Damaged: The Dillon Sisters by Layla Frost (good story books to read .txt) 📕

glass. Her forced smile dropped away and her voice was soft. “It’s no wonder he likes you so much. Totally obsessed. You don’t have to put a filter on your life. You’re already perfect.”

I burst out laughing. “Trust me, I’m far from perfect.”

“You are.” She chewed on her bottom lip. “I’ve been trying so hard. I thought…” Shaking her head, she whispered, “But I couldn’t turn my can’ts into cans. I’m just too fucked up.”

I grabbed her hand, shocking us both. But I kept hold of it and told her basically the same thing Alexander had told me. “We’re all fucked up in our own ways. And that’s okay.”

She smiled at me, and I could almost see her mask snap back into place—real recognized real.

Or, in our case, fake recognized fake.

“I still say you’re perfect,” she said. “Especially your hair. I love it.”

Thanks, it’s a compulsion.

She ran her fingers through her pretty black bob. “I get to the in-between stage and it gets annoying to deal with, so I end up hacking it off. How do you keep it so long?”

Illogical fear.

“A good brush and a shit-ton of conditioner.”

“I can’t imagine. My hair is so fine, I have to use the expensive stuff from the salon or it turns into straw. I’d end up bankrupt.” She kept talking about her hair, her friends, and anything else the table’s conversation turned to.

To an onlooker, it’d seem as if her glimpse of vulnerability earlier was short-lived and she was over it.

But the tight hold she kept on my hand said otherwise.

Once everyone was done and had moved outside to chat on the sidewalk, I snagged her wrist and tugged her away from the group.

I had no business offering support. It was like a warped beam propping up a cracked board. Or the shattered vase that’d been strewn across my floor offering to hold the wilted flowers.

But I did it anyway.

“If you ever need to talk or anything, you have my number now. Just text. Phone calls give me hives.”

“Thanks, that’d be cool.”

“Cool,” I agreed, leaving it at that.

We said our goodbyes, everyone going their own direction. I watched Jenna and Jared’s retreating backs as they walked toward the parking lot together. Channeling my inner Alexander, I snapped a picture like a stalker.

It was very Instagrammy.

And it didn’t even need a filter.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Dupes

Briar

For compliments

“WHAT DO YOU think Brand’s like?”

“No idea,” Alexander said from my couch. “Want me to hack his phone to see what I can find?”

“Can you do that?”

“Like taking candy from a baby.”

“I’ve never understood that saying. Why is robbing a child the measurement for…” My words trailed as something occurred to me. “Did you hack my phone?”

His gaze darted from the TV to me. “I plead the fifth.”

I wasn’t surprised. Secretly, waaaaay deep down, I also wasn’t upset. Just like I wasn’t upset about the fact the cameras kept magically reappearing in my living room. I didn’t share that twisted fact. “I’m going to Google movies with the worst hacking scenes, and those are all we’re watching for the next month.”

“Ouch. You’re a cold woman, Briar Dillon.”

My phone buzzed, but when I looked, it was a text from Jenna.

Ever since our group dinner, she texted daily. Usually it was to get my feedback on what I’d do or wear or say in some situation. I got the feeling she didn’t have as many friends as she let on, so I made sure I always answered.

Jenna: Hey, what do you think of this outfit?

The pic loaded to show a pair of ripped black jeans and a cropped black hoodie. From what I could tell, it wasn’t her usual style. She seemed to prefer the brighter colors of the rainbow. But it was still a cute look, so I told her the truth.

Me: Super cute. Do you have plans?

Jenna: Maybe!

Me: That sounds exciting. Fill me in later.

Jenna: I will. Wish me luck.

Me: I wish you a rabbit’s foot, four leaf clover, and Lucky Charms cereal’s worth of luck.

I exited out of my thread with her and checked my other messages, waiting for Aria to text she’d arrived.

Not just Aria.

Aria and Brand.

“I always thought she’d end up with some bland guy who wore sweater vests and was a workaholic like her. But being a firefighter isn’t bland. And Brando definitely doesn’t sound like the name of someone who wears sweater vests.”

“You also think I don’t look like a tech nerd. You know what they say about judging a book by its cover.”

“That’s another saying I don’t get. People work hard to design good covers. Those artists must feel like chopped liver every time they hear that.”

“Come kiss me,” Alexander said suddenly.

I stopped pacing. “Why?”

“Because seeing you happy and alive makes me hard as hell. And since I don’t have time to fuck you right now, I’ll take what I can get.”

I did one better.

Straddling him, I pulled his head to mine and gave him the kiss he’d demanded.

With excitement.

Anticipation.

Desire.

No, need.

And aliveness.

Rocking my hips, I asked, “How fast do you think you can be?”

My phone dinged on the couch next to us.

“Not that fast.” He spanned my hips and lifted me off him.

“Are we sleeping here or at your place?” I asked as I hooked Muppet’s leash to his collar.

“Whichever.”

Unless Aria was picking Muppet up late, we usually headed to Alexander’s. Beyond the obvious of his house being a million times nicer, his kitchen was better, his internet was faster, and his bed was bigger.

And, after seeing how stupidly startled I’d gotten thanks to his toaster, he’d upgraded to a fancy one that slowly lifted the toast. It was a huge, thoughtful gesture that made me happy every time I used it. As did the jaunty tune it played.

“Well,” I started when I was at the door, “do you wanna drive all the way home, cook the salmon, and then have sex? Or do you wanna stay here and have sex as soon as I get back in and then order Chinese?”

The door