Blackout ✓

16 | catch bills, not feelings

THREE ROOMS DOWN FROM MINE, Krista swung open her door, eyes wide with shock.

Her disbelieving gaze trailed up and down my decolletage while I casually strode forward into her room.

Krista cackled at me in amusement by way of greeting. "Viv! I know you've got a healthy sex life going on, but that's really excessive. It's going to take so much concealer to cover that."

Jamie and I hadn't spoken since our heated encounter a couple days ago. Neither would we speak much, I suspected, from now on. Not in the way that mattered.

That didn't change the litany of marks he'd left on my lower neck and collarbones, which needed covering ASAP. He must have been aggressive, more forceful than usual, because the purple splotches—once maroon, now lilac—still hadn't faded from my tan skin.

"I know." I smiled begrudgingly. "I'm not even going to try concealer. Can I borrow that yellow, sleeveless turtleneck singlet of yours?"

The Foxhole was hosting a football defeat party—celebrating the Halston Foxes' seventh-place, without-bowl-eligibility end to the season—which likely would turn into a bar crawl all the way to town. I disliked contributing to the football hype, but my modus operandi was to get irrefutably wasted at every opportunity, no matter the reason.

I'd done my makeup heavy on the eyes and easy on the lips, in case I ended up kissing someone tonight. Not Jamie, because we were still ignoring each other, but I wouldn't complain if I made out with some budding philanthrocapitalist hopelessly trying to solve world issues with his start-up business. Nor would I complain if Jamie saw us, got jealous, and pulled me away like that night at Topaz...

But I wasn't doing the chasing. Ew.

My arms were already slipping out of the sleeves of my pistachio-coloured t-shirt, pre-empting Krista's generosity. On the bottom, I wore a mockery of a tennis skirt, the pale fabric pleated and hemmed shorted. The only thing left to do was to cover up the traces of last night.

"Of course." Krista jerked her head towards her closet as she shimmied into a tight, faux-leather skirt. "It's somewhere in the second drawer. Just have a look for it."

"Thanks, babe."

"Hey, Viv—" 

Riley came in from the bathroom just as I stripped off my shirt, standing in front of Krista's wardrobe in my bra. Her eyes widened as she noted the bruises on me. 

"Oh, my God. Yikes. Jamie's a freaky bitch."

My vision went yellow as I pulled the form-fitting singlet over my head, then my skull popped through the neck-hole. I saw Riley, dark hair curled to perfection and cheeks blushed coral, staring amusedly at me.

"Why do you assume it was Jamie that did this?" I grumbled.

Sure, my friends were clever, and they certainly noticed that things weren't completely innocent between Jamie and me. But I could have been sleeping with many men at present. Jamie wasn't a permanent fixture in my sex life. I refused to let him be.

"Hm," Riley hummed, not looking convinced in the least. "Fair."

When a message alert came on Krista's phone, her face cracked into a sunny smile. Riley and I smirked at each other.

Quentin.

"Quen's here! I'm going down to the ground floor to let him in," Krista chirped happily, out the door before she finished speaking. "See you two real soon."

"See you," Riley and I called.

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