Dirty Girl (The Hot Mess Series), Volume 1

by Chelsea M. Cameron

  But I couldn’t make any of it happen.

  I just stood there, completely thunderstruck.

  “I’ve actually thought about you a lot. Because I know how things looked with Spencer. If you even remember any of this. I know it’s been a few years.” Her words came out in a rush and it took a minute to process them. Oh, she thought that I didn’t remember her making out with my boyfriend in front of me. Like I was gonna forget something like that? How cute.

  “You’re saying you’re sorry? Now? It’s been, what, four years? A little more? You know what, you can take your apology and shove it up your ass.” I was full of rage and caffeine, and my brain was finally catching up to the situation at hand.

  I grabbed my cappuccino and turned around, trying to storm out of the bookshop. Of course, my way was blocked by other browsing customers, so I had to say “excuse me” and sneak by them while not spilling my drink. Way to go, Blake. I was really having just a great week.

  Finally, I made it out of the shop, but someone was behind me.

  “Can we talk?” I didn’t even want to turn around.

  Three

  Obviously, I turned around. I wanted to cross my arms to match my scowl, but the cappuccino prevented that, so I decided to toss it in the trash. The bookstore had been pleasantly air-conditioned, but outside was stifling. I could feel the boob sweat collecting in my bra already.

  Why, oh why, had I stepped into the cute little bookshop? Why couldn’t I have bought some beautiful shoes that would have hurt my feet instead?

  “I’m sorry,” Quinn said. The more I stared at her, the more I wondered why I didn’t recognize her right away. Other than the hair, she looked basically the same. Older, yes, but still perfect. She’d been polished in high school too. Pretty and popular and smart and athletic. Seriously, the girl had everything. And then she decided she wanted my boyfriend and the dick thought that he wanted her too. Fucker.

  Flashes of high school flipped through my head like a highlight reel. Or maybe a lowlight reel. High school hadn’t been great for me. I’d been closeted (even to myself, but that was another story) and things just... hadn’t been great. I mean, my relationship with Spencer hadn’t been great either, but I could still feel that betrayal as if it had happened yesterday. He had been my first boyfriend and I’d enjoyed the increase in status he brought with the title. Sweet, naïve Blake.

  “I don’t fucking care if you’re sorry. You fucked me over. It’s done. Over. You got what you wanted. How is Spencer, by the way?” I spit his name out as if it tasted badly, which, it did. I could never trust anyone else who had that name, or any variation of it.

  Quinn opened her mouth and then closed it.

  “You know what, I don’t even care. This has been a shit week, and you’re just making it worse. Bye.” I turned around again, but she called out to me.

  “I want to talk. To tell you what happened. That’s it. You can take it or leave it. But I want to tell you so that we can move on.” I didn’t want to move on. I wanted to watch her and Spencer go down in flames. Okay, maybe not anything that dramatic, but I wanted them to feel a portion of the pain they had given me.

  I paused for a fraction of a second. I didn’t want to hear her empty words and excuses. But a little microscopic part of my brain told me to stop and consider what she might have to say. That party had been a complete nightmare and maybe, just maybe, if I heard her out, it would help ease the sting a little. Or it might throw me down the pit of despair again. Could go either way. The days I spent locked in my room, watching too many awful reality shows and eating my weight in peanut butter Oreos were still so fresh in my mind. What a way to start the summer after your senior year, right?

  I pivoted around and gazed at her. I wish I had a definitive way to tell if she was sincere, or if she was just doing this to fuck me over again. Where was my lie detector? What I did know was that walking away would leave me always wondering.

  “Okay. But you’re buying me food.” She nodded immediately, and some of the tension in her perfect brows released. I wasn’t even going to begin to let myself start considering the fact that she was attractive. Evil people were almost always hot. Like, hello, Maleficent.

  “Fine,” she said and took a step toward me. I put my hand up.

  “That’s close enough.” She nodded again, and I realized if we were going to see each other again for said dinner, I was going to have to coordinate that.

  I sighed and rattled off my number and she added it in her phone and sent a message to mine.

  “Um, let me know when you’re free. And you can pick any restaurant.” Good. I was going to pick somewhere obscenely expensive. It was the least she could do. I deserved a grilled cheese covered in gold leaf, dammit.

  “Fine,” I said, and I turned back around without saying goodbye. My entire day had been ruined by Quinn Riley.

  Again.

  YOU WILL NOT BELIEVE the day I have had, I texted Lizzie after I walked away from Quinn. I ducked into a few stores before I found a hipster coffee place where I could sit and process what the fuck had actually happened today.

  Tell me tell meeeee

  I sighed and typed out the whole saga. Lizzie already knew about the Quinn/Spencer fiasco, so I didn’t have to rehash that, thankfully. My hands shook and there were numerous typos, but I sent the message anyway. She would get the idea.

  Oh fucking HELL no

  I burst out laughing. Such a typical Lizzie response. If I were more like her, I would have told Quinn to fuck off using the most scathing prose and flounced away as onlookers applauded me.

  You don’t need to listen to her try and make herself feel better. I knew that, but part of me wondered if it might help me feel better. Maybe even a tiny bit, and that would be good, right?

  I couldn’t really explain why I wanted to go to Lizzie. I also didn’t mention that Quinn looked even more beautiful now than she’d been in high school. That was beside the point. Completely irrelevant.

  Thinking about Quinn made me think about Spencer. Dating him was one of those things that you thought about years after the fact at three in the morning and got horribly embarrassed about still. I mean, it wasn’t his fault that I’d been so closeted that I’d tried to be aggressively heterosexual and he happened to be the guy who filled that role. It was his fault (that fucker) for kissing Quinn when we’d still be together. Sure, we were on the rocks and he had basically told me he didn’t want to go to college with a girlfriend, but we had still. Been. Together. There was no excuse.

  Over the years I’d thought about looking him up online. Trying to see what he was up to. I’d never had the guts to do it.

  Until now.

  The first thing I did when I got back to my apartment, other than feeding and getting water for Bonbon, was to look him up on social media. He came right up, especially since we still had some mutual friends. I hadn’t stayed in touch with many people from high school, but there were a few I was purely social media friends with.

  Spencer had such a completely punchable face. Still. I had no idea what the fuck I’d been thinking when I picked him to be my boyfriend, except that he was there and he agreed to go out with me. He was popular, and I hadn’t been. I’d been astonished that he would even agree to go out with me, but he turned out to be a fucking snake, so who knows what other bullshit he was pulling behind my back.

  I tossed my phone away and groaned. Bonbon hopped over and put his paws on my knees. I picked him up and settled him in my lap.

  “Am I making another bad decision?” I asked Bonbon, who just wiggled his nose and tried to nibble my sleeve. So helpful.

  I COULDN’T SLEEP THAT night. I kept reliving the moment that I’d collided with Quinn, and then everything that had happened after. I kept reliving the whole conversation, everything she had said, the way she looked. And, of course, I couldn’t stop thinking about the things I should have said. You always thought of the most brilliant zingers after the fact, and this situation w
as no exception.

  I also started writing my script for the dinner. I hadn’t texted her back to suggest a date and time, but the weekend was coming up and I figured that was as good a time as any. I just wanted to get this over with.

  I was going to hear her out, eat a shit ton of expensive food, ignore what she said, and then flip my hair and walk out. I was also going to wear my sexiest and most confident outfit, just to put an exclamation point on the whole situation. I was going to get my moment. At last.

  Four

  My plan started to break down when I couldn’t find my favorite dress in my closet. I tore everything apart. I looked under my bed. I looked in the laundry room. I looked everywhere. Gone. I couldn’t begin to imagine where the fuck it went. I hoped that wherever it was, it was happy and fulfilled and was living out its dreams.

  I had other clothes, but I had my heart set on that dress and now that I couldn’t wear it, I wanted to call the whole thing off. I’d finally texted Quinn that I would meet her at a restaurant I knew to be fancy as fuck at 7:30 on Friday night. She messaged back that she had gotten a reservation. Right. I hadn’t thought about that.

  Whatever. It was happening. Lizzie thought it was a terrible idea. I’d asked her not to tell the rest of our friends about it, and she had kept her mouth shut, but I could tell it was killing her. She wanted someone else to back her up on how this was a terrible idea.

  “She’s just going to use you to make herself feel better. I mean, what is she going to say that’s going to change what happened?”

  “I don’t know. That’s what I want to find out.” She just shook her head.

  “I wish I could talk you out of this.” And I knew my other friends would, too. My life might be a complete fucking disaster, but I had some of the best friends in the entire world. If nothing else, I knew they would hold me up when I tripped and fell, as I did, all the time. They weren’t tired of me yet, somehow.

  Now I was deciding on another outfit, and nothing was making me happy. I honestly didn’t have the money, but I wanted something new since I couldn’t have my favorite dress. I made another trip out and hit three stores before I found something that I liked and could also afford. I really needed to get this job shit sorted. I had updated my resume and had been scanning job sites, but so far nothing was standing out. I’d probably get fucking desperate and just take anything, which was how I’d gotten the last job, and the one before that.

  I wasn’t going to think about that shit right now. I was going to buy something pretty and sexy and put it on my credit card. Instead of going to my usual discount stores, I went to a vintage thrift store. I couldn’t afford designer, but I could afford used designer. Maybe I’d even get a bag to match.

  I grabbed whatever struck my fancy and headed to the dressing room. The first three dresses didn’t fit, but I was okay with that. The last was my favorite, and I’d saved it for last because I was hoping that it would fit. It was a vintage dress that looked like it was ripped from the costume department of Mad Men in the early seasons. It was black with gold sequins on the hem of a skirt that popped out and swirled from the waist. The top was sleeveless and high-necked, and it hit all the right spots on my body, and fit like a dream. The sequins were sewn on in flower patterns and I couldn’t stop twirling around and looking at myself. My hair was a disaster and I realized that holy hell, I needed a haircut. All my ends were totally split. My natural shade was pretty close to the very light blonde I dyed it to be, so my roots weren’t horrible yet. I’d been doing my own hair color for years, and didn’t have any intention of stopping.

  I walked out of the dressing room after changing out of the amazing dress, paid for it, and walked to the closest salon that took walk-ins. The person who did my hair was cute as hell and I got really distracted when they asked me what I wanted. I looked in the mirror and sighed.

  “I want to look hot as fuck,” I said. Their eyes got big for a second, and then they smiled.

  “I can do that.”

  While I got my hair done, I told my stylist (whose name was Gwen and had a pronoun button that said “they/them” on it) about the whole thing. They made sympathetic noises and shook their head and listened without making comments. It was nice to have someone not tell me that I was doing the wrong thing or the right thing because honestly, I had no idea at this point and wouldn’t until after everything had all shaken down.

  “I just don’t want to wonder, you know? Because... I guess... I guess I’m thinking maybe I was wrong about the whole thing. I know what I saw and I know how I reacted, but there is a little voice that keeps telling me that I was wrong, or that I imagined the whole thing, or I overreacted.”

  Gwen nodded and turned on the hair dryer. They were really good at their job. I sat and thought as they blew out my hair and then styled it, curling my new long bob ever so slightly.

  “I could do your makeup, if you want. Totally up to you.” Sure, why not? I was blowing my money anyway, might as well go for it.

  I told Gwen about my dress and they decided to follow with the theme and did a heavy dark liner along with bright red lips. I totally loved it and gave them a huge tip.

  “I hope it all works out. Come in and see me again and let me know.” I waved goodbye and dashed back home, trying not to mess up my face on the way. I had a habit of forgetting that I had makeup on my face and then rubbing it with my hands and ruining everything.

  So far, so good. I got the dress on and zipped up without screwing up my hair or my face. I did one last check before I grabbed the pretty gold bag I had bought on a whim, said goodbye to Bonbon, and locked the door.

  It was time.

  WE HAD AGREED TO MEET at the restaurant, to save either of us from having to ride in a car together. I had timed everything so that I would be at least five minutes early, but then there was a delay on the T, and I ended up rushing there five minutes late.

  I walked in totally out of breath and with my hair flying everywhere. So much for my dramatic and pulled-together entrance.

  The hostess led me to the table, and I tripped on my shoes. I’d worn flats because I thought that would help with potential tripping, but apparently not. Quinn stood up and I almost fell over again.

  She just... Wow. That was my initial reaction. I completely forgot about everything in the face of Quinn Riley wearing a suit. A fucking suit. With a skinny tie and holy fucking shit, there were suspenders too. Her sparkling purple hair was in a neat ponytail that fell down her back in loose waves.

  I blinked a few times because she just didn’t look real. She didn’t look like a person who existed in the physical world. Only in dreams. And only in my very best dreams.

  “Hi,” she said, looking me up and down and then gesturing to the chair. “Do you want to sit down?”

  Did I want to what? It took a second for my brain to process her words. Oh, sitting. Right. I should do that before my legs gave out anyway. I pulled my chair out and somehow figured out how to sit, but then I remembered the dress and had to arrange the skirt so I was comfortable.

  Quinn sat down gracefully (of course) and looked across at me. Everything about her said “poise” except for the fact that one of her legs was jumping up and down under the table. Phew. She might be human after all.

  “Thank you so much for coming,” she said, but was interrupted by our waiter taking our drink orders and telling us about the specials. I didn’t understand any of what he said, and ordered a glass of Riesling. Quinn got a glass of some fancy wine I’d never heard of. Great, she was also classy as fuck.

  Focus.

  The waiter left us alone with our menus and I scanned the complicated script, but I couldn’t make much sense of the words. Reading had become impossible. And there were no prices on anything. I knew what that meant. This place was ex-pen-sive. Good, I wasn’t paying.

  Silence draped over the table as we both studied our menus. I was trying to decide between filet mignon or scallops for my meal when I peaked over the top
of my menu at Quinn. She had her face buried in it, so I could only see the top of her head. She must have felt me looking at her and glanced up. Our eyes locked and I was the first to look away.

  Awesome.

  The waiter came back and we still hadn’t said anything to each other. We ordered our starters and then main courses. I decided to go for the filet mignon because I’d never had it before and figured now was as good a time as any to try it.

  The waiter took our menus, so there was nothing to do but stare at the tablecloth. Quinn sipped her wine and I started to think we were going to get through this entire dinner without exchanging a word with each other. Then she spoke.

  “I know you don’t owe me anything, but I’m really happy that you decided to meet with me. I figured the least I could do was pay for your meal, so you get a free dinner out of it.” Her mouth turned up in a wry smile and I felt my heart trip and fall over itself. Ouch.

  What was happening to me? I took a gulp of wine and nearly choked.

  “Go ahead,” I said with a nod and she looked down into her wineglass for a minute.

  “He told me you had broken up. He told me a lot of things. I have no excuse, Blake. I really don’t. I was young and confused and I just wanted to kiss a boy so I could say that I’d kissed a boy in high school. It was so stupid, Blake.” She shook her head a little.

  “That was your first kiss?” I blurted out. That wasn’t the most important thing in what she said, but I still wanted to know.

  “Yes. I was desperate. I didn’t want to be the girl who had never kissed a boy. And I was until he came up to me and said I looked good in my bikini. I’d never gotten any attention from him before. I asked him about you, and he said that you had broken up the week before. I didn’t know any different. I made a bad decision. And I’m sorry. I will never get the look on your face out of my mind. I knew right then he had lied to me. You didn’t see what happened after, I guess. I, uh, might have dumped an entire bottle of barbecue sauce on his head. Followed by a tub of cole slaw. It was a big mess.”