“All the more reason not to trust him. Who knows what he might have to gain by getting close to you.”

She grabs both of our coffees then leads the way to a table near the window, and I feel a surge of annoyance. She doesn’t even know Mason—granted, I don’t exactly know him either—but the feelings I get from him are genuine. Kind of like Parker, yet different altogether. I’ve never felt like he’s had any ill will toward me.

But maybe I’m being naive. I have no idea what his true intentions are.

I settle into the seat across from her, my mind once again going to the day I was reintroduced to Amber and Whitney. Bringing my mug up to my lips, I let the drink warm my fingers.

“Did anything happen between us?” I ask.

Zoe frowns. “Who?”

“You and me. I just remembered what Whitney said about us making up.”

She looks confused for another beat, before laughing and shaking her head. “Whitney doesn’t know what she’s talking about,” she says, waving a hand dismissively. “Allie, we used to get into arguments all the time. They never really meant anything.”

As she takes a sip of her drink, I watch her carefully, noting how she keeps her gaze riveted to the table. “Are you sure? Because if I did something to offend you . . .”

“Trust me,” she remarks. “I’m not easily offended.”

She fixes me with a knowing smile, and I do my best to return it, trying not to let my hesitation show on my face. Audrey hadn’t seemed all that surprised about how Zoe treated me at my birthday party, and she essentially implied I used to do similar things to her. Best friends one moment, at each other’s throats the next. It wouldn’t be a stretch to conclude that things might not have been peachy between us before my accident. Maybe it’s something Zoe doesn’t want me to know, or maybe she’s trying to be courteous of my condition by hiding the truth.

“Anyway.” She sets her mug on the table, looking at me sympathetically. “I thought you might want to talk about what happened with Damien.”

I hold back a groan at the sound of his name, placing a hand to my forehead. My coffee curdles in my stomach as the image of his dejected face pops into my brain. “How is he?”

“He’s . . .” she begins, her voice light, before deflating. “Not that great.”

“Judging by the way he was looking at me today, I figured as much.”

Zoe winces. “You kind of destroyed his heart.”

“Wow, thanks.”