When someone dies mysteriously during a Psych experiment, Rhiannon becomes enmeshed in a conspiracy that includes both the survivors and the killer.
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Short on cash, Rhiannon...
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CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
NORMATIVE INFLUENCE
( — group effects that arise from individuals' desire to be liked, accepted, and approved of by others. )
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THE WIND WHOOSHES. Rhiannon's teeth chatter. Rowan stares at her like she's an idiot.
Granted, she can't see his eyes thanks to his sunglasses, but there's only one person she has seen him look at with total adoration, and that's Isla. Everyone else gets the scowl, the furrowed eyebrows and the firmly clenched jaw. It sends shivers down her spine, reminding her she's not nearly as special as she thinks she is, but it's also reassuring to know that special treatment also applies to being disliked.
Well, sort of.
It's always easier to shove all the blame to her parents—and Stephanie, to some extent, as she was never under as much pressure as Rhiannon was—but it takes guts and a lot of introspective work to realize she's been at fault sometimes. Her fear of being disliked has made her create some sort of a protective shell that delivers the world exactly what she received in the past.
It doesn't always work. Not even close.
She can't look away from the bruise on his cheek. It looks horribly fresh, and she hadn't seen him in two weeks, ever since the utter fiasco that was her birthday, and she really can't find a reason behind that damn bruise. While he might be biting off a lot more than he can chew, getting involved in things that definitely don't concern him, he's the one out of all of them who's been managing to mind their own business.
Rowan snaps his fingers in front of her eyes and she instinctively blinks. "Earth to walking Fleetwood Mac reference."
"What?"
He drops his hand. "Rhiannon. That's a Fleetwood Mac song." She doesn't move, waiting for him to elaborate. "You know Fleetwood Mac . . . right? Landslide? Go Your Own Way?"
"I know who they are. They're my sister's favorite band, but my name is definitely not a reference. My parents must have . . . looked all over for the most random name they could find."
"We're not Fleetwood Mac references," she chimes in, firmly crossing her arms. "Get to the point or let me leave. Some of us are freezing and want to go back to bed. If this is about Isla's birthday, you don't have to get her anything fancy, but make sure to not miss it; she and Jude always celebrate their birthdays together." She clenches her jaw, remembering the birthdays are coming up and she keeps forgetting about it. "Can I go now?"
