I let out a sigh. As a publicist, I knew that Oakley needed to keep his fine ass in this hotel room. But as a girl about to face the horrors of her past...I just needed his support.

“Please don’t let anyone take photos of you,” I relented.

Oakley wrapped me up in a quick hug. “We got this, Darlin’.”

“Oh, we’re doing cute pet names now, huh?” I replied with a sniffle. The anxiety coursing through me was intense. I couldn’t stop shaking.

“Just testing it out,” Oakley answered with a sly smile. “Let’s do this thing, Sweetie. Schnookums. Dear. Sweet Pea. Love.”

That last nickname made me preen.

“Let’s go, Mr. Snuggles.”

26

The atmosphere screamed frat house. It was packed with guys wearing USC shirts and girls wearing as little as they could get away with. Sweaty bodies were pressed against each other, dancing to music that was far too loud. Cheap beer flowed freely, and bad decisions were being fueled by it. I didn’t think I would ever set foot in here again.

I was going to eviscerate Dale when I found him.

Thankfully, nobody had noticed the steamy hunk of perfection that was my boyfriend yet. Even just thinking the word boyfriend made me feel giddy, like a thirteen-year-old girl practicing writing her name with her crush’s last name.

I laced my fingers through Oakley’s for some much needed support and gave his hand a squeeze. It was too loud to hear myself think, let alone hear each other, so we searched without talking. I relied on Oakley’s height to see above the crowd, and I shoved through people to make room to get by them.

As I was working my way toward the other side of the house, where the music wasn’t as loud, someone turned around and ran into me, spilling beer all down the front of my shirt. Ugh, great. I was going to spend the next few hours smelling like lite beer.

“Amanda? Amanda Matthews?” the person I had bumped into squealed in my direction.

Oh God. Oh God Oh God Oh God. I had been so focused on finding Dale that I had momentarily forgotten where I was and who I was surrounded by. I had just run into Legacy Small, former sorority sister and best-friend-forever-turned-mean-girl.

Legacy was a perfect ten. She had the figure of a model, flawlessly applied makeup, and tan skin she achieved from hours of sunbathing on the beach. Her dark brown hair was always shiny and perfectly styled. She had been my roommate in the sorority house and spent Christmas with my family sophomore year. Legacy had also been the one to film me streaking on the Dean’s lawn, and then she texted it to everyone she knew.

“Legacy,” I said coolly.