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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I REALIZE I came here knowing Mia would be here. It's a Saturday night, and it's clear their routines really haven't changed since I moved away. But that doesn't mean my heart doesn't drop into my stomach at the sight of the girl I once thought of as my best friend.
Her smile is as sly and perfect as always as she looks at me. "I didn't expect to actually see you here, you know. You've been so quiet online." Mia turns her grin on Hunter and it turns downright feline. "And I certainly didn't expect you to bring your stolen trailer trash hookup with you."
It would appear we're skipping the whole "let's pretend we don't hate each other" act. Perfect. I can live with that.
I slide into my old persona like I never took it off. "And I didn't expect you'd gotten a personality transplant while I was gone. I guess that means I'm the only one not disappointed here."
Hunter's hands squeeze my waist and my shoulders relax, just a bit. You are not this girl anymore. You will not let her get to you.
Miaflips her blonde balayage over her shoulder— a definite improvement over the last time I saw her hair— and sticks a hand out in Hunter's direction. "Since Peyton doesn't seem to want to introduce us, I'm Mia Walker. A pleasure."
Mia Walker is used to guys falling over themselves for her. But Hunter— gorgeous, cocky, charming Hunter— only stares at her hand with a look of immense disinterest. After a moment he meets her sultry gaze with a bored one. "If you're going to insult me, at least get your facts straight. I live on a farm, not in a trailer park. And I'm her boyfriend, not a hookup, or is that a foreign concept to you?"
Her smile falls into a hard line almost instantly, and I choke back a laugh. "Wow, Peyton," she sneers. "I never thought you'd be okay hearing a guy call a girl a slut."
"He didn't call you a slut, Mia," I clarify. I'm already exhausted by this conversation. "He's just smart enough to realize no guy with a brain could tolerate you long enough for it to be considered a relationship."
She snaps back with a creative, "Takes one to know one."
At this point, we've caught the attention of the people around us. A few have their phones out, because we live in an age where a video of a couple of socialites in a cat fight can skyrocket you to viral standing overnight. I even realize that I recognize a couple faces hanging back behind Mia.
Why the hell did I want this confrontation again? What the actual fuck do I stand to gain? Nothing.
"Look Mia," I start, holding out a hand in truce. "I'm only in town to see my dad this weekend. I brought my friends to see the city. Standing here trading blows with you isn't going to do anything for either of us. How about we just go our separate ways and forget all about each other?"
