boston {h.s.}

vingt-trois.*

WEDNESDAY CAME FASTER than I could have expected. In the moment, the passage of time was excruciatingly and painfully slow. Though, now, sitting in the car with Asher's hand clasped in mine, I'm aware that it all happened rather fast.

Fast in the same way that we are out of the car and through security. Fast in the way that every hair on my body is sticking up from fear of seeing Coley. Fast in the way that my eyes dart all over the place, not settling for long just out of the fear of being in this building. Fast in the way that I fear that Harry will appear out of nowhere—smug and intent on ruining the best thing in my life.

Of course, none of my fears are recognized.

Easily we find our way to our familiar seats. By the time that we arrive there, Coley is already in her favorite seat in the corner. Harry's jersey adorns her body. Unsurprisingly, it's too big on her. It falls nearly down to her knees, though, she doesn't look bothered by it in the slightest.

She doesn't notice us when we walk in, and I'm thankful for it. I'm even more thankful for the sound of snapping gum in my ear, suffocating perfume, and long fingernails waggling in front of my face. "You're Margeaux," the voice says, the gum snapping and the fingers still wagging. Beside me, Asher doesn't release his hand from mine, though he does have to work double time to stop himself from laughing in her face.

"I am," I agree, nodding my head slowly. I look at her: blonde hair and bright blue eyes, she's no one that I've ever seen before. "I'm sorry, do I know you?"

"No," she laughs and the sound is entirely faked. Though, it seems to be her genuine laugh. "Jaren told me that I would find you here."

For a second—only a second—I am caught up in my own thoughts to think straight. So scared of Coley's company, it takes me but a second to put together that she is referring to Rooney and I realize that she must be his newest flavor of the week.

Now, it's my turn to stifle a laugh.

"Did he?" I ask, feigning fascination in her conversation. He filters through women faster than I've ever seen anyone before. I never make an effort of learning their names. Not anymore. Rooney is the type to not have a type—he accepts anyone who is willing. He doesn't get frustrated or annoyed by the oppressive perfumes or the fake nails that are sharper than their instincts.

"Mhm," she proudly nods her head and extends her hand as though to shake it. "Carleigh," she introduces herself.

"Margeaux," I respond. "And this is my boyfriend, Asher." I pull him in closer to my side. He complies with the request easily and without complaint.

"Nice to meet you."

"Charmed." She drawls, leaning in to press a kiss against his cheeks.

Asher freezes, but returns the gesture with as much confidence as he can muster. "I presume Rooney told you that you could sit with me?" Without fail, Rooney always offers any of his flings a ticket up to the box. Without fail, he always sends them to me for entertainment or explanation of the game.

Typically, I find it to be a nuisance. Tonight, I don't mind in the slightest. Her company acts as a buffer between Coley and I.

The thought of looking at Coley and knowing what I know breaks my heart. Looking at Asher for the first time had had something of the same effect. With him, though, I feel some sort of control of the situation. I know that at the end of this game, Harry and I will talk. We've not spoken since he left the Cape house and that was for the better. Upon our reunion, our remorse will be tangible and obvious. For me, it is. Following the end of the chat, I will return to Asher and I will confess my sins.