up from rehab. She’s done, coming home, ready to continue her recovery. I’m spending the whole day with her and getting her settled in.
I sit back in my seat and bite my lip. My heart is lighter than ever.
For the first time, I’m looking forward without wishing time away.
I’m… happy.
Forty-Three
Spencer
It’s six in the morning, according to my iPhone, and some arsehole is banging on my front door. With my parents visiting family until they go back to work after the Christmas and New Year break, I’m the one who needs to get that. I didn’t have to get up until late because Indie has ditched me for the day and I’m not meeting the guys until two p.m.
Shoving my quilt off of me, I pull on a pair of joggers and a T-shirt before I run downstairs.
This had better be fucking good.
I yank the door open to find Mila standing on my doorstep. She’s dressed in an oversized hoodie and jeans, with her hair in a big ball on the top of her head.
“Are you serious?” I ask, rubbing my eyes. Then I see her expression, pale face, and wide, frightened eyes.
“What? What is it?”
“Did you know?” she asks, holding out her phone.
“Know what? Come in,” I say, taking the phone and looking at the screen.
The headline on an article posted around midnight reads: SPENCER LOWE’S MYSTERY GIRLFRIEND’S TRAGIC PAST.
Tragic past? My pulse thuds in my ears.
“What?”
She throws her hands up. “Oh my God, read it in the car. Hurry up!”
My stomach is in knots. What tragic past?
Slipping on my shoes like a clumsy toddler, I take my keys from the side and close the door behind us in a daze.
I start with the article. There’s a picture of me and Indie holding hands in the street. I didn’t even know it had been taken. There’s also one of her rushing into my house the morning the press was outside my house.
I read the first paragraph twice and look at the date three times. “Fuck. Her dad just died?” I say as I get into Mila’s ridiculous beetle.
“Yes, in November!” Mila says. “That sickness bug was her cover story.
