It does, however, help pass the time, and with the way summer got old fast, it’s better this than that. Or at least that’s the speech I give myself throughout the day, each and every time the desire to chop my own head off seeps in.

“Cali, what happened at your last party?” Amy asks, a bit of an edge to her voice.

My eyes snap to her.

“You were there, were you not?” Cali glances up from her phone briefly.

“I left early,” she snaps.

Cali only shrugs, setting her phone beside her on the tabletop.

“People said there was a blackout,” Amy pushes further. “And guess who has been staring over here for the last twenty minutes?” She seems as equally annoyed as she does pleased. “I wonder why that would be?”

Cali’s fork hovers over a slice of cucumber, her head jerking in the direction Amy indicated, and most of us around the table, including myself, follow.

Sure enough, there they are, tucked in the corner near the door.

Ransom is leaning back against the table, his legs lazily stretched in front of him, knees bent; Beretta straddles the bench seat at his side, and Arsen sits on the opposite side.

All three wear a frown of some sort, all three pointed this way.

Are there others around them? Sure, but they aren’t the focus right now.

Beretta’s eyes meet mine. While the frown stays strong, he delivers a quick wink, and I turn back to find Amy staring.

She quickly flicks her dull brown eyes away, but I don’t. I wait her out, and her attention comes right back, this time with a frigid smile curling her bright pink lips.

The thing about Amy is... well, she’s a bitch. She likes to state the obvious to make people uncomfortable, pretends her conversations are all random, so she can make sure others are aware of whatever it is she chooses to share, the kick her while she’s down type. She likes gossip, loves attention, and loathes competition, not that she sees me as hers.

She’s the kind of girl I make a point to avoid.

Pretty little pretenders’ stakes are always razor sharp, within reach, and more often than not, shooting for the spine.

“You’ll never know if you don’t ask.”

All heads snap toward me and Amy blanches.

“What?” She slowly straightens.

“You want to know why they’re staring...” I lift a single shoulder, bringing my latte to my lips. “Ask.”

“Ask.” Her head has a bit of a roll, going for sassy, but her frustration is unmistakable, and she knows it. It only irritates her more. “You’re the one who ‘bumped’ into them at Dojo, you ask.”

My eyes narrow. “If I cared, I would.”

A loud, mocking laugh slips past her lips, but when mine doesn’t follow, the edges of her eyes tighten the teeniest bit. “Yeah right...”