Untitled Part 33

"I think I screwed up—badly." I stood in front of my two best friends like a convicted criminal at his sentencing and waited for them to pass judgment.

Instead, Richard passed me a waffle cup of mocha frozen yogurt topped with chocolate chips, brownie bits, and a dollop of marshmallow cream. "Sit down and tell us about it."

I chose to grab a couple bites of sugar-laden courage before I spilled my guts. "I've been a complete bitch."

"Tell us something we don't know," Morgan said dryly, cocking one brow up.

"No, this goes beyond my normal bitchiness."

"And something tells me it has to do with what you did with Mr. Quarterback after the game." Richard held his spoon up to the corner of his mouth, trying to look innocent while the intelligence in his eyes saw straight through me.

I checked the shop to make sure no one was around to overhear my confession. Then I took a deep breath. "It does."

Richard jumped up from his chair, pointing his spoon at me. "Ha, I told you so! Pay up, Morgan."

"Oh my God—you two were betting on me?"

"Unfortunately." Morgan reached into her wallet and tossed a twenty to Richard. "I didn't think you'd be caught dead with him outside of school, but I guess I was wrong."

"So, spill," Richard said as he tucked the money into his shirt pocket. "What did you two kids do after the game?"

"Argue." I ate a few more bites to let them stew as payback for betting on me like that. "He dumped the doll on me the rest of the night so he could go somewhere with Summer."

Morgan shook her head. "What an ass."

Richard nodded, licking the frozen yogurt off his spoon and shivering. "Yes, what an ass, but I think we're talking about two different things."

I rolled my eyes. "I thought this was an intervention, not a drool over Brett's behind get-together."

"Sorry, sweetie, but I have to get the visual out of my mind if you want me to get truly angry on your behalf." He posed like he was meditating in a yoga class for close to a minute before saying, "Okay, mind cleared. Back to your issues."

"So when I got upset for him dumping the project on me so he could bang his girlfriend, he said she wasn't his girlfriend and—"

"Hold on," Morgan interrupted. "Summer's not his girlfriend?"

She and Richard exchanged glances and said in unison, "Fuck buddies."

"That's what I thought, too, but when I went over to his house the next morning, I—"

"Wait." Now it was Richard's turn to interrupt me. "You went over to his house? Mind sharing those coordinates with me sometime so I can stalk him?"

I stabbed my fro-yo with my spoon. "Will you two please let me finish?"

"I'm sorry, Alexis, but this is the juiciest gossip I've heard in months." Richard leaned forward on the table, his chin in his hands. "Keep going—I'm listening."

"I only agreed to take the doll Friday night because he said he'd take it all weekend. I went to his house to drop it off and found him playing with his sisters, and it was so..."

My voice caught. I usually wasn't at a loss for words, but as I pictured the scene with him and the twins, a storm of emotions rolled through me. Envy. Amusement. Frustration. It reminded me of what my family had been like before my parents split, what I wished I could have again. It showed me a different side to the normally cool and collected Brett. And it made me wonder why I'd stayed afterward since it only ended up backfiring on me.

"Cute," I said at last.

Morgan made a gagging gesture with her spoon. "I'd have to see it to believe it, and even if I did, I might get ill."

I had proof on my camera, but I decided not to show her. If Brett was trusting me with the fact he let his little sisters ride on his back like a horse, then I could keep his secret.

At least for now.

Until he really pissed me off.

"But yeah, when I tried to drop the doll off, he invited me to stay for breakfast."

"He what?" Morgan's eyes widened. "You do realize you're the first person I've heard of who got invited to spend more than five minutes in his house, right?"

I choked on my mocha chocolate chip. "I find that highly unbelievable."

"It's true," Morgan continued. "I had algebra with Kaitlyn Matsumura, and she used to complain about how he'd meet her at the door and go. I think in the three months they dated, she only met his sister once, and she never met his parents."

Kaitlyn was one of the popular girls Brett had dated briefly during our sophomore year before he became the über-football star, before Summer had set her sights on him and scared the other girls away. Kaitlyn ended up transferring later that year, but I'd never heard about the reason she and Brett broke up. I'd always assumed it was because he went after greener pastures—in this case, Summer.

"So I wonder why he invited me over."

"Obviously not for your fashion sense." Richard pointed to the My Little Pony on today's T-shirt, his nose wrinkled. "I think our next intervention needs to be in wardrobe."

"Are you offering makeover services?" Morgan teased.

"Oh, please, I'm gay, but I don't give makeovers. However, I do think Alexis needs to dress in something other than what a five-year-old would wear."

"Please, you two, focus. I'm getting to the meat of the story."

"Ooh, she said ." Richard wiggled in his chair. "So did you two go up to his room and get all hot and heavy?"

"Nowhere even close to that."

 "You disappoint me." Morgan gave me a playful pout. "So, are his parents vampires or something?"

"No, they're actually quite normal. His sisters, too. Nothing strange there." Although now I was wondering why he brought me to breakfast and not his old girlfriend. "He even made delicious blueberry pancakes."

"Are you sure you didn't bump your head and dream all this up, à la Dorothy in the ?" Richard asked, his mouth hanging open.

 I shook my head. "And after we ate, he mentioned that he liked seeing me smile."

"So did you ask him to publicly dump Summer?" Morgan asked. "Because that would make me smile, and I'm not even into him."

Richard smacked her arm. "Stop being so evil for a moment and let's help Alexis dissect that statement. So, I take it you weren't all in your Royal Bitchiness mode during breakfast."

I shook my head. "And I actually found myself laughing with him and his sisters."

"Which meant he found a way to get under your armor."

I opened my mouth and shut it right away. Was that what he meant when he said he saw I wasn't a complete bitch?

"Uh-oh, our Queen B went soft on us," Morgan said, exchanging worried glances with Richard. "Do we need to remind you why we hate him and everyone else in his crowd?"

"But that's the thing—I don't think he's like the others."

"Bullshit." Morgan shoved her half-eaten cup of frozen yogurt away from her. "He's screwing Summer, isn't he?"

I hesitated. "I'm not entirely sure."

"Of course he is. Guys our age will screw anything that stands still long enough, present company excluded."

"No offense taken," Richard said, scraping his cup clean. "If it doesn't have a penis, I'm not interested."

"He's totally playing you, Alexis." Morgan leaned forward, her eyes narrowed. "Think about it—he switched places to work with you because he knew you'd get all anal-retentive about it and he'd get a good grade on the project from you doing the brunt of the work."

"That's not the reason he gave when I asked him about it." A sharp pain filled my chest as I said the words. Even now, his admission still stung.

Morgan backed away, mocking shock stretching her face. "Oh? And what reason did he give?"

I swirled the chocolate chips and what was left of the marshmallow cream into my yogurt. "He said he did it because he wanted to help me get over myself."

"What. A. Fucking. Asshole," Morgan said loud enough to earn a glare from a mother with several small children at her table. "He's going down after that. What shall we do to show him that if anyone needs to get over themselves, it's him?"

A couple of weeks ago, I would've been the first person to hop onto Morgan's revenge bandwagon with an exposé on my blog, but now I wasn't so sure I wanted to go down that path. At least, not with him. Yes, I was hurt and angry and wanted to grab him by the hair and bang his head against the wall until I'd rattled the frustration out of my system. But something held me back. I wished to God I knew what it was, but I couldn't name it.

Maybe I was going soft.

If so, I was screwed.