The Score

“Are you together?” His voice suddenly drips with icy revulsion.

I swallow, unable to form any words. Why does he still have this kind of power over me? He always knows exactly which buttons to push, exactly how much disgust and disapproval to inject into his tone in order to make me feel guilty, to make me feel awkward, to make me feel awful.

“Are you?” he demands.

I force my vocal cords to cooperate. “Yes and no. We’re not a couple. We’re…”

“Sleeping together,” Sean finishes tersely.

I nod, which brings another flash to his eyes.

“So he’s just your fuck buddy, is that it?” A hiss escapes his mouth. “You don’t have fuck buddies! You’re not like that.”

My skin tightens with offense. “Like what?”

“The kind of girl who sleeps around. We waited four months before we slept together for the first time. Since when do you hop into bed with someone after a few days? Or was it hours? How fast did you jump on Di Laurentis’s dick?”

I wince as if he’s struck me. I can tell he’s drunk because of his ruddy cheeks and hazy eyes, but he’s not slurring his words, and each one fires out like a bullet, hitting its mark and reigniting the discomfort I’ve always felt toward casual sex.

“And of all the guys you could’ve chosen, you chose him? Do you realize how many bitches he’s stuck his dick in? He fucking lives in the campus health center, with all the STD meds he has to take!”

I stiffen. “Stop it. You’re acting like a total ass right now.”

But Sean’s not even close to being done. “Did you screw him when we were together?” he demands.

My jaw drops. “No. Of course not.”

“And I’m just supposed to take your word for it?” He bolts to his feet. I take an instinctive step back, but he doesn’t advance on me. He starts pacing the hardwood floor instead, raking his hands through his hair like he’s trying to tear it out from the roots. “So now I fucking need to get tested? Is that it? I need an STD test because my girlfriend cheated on me with a dirty fucker like Di Laurentis?”

Anger rises in my throat. “I didn’t cheat on you,” I bite out. “And you’re being ridiculous right now! You don’t have an STD—”

“But you might,” he cuts in, and then he starts to laugh, low and harsh. “You’re sleeping with a slut. You’re a slut.”

I recoil at the cruel indictment, but somehow I manage to keep my breathing under control. Somehow I manage not to lunge at him and smack him in the face. “I’m not a slut,” I say coldly. “And I didn’t cheat on you. And now it’s time for you to go.”

“You know what? I’m glad you dumped me. I want nothing to do with you.” His voice rises, and I cringe because I know Hannah and Garrett must hear him even with her door closed. “I was a fucking idiot for trying to win you back! Why the fuck would I want to get back together with a disease-ridden whore—”

“That’s enough!”

Garrett’s booming proclamation comes too little, too late. Sean’s last remark has already done its intended damage. I stumble backward as if he’d just slapped me. God, he might as well have. My cheeks are burning. My bottom lip quivers wildly, and I have to dig my teeth into it to make it stop. I have to fight the strangled sob that’s desperately trying to rip out of my throat.

I’m vaguely aware of Garrett grabbing my ex-boyfriend by the collar. Hauling him to the door. Hissing out a threat. But my face is on fire and my vision is fuzzy, making it difficult to focus on what’s going on.

I jerk when I feel a pair of soft arms wrap around me. It’s Hannah, hugging me tight. My head drops against her shoulder and I blink away the tears threatening to surface.

“Are you okay?” she asks urgently.

“No.” My response is muffled against her sleeve.

“Garrett went downstairs with him. He’s going to call a taxi and wait with Sean to make sure that fucker gets in the cab.” She rubs both hands between my shoulder blades. “Allie. Talk to me. I need to know that you’re all right, sweetie.”

For some reason, the sympathy in her voice blows apart the last thread of my control. The tears spill over and stream down my cheeks. A sob flies out as I shudder in her embrace. How could he have said all those awful, hurtful things? We were together for years. He loved me. He knows me. He knows I’m not a…I choke on another sob…a disease-ridden whore.

As shame floods my body, I push away from Hannah and hurry to my bedroom. I hear her footsteps behind me, reaching my door just as I collapse on my bed. I curl up and swipe at my tears with the sleeve of my T-shirt, but they keep falling faster, stinging my eyelids and sliding into my mouth.

“Allie,” Hannah says softly.

I ignore her, gulping through the sobs as I stick out a hand and fumble on the nightstand. I need…God, I need Dean. I need him to wrap his strong arms around me and give me that speech again, the one about erasing slut from my vocabulary and not letting small-minded people convince me I’ve done anything wrong.

My fingers collide with my phone and I moan when I discover it’s dead.

“Allie.” Hannah sounds exceedingly worried. “Talk to me.”

I inhale a wobbly breath. “Can you do something for me?”

“Anything,” she says instantly. “Just tell me what you need.”

“Can you…” I speak through the tight lump in my throat. “Can you call Dean and ask him to come over?”

I don’t check her face to gauge her reaction. I don’t need to, because I hear the bewilderment loud and clear in her voice.

“Dean?” She pauses. “Dean Di Laurentis?”

“Yes.” I curl up again, tucking my head against the pillow.

“You want me to call Dean.”

“Yes.”

“Dean Di Laurentis?”

“Yes.” I lick my dry lips, which are salty from my tears. Tears that won’t fucking stop falling. “Please…just call him. I…” I feel my entire face collapsing again. “I need him.”

25

Dean

“Where is she?” I muscle my way past Garrett before he can even fully open the door. My gaze darts around the common room, but Allie isn’t in here. Wellsy is, and she immediately shoots to her feet when she sees me.