Page 29 of Stay Toxic

I beam at my best friend, her support invaluable as always.

“Anyway, I think your pen pal was right about the cash and the second social.” She’s quick to offer, “I can loan you a bit. So you have some to get what you want.” I’m about to refuse, when Tanya adds, “We both know I’m not rich, but you know I can give you a couple of hundred bucks, and you can pay for food and drinks for a while. Your mom wouldn’t suspect expenses at restaurants, right?”

I blink, surprised I never thought about it. Tanya is pretty insistent about paying her own way so we split the bill when we got out, although I feel guilty as I’m a lot wealthier than her. But she’s right, Mother wouldn’t bat an eyelash at my spending a hundred instead of fifty on a night out; she’d just assume I ordered some wine.

“I mean, if you’re sure…”

“Say no more. I’ll withdraw some cash on the way out.” She grins. “Can’t wait to see you in clothes you actually pick. And for the social media, I should set up another account too, so we can still connect with each other. It’ll be nice, to not always have to be so proper, thinking about what the company would say. I’ll have to think about a pseudonym.”

“Well I can’t go under my real name either,” I say. “Pick mine and I pick yours?”

She grins. “Sold.”

I hand her my phone and take hers, thinking a moment before I type bleedingtoesnheart. Surprisingly, it’s taken. I replace heart with <3 and that works. We swap phones again, and I choke.

I guess I’m greeneyedpervert.

Tanya checks her account and gives me two fifty in cash, which is a lot more money than I’ve ever actually seen in dollar bills in my hand. She has to head to the theater for rehearsal, but I stay back…and I shop.

I avoid all the fancy boutiques I would normally head to, favoring the chains and discount stores. It’s wild what I find under thirty bucks, when my usual T-shirts tend to be three figures. By the time the stores are closing at six-thirty, I have several bags in my hands.

I’m giddy, and eager to show off my loot by the time I make my way back to campus. Not in the usual way. Whenever I shop, like clockwork, the next day I get a phone call. Some people would consider it sweet: my mother calling to check on me. “Show me what you got, sweetie.” She’d study every piece, checking the labels for pricing, too. And she’s made me return plenty of them, because of the wrong color, length, neckline. When I pick something she considers inappropriate, I see it in her face. And then there’s payback.

But today, I’m going to show my stuff to Ari, and I’ll take some pictures for Tanya. I can’t wait. For the first time in my life I have skinny jeans.

My smile doesn’t last long.

For the third time in as many weeks, I’m completely gobsmacked at what waits for me when I open the door of my dorm room.

Five foot eleven, slender, handsome, in a geeky, boy-next-door way, dressed in a preppy white shirt with a sage cardigan, and square glasses not unlike my own.

What the fuck?

“Robert.”

13

What the hell is he doing here?

I truly didn’t expect him to make a move right now—not for the next two years at least. What’s his angle?

Of course, Rob knows I attend Rothford, but that doesn’t explain why he’s come. And how the hell did he even find my room? I didn’t even tell Mother the exact room number—and she didn’t ask.Someone at the faculty building must have tipped him off. Maybe Ari’s pretty blonde cousin? She wouldn’t have been hard to bribe.

Unless I’m being watched a lot closer than I expected to be. I shift uncomfortably.

“That’s unexpected,” I say soberly, biting back what I truly want to say.

I can’t stand him, and he knows it, but we don’t display the extent of our contempt for each other openly.That wouldn’t be the polite thing to do now, would it? And we’ve both been raised to only ever show the world our smiles.

His lips stretch over his teeth, but I wouldn’t call it a smile. “Can’t a man visit his fiancée?”

Oh, for the love of…

Breathe in, breathe out. He’s just trying to get a rise out of you.

I repress a groan, biting back insults again. If I’m rude, it’ll get back to my mother. I’d rather not deal with the backlash.

“You could have called before showing up.” I barge past him to walk into my own room, jaw tight. “I’m busy, you know.”