Hard Facts by Penny Clarke

25

Summer

Unbelievable. Un-fucking-believable.

“Do you fucking see that?” I scoff, falling against Walsh’s side.

“The act?” Rylie looks the other way. At the stage, where a tall, fiercely sassy queen wows the bar audience with a glitzy dance of glitter and glam, all under twinkling multicolored lights. “She’s amazing, right? I’m telling Levi we need to sign up for pole dancing classes, like, right now.”

“No,” I pick up my shot glass and direct her attention to the bar. “Them.”

Both Rylie and Kennedy look, wincing when they see I’m staring open-mouthed at Natalie Mason and my little sis, gabbing like lifelong bosom pals.

I’d brought Liz along at the last minute. Because I had no idea what to expect from my first girls night with Grayson’s friends. Possibly, it occurred to me, I might need reinforcements. Someone at my back. In my corner. In case this was all a trap and Natalie didn’t actually want me here.

But having instantly hit it off, they now wait for the bartender to bring them the next round of drinks. Natalie’s parents, it turns out, are music teachers. And her little brother’s in band. Or a band?

Something like that, I didn’t really catch it, since the drag show’s music is as loud as it is proud.

Also, because what the fuck?!

Liz is my little sis. And Natalie’s my boyfriend’s friend. You wouldn’t think they’d only been introduced tonight, seeing how chummy they are with each other. All buddy-buddy. Thick as fucking thieves.

I pout at the shot glass in my hand. Down it. Flinch as it burns down my throat. Equal parts vodka, rum, gin, and tequila. The leg spreader, I’d texted Grayson. And he’d sent back, Thought I already did that for you. And fuck, why isn’t Gray here now, pushing my thighs wide open again with his super hard cock and—

I may have already had a few.

Deliberately setting the glass down, I cringe at several other empty ones in a row on the table. I never meant to get this drunk, this fast. But I’d been flabbergasted at Natalie’s easy acceptance of Liz’s presence after a mere two minutes, while I’ve been developing frostbite from her cold shoulder for months.

“I don’t get it,” I whine to Rylie and Kennedy. “What’d I do to piss her off? Was she like this when she met you guys?”

The two share a rueful look. Seems I’m not the only one who’s noticed Natalie’s standoffish reception.

Rylie reluctantly admits, “Never. We got along great.”

“The only person we’ve ever seen her really act this way towards…” Walsh stalls, and when I prompt her, she sighs, “Is Meegan.”

So I’m basically on the same level as Spencer Armstrong’s psycho ex. Awesome.

“But she’s way worse with Meegan. It’s not you, Summer,” Rylie says. “Well, we don’t think it’s you exactly.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Fuck it. I down another shot.

Kennedy gives Rylie a look like You’re not helping at all, and Rylie shrugs and drinks her beer. To me, Kennedy says, “Look, Natalie hates Meegan because Meegan royally fucked Spencer’s head after they broke up. When it comes to you… She’s just being extra cautious.” And when I ask why, Walsh tells me, “Because you’re dating Grayson. From what we know, Gray’s never had a serious girlfriend before.”

No. Because he’d only been with four women.

Five now, I correct.

Though really, we should count for way more, with all the hard work we’ve put into. All those positions and acts we’d accomplished together. The amount of times we’d ripped off each other’s clothes. Brought each other to sweaty, sticky, satisfying completion. Whether it be from him over me, me on top of him… Me astride him, backwards… Him standing over me on the bed, upside down on my back, thrusting himself into my mouth as he grabs my tits…

Oh, boy. These leg spreaders. There’s a reason for the name.

“When it comes to Gray, Natalie and Morris…” Kennedy continues. “They can be a little overbearing. A little too overprotective.”

Because Morris is his brother. And Natalie…I frown into my row of empty shot glasses. And I look to Liz. My little sis. All those shots, making it oddly so clear, even with my head so foggy.

Natalie is his sister.

For someone who’s never had a real family, they’rehis.

“They baby him,” Rylie clarifies. “Practically hold his hand so he gets to classes alright. Levi says it’s so they have something to focus on besides their repressed sexual urges.”

“That, and the running,” Kennedy mutters. To me, she assures, “Natalie likes you. Believe us. You should have seen her debating whether or not to ask you with us tonight.”

“Practically wore a hole in our living room carpet,” Rylie says.

Her smile unfurls a block in my chest. Because maybe Gray’s right. Maybe I do have a girl crush. And maybe it’s nice to know that it’s mutual.

A warm hand covers mine. I look up, and Kennedy squeezes it, giving me a sympathetic smile. I lay my heavy drunk head on her shoulder. Her red hair tickles my forehead, but when she wraps an arm around my shoulder, I stay right where I am.

“Gray and I are having sex,” I blurt out. “Finally.”

They both burst with laughter. Kennedy’s shoulder shakes under my head. “Uh, yeah, we kind of figured. We’ve barely seen Gray, and when we do, he’s always exhausted.”

“But super happy about it,” Rylie grins over her cup. “He’s been taking condoms from Levi. Like, a lot of condoms.”

“He asks Spencer for advice,” Kennedy says. Then, with a curious look, she turns to me, “What are you guys doing, anyway? Some of Gray’s questions make it sound more like acrobatics.”

“Sometimes,” I lift my head with a slur. Then, louder, “Like you don’t get freaky with your boyfriends. Our sexperiments—”

“Your what?” Their laughter’s drowned out by whoops from the crowd as the next queen takes the stage, strutting her stuff and lip-syncing to a song about wanting to feel the heat with somebody.

Liz returns to our table—without her new best friend—and sets down a pitcher of beer and another tray of shots. I debate going for another, when she gives me a look and a bottle of water. She takes the seat next to Rylie, across from me, and begins refilling hers and Kennedy’s cups. “What are we talking about?”

Kennedy nudges my arm. “Summer was just about to give us all the dirty details on what she and Gray are getting up to in the bedroom.”

“Yeah, Summer,” Rylie giddily adds. “Tell us about these… sexperiments.”

Beer splashes on the table as Liz misses pouring it in her cup. Wide-eyed, she gives me a bemused, but not completely unsurprised, look.

My little sis has definitely figured out by now where those flowers in my apartment are coming from. Since ABB’s homecoming formal has long since passed, yet the bouquets kept appearing. And though she warned me once, she hasn’t done so again. Probably because she knows I won’t listen.

Now, hearing this news—this secret I’ve been keeping from her, out in the open—I hear the silent censure behind that all-too knowing stare. Oh, Summer…

The bar whirls as I rush to stand. I wave a hand in the direction of the bathroom. “I have to… You know.”

And I leave, making my way through the bright, sparkling lights of the bar. Passing drag queens in fabulous confections of sequins and tutus and rhinestones and feathery boas. Someone calls my name, and when I turn, it’s dreading another one of Liz’s are you sure you can handle this speeches.

But it’s just Rylie. Bumping into a queen in a sultry red corset and heels taller than mine, and oh, I really need to find out where she got that outfit, because Gray would just about expire if he saw it. How fast would he come, if I were to wear something like it? Fuck, I love how fast he comes. He gets so embarrassed and I whisper that I don’t mind, it’s flattering, so fucking hot, really, how badly he wants me, and it’s not like he doesn’t make up for it after…

Ugh, these drinks are making me silly.

Rylie makes a hasty apology and tips the queen for an amazing performance on stage earlier. When she reaches me, I wait for her to tease me about sexperiments again, but instead, she opens the small purse hanging off her shoulder. “So I made this for you. But Kennedy said you have some thing about pictures, so I wasn’t sure what to do with it. I thought about giving it to Gray, but then I thought, well, why not just give it to her anyway and see—”

“Rylie,” I hold up a hand. My head spins from the rapidness of her words. “What is it?”

She hands me a piece of thick paper. From a sketchbook. When I unfold it, I’m staring right back at myself. In charcoal. Drunk on laughter, with a Wonder Woman tiara tangled in my curls.

“From your Halloween party?” She nods, and I frown at the sketch. “You drew this? From memory?”

Out of the corner of my eye, I see her nod again, but I can’t meet her smile.

“Do you…” I swallow. “Have you drawn Gray?”

“Oh, tons,” she flaps a hand. “You want one of him, too?”

I nod, a lump in my throat, as I carefully fold that paper again and tuck it in the pocket of my dress. Rylie bounces on her heels, pleased that I’d liked it. And before she goes, I hug her. Quickly. Before she even has time to realize what’s happening. But with a laugh, she returns to our table, and I continue to the bathroom, wondering why the fuck my mascara isn’t waterproof.

I’d tried to ignore it. To hold them away. To not let myself get too close. But I can’t help it. Can’t help myself. Because they’re Gray’s friends. The people he cares about, who care about him.

And fuck, I want them to like me. So much.

Allof them.

Which is why, when I walk into the restroom (oddly empty, for how packed the bar is), only to find Natalie sniffling on a bench against the wall, I grab a paper towel from the dispenser on the wall and sit beside her. She jumps when she sees it’s me, but takes the towel and dries her eyes.

“It’s just…” she inhales a shuddery breath. “How can it be this fucking hard to get laid on this campus?”

Not that hard. Not at all.

Surely, though, it’s made more difficult when your best friend is threatening interested parties behind your back.

I keep that secret to myself. Because I know what they say about shooting messengers. And if I come between her and Morris… Between Natalie and her best friend… Then that’s it. Any hope I have of making her like me. Of making her see how good I can be for Gray. It all goes to waste.

“I mean, you do it all the time.” When I frown, she amends, “Or did it. Before Gray.”

“Natalie,” I sigh. “I don’t see why… Why is this so—”

“Because I’m horny as fuck!” She throws her hands in the air, her movements silent without their bracelets. Then, sitting cross-legged on the bench, she rests them on her lap. Pulling the hem of her sleeves over her hands. “And… It’s something I always wanted to do. Hook up in college. Have one night stands. Walk the dirty walk of shame.”

“It’s not all it’s cracked up to be.”

“So you think I should join a convent, too? Become a nun and never even think about penises again?”

“No. Sex is great,” I shake my head. “It’s fun. A lot of fun. But with Hunt—”

“Please tell me I dodged a bullet. Tell me he sucks in bed.”

“Oh, no, he definitely would have made it worth your while.”

She shrieks in half-hearted outrage, shaking my arm. And after a moment, my grin falls as I think on that faded memory of a cool spring night at The Green House. “Look, Natalie. I was horny when I slept with Hunt. High and horny. Hunt was just there. I didn’t care who he was. Pretty sure he felt the same. It didn’t mean anything.”

Her hands drop back to her lap, and I recognize that calculating expression. Her interrogation face. “And it means something… with Gray?”

I think, again, of volcanoes. Stars. Flowers. Spirals. Chemistry.

It means a lot of things.

“It’s better when there’s trust,” I tell her instead. “Communication. And you can laugh together. Spend time learning each other.”

“I suppose…” But she doesn’t sound convinced. We sit on the bench in contemplative silence, the distant thump of music and the cheering yassss queens of the drag show a soundtrack to our thoughts.

Until Natalie fidgets beside me, shoulders slumping. “Just tell me one thing.”

I wait for another interrogation. For her to ask me to confirm my intentions towards Gray. For her to draw out that secret I’d been keeping from my own heart.

Instead, she asks, “How big was he, really?”

With a staggering laugh, I shake my head. But she pokes, pokes, pokes my arm.

“Not quite a zucchini. But still…” I hold up both hands, wide apart.

Natalie hangs her head, all those pink strands flipping upside down as she groans in disappointment. Then, just because I’m a feeling a little friendly—and a lot tipsy—I size my hands down. To a perfectly reasonable, perfectly satisfactory just-above-average length. “That’s Gray.”

Her jaw drops in a happy squeal. Then, with a sneaky glance around the bathroom—even though literally no one else has entered since me—she holds up her own hands. A good distance.

And I know, from the way she can barely meet my eyes and the red flush working over her face, that Natalie’s about to tell me a secret. Something she’s been dying to get out for quite some time.

“I saw it once. He fell asleep on the couch. And when he—He stretched…” Her focus stays on her hands. She licks her lips. Swallows. Hard. “His shirt rode up and it was just there.”

Cold washes over me. “Morris?”

She nods. Finally meets my eye, and I see—Fuck, she’s—Natalie’s smile is small, excited, almost shy. Totally unguarded. Because she’d trusted me enough to tell me this—just this small thing she knows, and I can’t—

I can’t look at her. My eyes fly around for an excuse. Land, once more, on that space between her hands. And oh, god, I need a distraction, anything, so I don’t have to look at it anymore and feel that swirling tide deep in my gut.

So I take her hand, the injured one from the night of the Halloween party, and I ask, “Your stitches are gone now, right—”

It happens in an instant.

Her hands shoot out.

And she shoves me away.

“What the fuck,” Natalie jumps to her feet, her breath harsh and ragged with emotion. Panicked. Defensive. Rattled.

She charges out of the bathroom, slamming the door behind her.

Dazed, drunk, I hunch over the bench because oh god oh my fucking god.

And I push my hands into my eyes, willing them to unsee what I just saw.

Her sleeve. Falling down.

All those lines.

Thin. White.

Deep.

That twisting, coiling, churning tide surges. I stumble on my heels to the nearest stall as all those drinks—all those leg spreaders, they come rising in the opposite direction. And I cast the contents of my stomach into the bowl, because Natalie—Natalie has—

That Natalie—Oh, god, Natalie. Who loves desserts and glitter and signs. Who is always smiling and teasing and laughing and poking her nose where it doesn’t belong. Who cares about her friends and they care about her, even if the closest one has a funny way of showing it.

Natalie. Who loves to run. But who never made it to my charity race. Not because it had anything to do with me. But from the one fact that it meant each of those bracelets would have to come off, one by one, to reveal the secret underneath.

Natalie, who is Gray’s sister—

Oh god. I throw up again.

Does Gray know?

I don’t hear the bathroom door opening. But I feel the warm hand on my back.

“Oh, Summer.” Liz’s voice is a consoling hush. Gently moving the curls plastered to my wet face. Brushing the tears away. Wiping off the sooty mascara trails. “It’ll be all right. Just let it out. Let it all out.”

But I can’t. The secrets are there, and I feel them, oh god, do I feel them. Eating away at me. Taking giant bites of my heart. And I want them gone. Want them out. Forever.