“I hate you,” I said quietly, feeling so hot with shame I wanted to explode.
He stood up, turned around, and waved his hand dismissively, his back to me as he walked out of the bathroom.
“You know, I’d have probably bought it if it wasn’t for my pussy breath. Also, you’re welcome for the protein shot.”
It was a combination of many things that landed me at the mall.
First, Junsu was giving me two cold shoulders as my one injured shoulder was recovering. I took physical therapy every day with Dave, the guy Hunter had hooked me up with. I also got my shots and avoided heavy lifting, but Junsu’s irritation only grew. If anything, he was now dodging my calls and always busy when I came to the range. I gathered he wasn’t happy with the Fitzpatricks’ involvement in my career. I couldn’t fully blame him. Stray dogs weren’t loyal, and Hunter was as hungry as they come. Not to mention, his reputation alone would make Scott Disick look like salt of the Earth.
Since I’d gotten a second opinion from another doctor as promised—which matched the initial diagnosis about my shoulder—I chalked Junsu’s behavior up to a bruised ego and decided to give him a few days to chill.
Second of all, there was my dire fashion situation. I was getting more interviews and attending photoshoots, now that Crystal was pushing me around, and I preferred to do it in clothes that didn’t imply I was missing both my eyesight and common sense.
The third reason was, sadly, Hunter. I didn’t want to consider him a factor, but the truth was, I wanted to impress him. I wanted him to think I was pretty, to make him forget about the Emilys and Alices of the world.
Okay, if I was being completely honest, the transformation was ninety percent Hunter-related and ten percent about the mounting attention from the press and my excess of free time. But that wasn’t something I was eager to share with another living soul. It could be mine and my (obviously absent) brain’s secret.
So here we were, Aisling, Persy, Emmabelle, and I, armed with pumpkin spice lattes even though summer temperatures were clinging to Boston’s fall months for dear life, refusing to retreat, carrying our shopping bags.
I’d purchased an entire training wardrobe of tight black pants that were as comfy as yoga pants, but looked sleek and elegant, like cigar pants. My bland, snug shirts had been replaced with cropped, trendy tops featuring lace and patterns and carefully cut designs, and I’d also been successfully bullied into buying a few cute dresses I had no doubt I’d never wear.
I’d sworn to my friends that I’d throw away what they referred to as my “boner-killing” wardrobe—mainly yoga pants that had seen more washes than Michael Phelps’ swim trunks and hoodies that were so frayed, they seemed to have created more sleeves for themselves. To drive the point home, my friends had decided to accompany me to my apartment. They wanted to see for themselves that I got rid of my old clothes.
“Know what would be rad?” Emmabelle stopped everything as we were on our way out of the mall. The only thing I could think of was, to get out of here. I wasn’t going to be that party pooper, though.
“Getting a new shoulder?” I asked wistfully.
“Cupcakes!” wholesome Persy exclaimed.
“Flight lessons,” Aisling suggested shyly, covering her mouth with her cup of joe.
We were beginning to detect a rebellious streak in our little gazillionaire friend. It made me like having her around even more. Plus, her being here made the decision not to confide in my friends about getting eaten by Hunter Fitzpatrick like an all-you-can-eat buffet fairly easy. After all, Aisling was a member of his immediate family, which would make the revelation that I’d made out with her brother twice:
Gross beyond friendship repair
Dangerous
What if Aisling decided to tell her parents? Or her other brother, Cillian? In fact, she needn’t even tell her family for it to be a disaster. If by chance someone found out Hunter and I had been admiring each other’s tonsils with our tongues, and knew Aisling was privy to that information, she would take the heat for not telling her family. It was a lose-lose situation.
“Sailor should get a haircut,” Emmabelle emphasized the suggestion by snipping the air with her fingers.
I shook my head vehemently.
“And a keratin treatment!” Aisling cried, wide-eyed. “A short, straight bob with side-bangs would look so Emma Stone on her.”
Since when was Emma Stone an adjective?
“And then she’ll be able to capture Hunter’s heart and make him see the light.” Persy clasped her hands together, blinking at the horizon dreamily.
I wanted to maim all of them with Thor’s hammer. I’d even break my no-heavy-lifting rule to make it happen.
I shot Aisling a look to see if she had any input regarding Persy’s last comment. Had Hunter discussed me at all with his family? But her face was blank as a patch of fresh snow.