I won’t deny that from that day forward, things between Zachary and I change. It’s not like we’re suddenly best friends or anything, but a weird kind of understanding settles between the two of us. Now when I look at him, I still see a six-foot-three prick, but I now know the reasons behind his dickish behavior.
Esme, who has been all to eager to lap up my random midnight adventure with the elites, questions my feelings for Zachary, as if one decent and open conversation means I’m ready to part my legs for him like this is the red sea.
I tell her what I told him: that I don’t exactly hate him, but if I had water and he was on fire, I’d still probably drink the water rather than throwing it over him.
It’s safe to say she didn’t ask me again.
But that’s not all that has changed. I can’
