“Jeez, calm yourself,” Dylan growls, trapping me against the house. “What can I do right now to make this right? Tell me, baby, and I’ll do it. I’ll do anything!” Pointing to the side of the house, he continues, “Do you want me to go tell her to stop sending me nudes? Is that it? Want me to tell her she’s got nothing on you? Because I will if that’s what it’ll take. I’ll let everyone at this fucking party know you’re the only one for me. I made a mistake, Chloe—a damn mistake!”

“I want you to let me go,” I hiss. I’m tired and angry. I just want him to leave me alone.

“The fuck I will!” he growls, trapping my wrists.

We struggle some more until one of Dylan’s drunk friends, Logan, comes stumbling around the corner. “Hey, dude, the guys are wondering where you are.”

With his hands on his hips, Dylan stares at me for a long moment before sighing defeatedly. “I’ll be back in a bit, okay? I’m talking to my girl right now.”

Logan sways on the spot, then lets out a chortle. “I see what this is. I interrupted something, didn’t I? You were about to fuck. Don’t mind me. I’m leaving.”

With a wink and a salute, he disappears around the corner.

I shoulder past Dylan, and he lets out an angry roar. “Dammit, Chloe! Why are you so fucking stubborn?!”

Half turning, I spit, “Why don’t you go find her, Dylan? I’m sure she’ll let you fuck her tonight.”

Shaking his head, he releases a bitter chuckle before scratching his chin. “Fine, whatever. I’m done!” Without another word, he storms off.

My heart thunders in my chest as I watch him turn the corner.

Fucking asshole.

The walk home is long and cold. I should have caught a lift with Willow and Luca or asked Jenny to drive me. If my father knew I was walking home alone this late, he would ground me for the next year. He’s always on my case.

“Make sure you get a lift home. Don’t walk alone.”

About halfway, I start to cry. I don’t want to be upset. I want to be angry. I want to hate Dylan for the photographs I found on his phone. Pictures of her, naked on her flowery bedspread, surrounded by fluffy white throw pillows. I can still picture her dark hair spread around her like a halo while she photographed herself tweaking her nipples. How could Dylan do this to me? Did he imagine himself fucking her when he jerked off to those pictures? Of course, he did. Why else would he message her, asking for more?

I don’t want to be alone with my thoughts, not tonight.

My feet carry me up Willow’s driveway. The house is dark except for a faint flickering light in the window beside the front door. The TV in the living room is on. She’s up late, binge-watching Bloodline or Dark Matter. She won’t stop talking about either.