The Chase: Chapter 13

As I get comfy in my seat in the History of Fashion lecture hall, I try to remind myself that I’m all about girl power. We live in a society where too many women tear each other down instead of raising each other up. That’s absurd to me. We need to empower one another, teach future generations of girls that it’s important to stand together. Once upon a time, we had a common goal and a common enemy. We were burning bras and fighting for the right to vote.

Now we’re body shaming each other on social media and blaming the mistress if our man cheats.

I don’t consider myself a radical feminist. I don’t believe men are evil demons from hell and should be purged from society—I think men have lots of good things to offer the world. Their dicks are fabulous, for one.

It would just be really nice if we could show some female solidarity like we used to.

But I know what’s stopping us: jealousy. We’re too frigging envious of each other, and envy is such a crippling feeling. It causes us to say things and behave in ways that we’re secretly ashamed of, or at least I am. I regret nearly all the things I’ve said and done out of jealousy. I’ve also been on the receiving end of it from other girls. Some of them resented me for my looks. Others assumed I was going to be a bitch to them because of said looks, so they attacked first.

In spite of that, I’ve always tried to keep a smile on my face and be nice to everyone, even the haters. Ironically, a lot of the haters in high school ended up good friends of mine once they stopped linking me to their own insecurities.

So yes, I’m pro girl power. Ladies doing it for themselves. I am woman, hear me roar.

Yet I hate this girl Nora with the heat of a thousand suns.

She was talking to Fitz before class. Now she’s sitting with two other chicks, talking about Fitz. I know her name is Nora because one of her friends called her that, and since I’m only two rows behind them, every word she utters floats toward me, clear as a bell.

“…just so cool. And wicked smart. And he’s so talented. You should see his paintings.”

“Doesn’t hurt that he’s hot as fuck,” her friend teases her.

“Those tats,” the other friend sighs.

I guess they’ve all seen Fitz’s tats somehow? I now loathe the friends too.

“So hot,” Nora says, pretending to fan herself.

And I’m so ready to accidentally throw something at her, because she’s so annoying with her overuse and overemphasis of the word so.

“We’re having drinks tomorrow night.”

The flames of hatred in my stomach are doused with an icy bucket of reality.

He asked her out?

“Holy crap, this date is finally happening?” One of the friends claps with delight.

“Yes! I’m so excited.”

Okay. So Fitz invited her on a date. She’s pretty, has a great sense of style. Why shouldn’t he go out with her?

And why should it bother me if he does?

Because…

Because, well, because she’s obviously a bitch. I don’t want Fitz going out with a bitch.

She’s not a bitch. That’s your jealousy talking.

No, I stubbornly argue with myself. She absolutely gave me a couple of dirty looks before she joined her friends. I didn’t imagine that. So there’s some bitch in her, at least.

And there’s a lot of bitch in you right now.

“Fuck off,” I order myself.

A few seats down in my row, a guy with longish black hair shifts his head in my direction. He arches a bushy eyebrow at me.

I raise my hand in a friendly wave. “Just ignore me. I’ve decided I’m going to be the crazy lady who talks to herself in class.”

He laughs. “Noted.”

Nora turns at the sound of my voice, narrows her eyes, and then turns back.

I hate her.

You’re being insane.

“Did we not just determine that I’ve chosen a path of insanity?” I say out loud, though mostly it’s to mess with my row-mate.

Bushy Eyebrows glances over again. “Oh wow. You weren’t kidding.”

I grin. “I’m done now. I promise.”

In front of me, Nora’s friends are grilling her for more details about her impending date.

“Just drinks?”

“Just drinks,” she confirms. “Do you honestly think I’d ever agree to a first-date dinner after Eight-Course Ethan?”

The girls break out in laughter. “Oh my God! I forgot about him!”

I tune them out as they reminisce about the time Nora got stuck on an expensive, four-hour dinner date when she was ready to bail before the first course. It’s an entertaining story, but I’m too busy trying to combat my unwanted jealousy.

Fitz can date whomever he wants. Besides, I have no right to be jealous. I cuddled with Hunter the other night. Granted, we didn’t do anything but spoon, but it felt nice lying there with a warm male body pressed up against me. And if Hunter had made a move, I can’t say with absolute certainty that I wouldn’t have reciprocated.

The doors at the base of the lecture hall swing open, interrupting my thoughts. The man who enters the room needs no introduction, yet he still approaches the podium and greets us as if none of us have ever picked up a fashion magazine.

“Good morning! I’m Erik Laurie and I’m sorry to inform you that you will be enduring my unbearable presence for the next four months.”

Laughter ripples through the hall.

“Just joshing,” he says with a hearty chuckle. “I’m a fucking delight.”

I smile along with everyone else in the room. He’s establishing himself as the cool, fun prof right off the bat. I like that. He also looks a lot younger than his photos. Possibly because he usually sports a thick blond beard in those pictures, and today he’s completely clean-shaven, revealing the baby face underneath.

I know he’s in his mid-thirties, though. And his fashion sense is so on point I almost purr out loud. The clothes are Marc Jacobs—I recognize the retro blazer from Marc’s fall collection. The shoes…Tom Ford, I think. I’d have to get a closer look to be sure.

“Welcome to the History of Fashion, ladies and gentlemen.”

His voice is smooth and velvety, turning every girl’s face into a real-life heart-eyes emoji. For some reason, he doesn’t have the same effect on me. Objectively, Laurie is an attractive man, but something about his angular, symmetrical face doesn’t do it for me.

Our new professor doesn’t miss the female attention he’s garnering. He winks at two girls in the front row as he rests his forearms on the podium. For the next ten minutes, he lists his impressive credentials, not revealing anything I didn’t already know.

He’s had an insanely prolific career for his relatively young age, and it’s evident he has a genuine passion for what he does. When he’s done reciting his résumé, he talks about what we can expect from his course. We’ll be examining the global influence of fashion, how it’s taken shape over the years, and how certain eras and historical events have impacted the concept and implementation of style.

Laurie has a way of speaking that captures your attention. He tells us that rather than a formal lecture, today he just wants to “chat” about why we love fashion and who inspires us. He kicks it off by confessing that his idol growing up was Ralph Lauren, then proceeds to spend five full minutes fan-girling about Lauren.

After he’s done, he passes the torch to us. Bushy Eyebrows, who introduces himself as Ben, surprises me by proclaiming his love for Versace. Judging by his hobo-chic style, I would’ve pegged him as an Alexander McQueen enthusiast. But Ben goes on and on about Versace until our prof finally grins and asks for another volunteer.

Since I’ve never had any problems speaking in class, I raise my hand.

Laurie studies me from the podium. “And your name is?”

“It’s Summer.”

“No, sweetheart, it’s winter. Have you not looked outside?”

Nora and her friends titter behind their hands. A few other students giggle as well. Me, I roll my eyes, an action that brings another grin to Laurie’s face.

“Get that joke a lot, eh?” He waves a hand. “All right. Tell us who inspires you.”

I answer without hesitation. “Chanel.”

“Ah, yes.” He nods his approval. “Gabrielle Bonheur Chanel. Also known as Coco. Do you know how she got the nickname, Winter?”

Cue more giggles.

I’m not sure how I feel about Professor Comedian, especially since he keeps flipping between two personalities. One second he’s suave and confident, the next he’s Mr. I’m Just Gonna Crack Jokes Because I’m One of You!

It’s disorienting.

“She got the nickname when she was a cabaret singer,” I answer. “She tried to make a go of it as an actress, failed, and went into fashion.”

“Finding unimaginable success,” he concludes.

“That’s one of the reasons I love her. When her original plans fell through, she didn’t give up. She chose a different path, succeeded, and became an icon. Her brand has been around for nearly a century. It survived the Second World War—”

“Yeah, because she was a Nazi collaborator,” Nora pipes up in a snide voice.

I ball my fists and press them to my thighs. Is she for real right now? Interrupting me so she can insult a fashion legend?

“And you are?” Laurie prompts.

“Nora Ridgeway.” She shrugs. “And it’s common knowledge that Chanel was shady. Documents that were recently declassified speculate her wartime activities were downright despicable.”

Our professor does not disagree. “Yes, that is what’s being alleged. And when she reentered the fashion world after the war, there was indeed a lot of anger about these claims. Yet the brand recovered.” He tips his head. “Why do we think that is, Summer?”

“Because…she…” I bite my lip in thought. “Because she was fashion. She pioneered the little black dress, for Pete’s sake. People accused her of being too conservative, but honestly I think she revolutionized the industry. She showed the world that fashion isn’t just about wearing a nice dress or tailored suit to a dinner party—it’s a way of life.” I pause, scanning my memory. “There was this famous quote of hers about how fashion is everywhere—‘It’s in the sky and in the streets, it’s in how we live and what we do.’ That’s a philosophy I believe in.”

He nods. Many of my classmates are nodding too. Nora, however, scowls at me over her shoulder and then stiffly faces the room again.

Whatever. I don’t care if she doesn’t like me. She tried to make me look like a fool for respecting Chanel, and it backfired on her. Tough shit.

“Very well said,” Laurie tells me before sweeping his gaze over the room. “Who’s next? I want to know who inspires you.”

The next hour flies by, and I’m less than thrilled when we’re dismissed. I was dreading this moment, even more so now because I know I impressed Erik Laurie. I really don’t want him to lose all that good will toward me when I tell him about my learning issues.

As I navigate the aisle, I hear Nora speaking to her friend. “I’ll meet you outside. I want to tell him what a huge fan I am.”

Oh great. Now if I go talk to him, Nora will think I’m trying to one-up her.

“Summer,” Laurie calls from the front of the room. “A quick word?”

Okay. At least it doesn’t look like I’m the one initiating the contact.

But I think this might be worse.

Nora stops in her tracks. Her eyes burn into my back like hot coals as I hurriedly descend the steps.

“It’s nice to officially meet you.” Smiling, he extends a hand.

I give it a shake. “Nice to meet you too, Professor Laurie.”

“Call me Erik.”

“Oh. Um. We might need to work up to that. I feel weird first-naming authority figures.”

He chuckles. “Fair enough. How about Mr. L until you warm up to Erik?” He winks at me, and his tone holds a flirtatious note, but I’m starting to think this is just him being friendly. I saw him winking at several other girls throughout the lecture.

“Mr. L, it is.” I hesitate, readying myself for the awkward part. “I don’t know if you had a chance to speak to Mr. Richmond. He’s serving as my academic advisor this year.”

“I did, actually. Rest assured, he advised me about your learning difficulties, and I do plan on sitting down with you to discuss it further. But we’ll need to do that during office hours.” He studies me for a moment. “I was impressed with you this morning. You’re a very eloquent speaker.”

“And a very terrible writer.”

“Hey, you could say that about plenty of individuals. And there are ways around it. Like I said, we’ll talk during office hours, but I do believe I can make alternate arrangements for you. Perhaps a lower word count for the midterm, supplemented by an oral element?”

A tiny smile lifts the corners of his mouth at the word oral. I know he’s referring to an oral presentation, but the accompanying smile triggers my ick meter. Either he’s skirting a dangerous line between his authority and his female students, or he’s just overly friendly. I really hope it’s the latter.

“You can check the department website for my availability, but I think the sooner we sit down and hammer this out, the better.”

“I agree.”

He reaches out and squeezes my hand. “And, please, continue to speak out in class the way you did today. I appreciate students who are as passionate as I am about this topic.”

Another wink.

Or maybe he’s not winking, and that’s just his eye? Is there a possibility that this is how he blinks, one eye at a time? I have no clue, and I don’t care to find out. Nora is still glaring at me. And Laurie is still holding my hand.

I awkwardly slide my palm out of his grip. “I’ll do my best. And I’ll check your office hours when I get home. Thanks, sir—I mean, Mr. L.”

“That’s better.”

He winks. Or blinks. Who the fuck knows.

I practically sprint toward the exit, ignoring Nora’s thunderous expression.

Outside, I shiver from the cold as I pile all my winter clothes on. I didn’t want to do it in the lecture hall under Laurie’s gaze. The man might be a legend in the fashion world, and he did seem nice enough, but I got such a weird vibe from him.

Ugh. I don’t know. Maybe I’m reading too much into it.

Since this was my only class for the day, I’m free as a bird, so I text Brenna asking if she’s on campus. She’s quick to answer.

This time, there’s a delay in her response. Shocking. I texted her a bunch of times yesterday begging her to tell me exactly what happened between her and Hollis, but she refused to discuss it.

Seriously? She’s going to play dumb?

After another long pause, she responds with: Fine. You win.

Despite my threats, I don’t push Brenna to talk about Hollis during the drive to Hastings. We discuss our classes instead, and I confess that I’m feeling a tad uneasy about my professor.

“I got a pervy vibe from him,” I say as I search for street parking.

“What’s his name?”

“Erik Laurie.”

“Never heard of him.”

There’s no reason why she would, unless she follows the fashion world closely, which I know she doesn’t. I give her a quick rundown of his credentials before describing the chronic winking.

“Maybe he doesn’t understand the concept?” she suggests. “Like, to him, winking could be another form of smiling. So if you give him a compliment, he says Thanks! Wink. And when he greets people, he goes, Nice to meet you! Wink.”

I bite my lip to stop from laughing. “Are you fucking with me right now?”

“Of course I am. Nobody is that dumb. Winking is flirting. Everyone knows that.”

“So he was flirting with me?”

“Probably?” She rolls her eyes. “And if you try to tell me this is the first time a prof has ever flirted with you, I won’t believe you.”

“No, it’s happened before,” I admit. “But I wasn’t expecting it from this one. He’s so respected in the industry.”

Her loud snort echoes in the car. “Right. Because well-respected men can’t possibly be douchebags. Do we need to have a talk about the current climate in Hollywood?”

“No, let’s not go there.” I find a spot and squeeze my Audi into it.

Five minutes later, we’re seated across from each other in one of the retro, red vinyl booths. Brenna orders a coffee, black. I order a mint tea with lemon. Somehow that sums up this friendship of ours. Appearance wise, I’m all about light colors and nude makeup, while Brenna prefers smoky eyes and black everything. In terms of personality, I’m more carefree, she’s edgier, but we’re both a little nuts. It’s a hoe-mance for the ages.

“Okay, I’ve let you avoid it for long enough,” I announce after the waitress takes our order. “Are you ready?”

She wraps both hands around her coffee cup. “Hit me.”

For more than a day, my overflowing curiosity has been contained by a dam named Brenna. Now that she’s broken, there’s no stopping the flood.

“Is he a good kisser? What’s our penis situation like? Did he go down on you? Did you sleep with him? Why did you do this? Is he annoying in bed? Do you regret it? Is he—”

“Omigod!” Brenna exclaims. “I am not answering any of that.”

I get one last question in before the buzzer. “Do you have a boyfriend now?”

“No, but I have an ex-best friend,” she says sweetly.

I ignore that. “Speaking of your boyfriend, he walked in on me in the shower this morning.”

That momentarily distracts her from whatever murder plot she’s devising about me in her head. “What?”

“Hollis walked in on me showering.”

She perks up. “Nice. So I don’t need to punish you for referring to him as my boyfriend. The universe did it for me.”

“It was so embarrassing.” I fill her in on the morning’s theatrics, ending with the grand finale: my towel dropping in front of three boxers-clad college boys.

She purses her lips. “You just described the setup for a porno, so I assume the scene ended with you jacking them all off?”

“No, you brat. It ended with Fitz promising to fix the lock. Which was nice of him,” I force myself to add.

“See? I told you, he’s a good guy.”

“Are you sure about that? Because I saw him outside my lecture hall earlier and he didn’t even say hello. He looked right at me and then ignored me.”

“Maybe he didn’t see you.”

“Did you miss the part where I literally just said he looked at me?”

She lets out a sigh. “He’s really not as bad as you think, Summer.” Under her breath, she mumbles, “Hollis, on the other hand…”

I pounce like a jackalope. Well, if a jackalope pounces, that is. And if I knew what a jackalope was. “If Hollis is such a bad guy, then why’d you sleep with him?”

“Because I was drunk. And we didn’t sleep together.”

“As I recall, you weren’t wearing pants yesterday morning…”

“I’m not sure if you learned this in sex ed, but it is possible to be naked with someone and not have sex.” She throws me another bone by relenting, “He’s not a terrible kisser.”

“Are you going to hook up with him again?”

“Absolutely not.”

Our food arrives, and Brenna is extra speedy about taking a huge bite of her club sandwich. I suspect it’s so she doesn’t have to talk.

I pick at my chicken Caesar salad with my fork, my appetite easing slightly as I remember what else happened today. “Some girl in my History of Fashion class asked Fitz out.”

Brenna answers while chewing. “Really? Who?”

“Nora something or other. This little indie chick with pink hair.” I take a tiny bite of my salad. “He said yes.”

“How do you know he said yes?”

“I heard her telling her friends.”

“Okay.” Brenna swallows and sets the sandwich on her plate. “I’m not sure what the proper response is—do you want me to be happy for Fitzy that he’s gettin’ some, or outraged on your behalf because you still have a thing for him?”

“I don’t have a thing for him,” I object instantly.

“Doth protest, et cetera et cetera.”

I glare at her. “Of course doth protest. I’m not attracted to guys who think I’m fluff.”

“Mmm-hmmm. So you’re saying if he called you up right now and said, Hey Summer, I’d like to take you on a date and possibly show you my penis at the end of it? You’re telling me you’d say no?”

“One hundred percent.”

“Bullshit.”

“Fitz can date every woman at this college for all I care. He blew his chance with me.”

“Bullshit.”

“He did.”

“Bullshit.”

I growl in aggravation. “You’re such a child.”

“Right. I’m the child. Just admit you still like him.”

“Sure, if you admit you enjoyed fooling around with Hollis,” I challenge.

It’s a stalemate.

Brenna shrugs and resumes eating. I keep picking at my salad. My appetite is completely gone now, because the knowledge that Fitz is going out with another girl bothers me much more than I thought it would.

In high school, I was a cheerleader, captain of the dance team, and co-captain of the girls’ swim team. The latter meant that I didn’t just hang out with hot football players, but hot swimmers as well. The boys with the lean muscles and smooth, aerodynamic bodies. So I’m not at all fazed the next evening as I lounge on the couch next to a very hairless Mike Hollis.

The bare arm resting haphazardly on the cushion between us and the bare legs up on the coffee table don’t have a single hair on them, yet somehow this doesn’t take away from his masculinity. Hollis might be annoying, but he does have sex appeal, I’ll give him that.

Also, he and I—and this slightly horrifies me, as I’m not sure what it says about me—have a lot more in common than I ever could have imagined. In the past hour, I’ve discovered that he prefers tea to coffee, isn’t ashamed to say he loves Harry Styles’ solo album, and is as obsessed with the movie Titanic as I am. It’s currently playing on one of the movie networks the guys subscribe to. We landed on it at the halfway point, and the film is now gearing up for all the epic, devastating moments.

“We might need to turn it off before the real shit goes down,” he warns me. Then he snickers at his own pun. “Goes down, get it? Like the ship.”

“Yes, Mike. I got it.” I lift my socked feet on the table, nudging his left foot with my right one. “And we can’t turn it off. The ending scenes are the best ones.”

“Babe. Please. I’m not in the mood to cry tonight.”

Laughter bubbles in my throat. His serious expression tells me he’s not even joking. “Which part gets you? Mother reading to her children? Old couple on the bed?”

“All of the above. And don’t get me started on Jack’s senseless death. Goddamn unnecessary.”

I nod wholeheartedly. “There was room for two on the door.”

“Damn right there was. It was even myth-busted. He didn’t have to die.”

When my phone chimes, I tear my gaze off young Leonardo DiCaprio’s beautiful face. Though really, his face is as beautiful now as it was then. He’s an ageless wonder.

I read the incoming text from Hunter, who’d gone out tonight with a few guys from the team. I stayed home because Brenna had been supposed to come over and hang out. I have a feeling that’s the only reason Hollis stayed behind too. But she canceled at the last minute, hence why Hollis and I are alone.

Fitz isn’t home either, but I’m trying very hard not to dwell on why that is.

“Hunter wants to know if you want him to bring you some chicken wings,” I tell Hollis.

“How is this a question?”

“Is that a yes?”

“What do you think?”

“I think it’s a yes,” I say irritably, “but I’d like to be sure.”

“I won’t even justify his question with an answer.”

I swear one day I’m going to murder this guy. I text Hunter a yes to the wings, then send a message to Brenna.

It takes a second to figure out “GB” means Greenwich Barbie. Grinning, I type back, All good. J/k anyway. Well, not about the annoying part. Because he is.

She punctuates that with the middle finger emoji. Just to mess with her, I turn to Hollis and say, “Brenna says hi.”

His blue eyes light up. “Legit? Tell her to give me her number already. I’m tired of begging for it.” He stops, his gaze dropping to the phone in my hand. “Better yet, how about you give it to me and I’ll tell her directly?”

Oh my God. She won’t even let him have her precious phone number? Poor guy. I want so badly to laugh, but I think it might hurt his feelings.

“Sorry, sweetie,” I say lightly. “Can’t do that. It’s against hoe-code.”

Despite his disappointed expression, he leans over and drops a solemn pat on my shoulder. “I respect that. We all need to live by a code.” His attention returns to the film. “Jesus fuck, Kate Winslet looks so hot wielding an axe.”

I snort out a laugh. We watch as Kate wades through knee-deep water to rescue a handcuffed Leo. “See, rich girls can be badasses,” I tell Hollis.

“If that’s your way of offering to break my handcuffs with an axe, I graciously decline. In no way do I trust your aim.”

“No? How’s this for aim?” Lightning fast, I grab a peanut from the can of mixed nuts we’ve been passing back and forth and flick it at him.

It hits him smack in the forehead and bounces off with an actual ping.

I curl over, inconsolable with laughter. “Why…did…it…make…that…sound?” I wheeze, trying to catch my breath. My stomach hurts from the force of my giggles. “Mike! Do you have a metal plate in your forehead?”

Hollis is as perplexed as I am. “Dude. I didn’t think I did. Now I just want to call my mom and ask.”

I’m still howling when the front door creaks open. I expect Hunter to appear with a platter of chicken wings, but it’s Fitz’s broad body that fills the doorway. Almost immediately, my laughter dies.

He went out with Nora Ridgeway tonight. Hollis was teasing him about it earlier when Fitz came downstairs in nice jeans and a light blue button-down.

Oh, and no beard.

That’s right. He shaved for her. And unlike Professor Laurie, whose beard removal made him appear prepubescent, Fitz is all man with or without the facial hair. If anything, the clean-shaven look emphasizes his masculine features more—the hard slash of his jaw, the sexy mouth, dimpled chin. I almost fainted with desire earlier when I realized he’s got a cleft in his chin.

“Hey. What’s so funny?” he asks gruffly, glancing from me to Hollis.

“My skull is made of metal,” Hollis replies. “How’d your date go?”

It’s barely ten thirty. I wonder if his early return is a good sign, but Fitz squashes that notion by saying, “Pretty good.”

I promised myself I wouldn’t ask a single question about his stupid date.

My mouth doesn’t feel like obeying.

“I’m surprised you went out with a fashion major,” I blurt out.

He shrugs, leaning one shoulder against the doorframe. “She’s also a Visual Arts major. Her medium’s abstract painting.”

Of course it is. Nora seems like the kind of girl who’d throw a glob of black and pink paint on a canvas and then stand there pontificating about how the “piece” represents anarchy and/or the inequality of women.

“I see. So you spent the whole time discussing Monet and Dalí, I suppose?” I meant to tease, but the words sound almost like an attack.

Fitz senses it too. His eyes narrow. “We talked art, yeah. Is that a problem?”

“Of course not. Why would it be?”

“I don’t know. Why would it?”

“I just said it wasn’t.” My teeth clench as I reach for my water bottle. I have a hard time swallowing on account of my tense jaw, but I manage. “I’m glad you two share similar interests. Imagine how dreadful it would’ve been if she spent the whole night babbling about the Kardashians.” I cap the bottle, hastily adding, “Not that there’s anything wrong with the Kardashians.” I adore Kim and the crew. I think they’re all savvy businesswomen, if I’m being honest.

“I love the Kardashians,” Hollis chimes in.

“If you say one word about their butts,” I warn.

“I like the show,” he assures me. “It’s funny.”

“Liar. No way you watch the show.”

“Bible.”

I gasp. “Oh my God. Okay. We’ll discuss the current season later.” To Fitz, I say, “Sounds like a super-fun date. All that art talk. Real deep.”

He props one hand on the door jamb. “Any reason why you’re being a bitch right now?”

What?

“Whoa,” Hollis murmurs.

I gape at Fitz. My hand trembles around the water bottle. Did he seriously call me a bitch? I don’t think I’ve ever heard that word exit his mouth before. And for it to be directed at me? Hurt and anger war in my stomach, making it churn.

The anger wins out.

Slamming the bottle on the table, I get up and advance on him. “I can’t believe you just said that.”

“Really? So you’re allowed to sit there and make snarky comments, but it’s unfathomable for me to call you on it?”

“Guys,” Hollis interjects.

“I wasn’t being snarky,” I snap.

“You were mocking Nora,” he snaps back. “That’s snark in my book. And this isn’t the first time you’ve been bitchy toward me, Summer. You honestly think I haven’t noticed?”

“Noticed what? That I don’t particularly want to be around you?” I plant my hands on my hips. “I wasn’t trying to hide it.”

“Exactly. You’ve been openly bitchy.”

“Stop calling me a bitch!”

“Stop acting like one!”

“Guys,” Hollis chides.

“Why are you always yelling at me?” I growl at Fitz. “I never hear you yell at anyone else.”

“Because nobody else drives me insane like this.” He angrily drags both hands through his hair. “One minute you’re all smiles and hugs on New Year’s, the next you’re—”

“We are not discussing New Year’s,” I interrupt. “Not after what you—” I stop abruptly.

A crease appears in his forehead. “After what?”

“After what?” Hollis echoes curiously.

“I just told you, we’re not discussing it.”

“Discussing what?” Fitz demands. “I still have no clue what you’re talking about. What is it I supposedly did?”

I slam my lips together.

He searches my face for a few seconds. Then his eyes take on a gleam of determination. Oh no. I’m starting to recognize that expression.

“You know what, we’re dealing with this right fucking now.” He takes a menacing step forward. “‘Scuse us, Mike.”

“Naw, man, this was just getting good!”

I hold up my hands in a defensive pose as Fitz edges toward me. “Don’t you dare,” I caution. “Don’t you fucking—”

I’m being flung over his shoulder before I can finish that sentence.

Un-frigging-believable!

“How is this happening again?” I shriek.

My protests fall on deaf ears, because Fitz is already carting me up the stairs.