“Hey, sugar!” Tatum walks in, with Tillie following closely behind her.
“Hey!” I smile at both of them. “What are you two doing?”
“We thought we’d come see you, since you pulled a sicky on us and bailed.” Tatum takes a seat on my bed, and Tillie slips onto the chair beside my white study desk.
“Yeah,” I mutter, finding my tank top and pulling it on. “Sorry about that.”
This is awkward; even though the mistake meant nothing to me, I don’t know if it would mean anything to Tatum. She says that Nate was just a “nothing” to her, but don’t we all say that?
“I brought my favorite friend.” Tatum whips out a blue book-style box with gold trimming.
“No way!” I gush, walking toward her. “Debauve & Gallais’s Le Livre?” I blurt out excitedly.
“Geez,” Tatum mutters. “Your French is more immaculate than mine, and I lived there for a year.”
I wave her off. “I’ve studied the language, and the culture, and in this case... the chocolates!” I open the gold-embossed leather box and inhale the sweet, rich smell of ganaches and pralines. “Mmm.” I take one out. “I haven’t had these in years.”
Tatum looks toward Tillie and rolls her eyes. “Don’t let this pig eat them all. Come taste.”
Tillie swallows nervously and then steps toward us. I fight the urge to snatch the box and run away like a cavewoman.
“What’s so great about it? It’s just chocolate, right?” Tillie asks, picking up one of the pralines. I pause my chewing, narrowing my eyes. Insult chocolate, you should not. Especially Sulpice Debauve’s fine work.
“Aside from the fact that you have to be on a waitlist to order a box and it’s five-hundred or so dollars? Not much.” Tatum shrugs.
Tillie blushes. “You guys are way too rich. I feel like the lost girl.”
“You’re not a lost girl. You’re perfectly within your element with us.”
Tillie smiles softly, tucking her hair behind her ear. “Yeah, I guess.”
I lick the chocolate off the top of my mouth, looking at how Tillie has gone quiet. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”
She looks at me. “Yeah!” She smiles fakely. “Everything is fine. What are we doing this weekend?”
Tatum kicks off her shoes, and Tillie removes hers, shuffling beside Tatum. “I don’t know. We’ve all, you included”—Tatum looks at Tillie—“have been invited to a campout with Madi’s new man for Halloween.”
“He’s not my man,” I say to Tillie.
“He’s totally her man,” Tatum retorts casually.
I shake my head and mouth “He’s not” to Tillie.
“Anyway,” Tatum interjects loudly. “I think we should do it.”
“I don’t know,” I mutter, standing from my bed. I wanted to go camping for so long, but now that I know Carter has other feelings toward me, I’m a little scared he might get the wrong idea about my saying yes.
“What’s there to not know about?” Tatum asks, wriggling up to my headboard and slipping under my covers. Her ash blonde hair is up in a perfect bow bun on the top of her head, and her face is fresh from makeup. She definitely has that deflowered glow about her. Fucking Nate.
“Lots!” I say, waving my hands in the air. Tillie scoots up beside Tatum and slips under with her, following the chocolates.
“Madi!” my dad yells from downstairs. I walk toward the girls, snatching the expensive box of chocolate from them, tucking it under my arm. I evil eye them, walking toward my door.
“Coming!” I yell back, opening my door. I turn around to face them and point my finger. “This conversation is not over.”
Walking down the long stairwell, I see Dad is standing beside the opened front door. His face is blank, his jaw taut, and his eyes hard. Oh no, now what have I done?
“What’s up, Daddy?” I coo, coming to the door. He looks outside and I follow his vision until I’m looking directly at Bishop, who is standing there in ripped jeans and a white T-shirt, with combat boots on his feet. My mouth waters, and it’s not from the chocolates.
“Hi,” I say to him, ignoring how his hair still looks damp and how relaxed his stance is. Both legs spread casually, his jaw tense, his eyes hard, but his mouth inching toward a smirk.
“I got this, Dad.”
My dad stalls, looking to me and then to Bishop and then back to me. He kisses my forehead and then looks into my eyes. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”
Of course we will.
I smile. “Sure thing.” I’m not looking forward to this chat.
“What are you doing here?” I ask Bishop, stepping outside into the dark night and closing the heavy wooden door behind myself. He steps backward and takes a seat on one of the steps. His car is parked directly in front of the stairs, and I’m even more annoyed at how distracted I must have been to not hear his car pull up.
“I told you,” he says casually. “We need to talk.” Ignoring the fact I’m in tiny little booty shorts and a tight tank that rides up my tummy, I take a seat beside him. Thank God my feet are covered by my socks. Bishop looks down to my feet. “Is that Banksy’s work?”
“I’m shocked,” I scoff sarcastically. “You know Banksy?”
“I know his artwork.”
Trying not to look at him, I flip open the box of chocolates and sit them in the middle. “I can share.”
I give in and look at his face, catching his eyes piercing into mine. His mouth is behind his shoulder and he’s studying me like I’m the most important test in history.
When the silence becomes too much and my face feels like it’s going to burst into flames, I pop a chocolate into my mouth. “What?”
He pauses and then shakes his head, looking ahead of himself by breaking our eye contact. I instantly miss his demanding glare. “You’re different.”
“I’ve been told that all my life,” I snark. His jaw tenses. “Is that what you wanted to talk about?”
“You and Carter?” he
