Peyton Church is a city girl by anyone's standards. Born and raised in New York City, she grew up wanting for nothing. She attended the most prestigious preparatory schools, shopped on Fifth Avenue, dined with the rich and famous and was adored by...
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"WHAT DO YOU mean you slept with him?!" Addy hisses, balancing three plates on her arm.
I motion for her to quiet down, clearing the glasses from the table. "Can you be any louder?"I ask sarcastically, eyeing the few patrons left in the diner below age twenty-five. With an exhausted sigh, I head for the kitchen to drop off the dishes, Addison filing closely behind.
"I mean just that," I explain, glasses clattering into the sink. "We slept in the same bed. That's it. I woke up the next morning and there we were, fully clothed, with Cameron happily lying on the other side of me. It was weird."
Addy snorts a laugh. "Good luck convincing Eliza."
I throw a glare over my shoulder in her direction as I stride out of the kitchen to the sound of the bell on the front door chiming.
"Welcome to Pauli's," I announce, plastering on a winning smile, only to have it sour the second I recognize the girl with the flaming red hair and caked on makeup.
Girl seriously needed to learn how to blend.
"Sorry," I apologize flatly, remaining safely behind the counter. "We don't serve psychotic gingersnaps here. I think you'll have to try someplace else."
Clarissa only scoffs, flicking her hair over her shoulder and narrowly missing the lackey flanking her on her left. "You couldn't pay me enough to eat here, even if you were still rich."
I have to silently remind myself not to come out from behind the counter and scratch her face off. Even if Addy's mom isn't in the restaurant at the moment, it's a small town, and I don't doubt she'd hear about it fairly quickly if her newest waitress went psycho on a customer.
"In that case," I say instead, taking the high road that wouldn't end with me catching a mugshot, "order something or get out. This restaurant is for paying customers only."
Turning her right, Clarissa makes a show of waving down Addison. "Maddy, be a doll and get a water for me. Light ice, two slices of lemon."
Addison's cheek flush a deep shade of red, her eyes darting to the ground under the weight of Clarissa's expectant stare. The power she exudes over my friend makes my blood boil in my veins. So, as Clarissa gingerly takes a seat at the counter, I stride over to the pitcher of ice water we keep filled by the serving window, sloppily pour it into a glass and place it down in front of her.
Clarissa's nose scrunches up as she looks down at it in disapproval. "This is not what I ordered."
"I'm sorry, we're all out of lemons. And unless you want me to pick out that ice with my fingers—"
