Wicked Love | √

Sixteen

"I don't know," Annabelle wavers on the edge. I know she's tired from the week and her parents divorce has become headline news of multiple trashy tabloids the last few days causing her lots of distress.

Elizabeth and I have been trying to keep her head above water in this mess, but it hasn't been easy. Tonight is needed for more than just me. It's needed for us.

A girls night is known to cure even the worst of moods.

Her cousin turns to her with a hand on her hip and sass sparking to life in her eyes. "Jameson wants to willingly get hammered. This is one for the books and you are not missing it. Plus we are celebrating her being kick ass as always."

Elizabeth's words make my cheeks run red. Her support of me is unending and is something I don't feel as if I always deserve.

Annabelle finally breaks with a laugh. "Okay! Fine! Where should we go?"

I shrug. "Let's keep it local," I suggest not feeling like traveling to the city for this outing. "How about Main Street Tavern?"

It's the local college bar and a complete hole in the wall dive bar with karaoke and terribly made drinks. And it sounds like the perfect place to start our night.

"Cheap and easy," my roommate nods in agreement.

"For the drinks and the men," Elizabeth adds with a cheeky wink.

Annabelle shoots up from the kitchen stool with renewed excitement. "Put the pregame playlist on Liz!" she shouts at her cousin.

Elizabeth connects her phone to our Bluetooth speaker and 2000's throwbacks start to blare loudly taking over our apartment and my spirits can't help but lift.

I've never let a man determine my mood before. I won't start now.

Before I know it the three of us are dressed for the night and in the bathroom standing in front of the large rectangular mirror putting on the finishing touches to our makeup and hair.

Annabelle is wearing dark blue skinny jeans with an off the shoulder white fuzzy sweater. Her short hair is half up and half down and she's wearing a choker strung together with delicate colorful gems.

"We should stop by 93 Degrees," she suggests as she plays around with different shades of berry colored lipsticks.

"Why? It's all fratty douchebags," I complain with a scrunch of my nose.

Elizabeth clicks her tongue. "That's exactly why she wants to go."

"Oh, Anna who now?" I say with evident concern showing in my words.

Her brows stitch together. "Stop acting like I always pick out the wrong guys," she groans in protest.

"But you do," her cousin sings as she uses a curling wand on the ends of her black hair.

Annabelle's lips purse. "He's really nice," she tells us and I can see in her eyes how much she clearly likes this guy.

"Where did you meet him?" I ask, trying not to be judgemental. How can I be when I let Preston Rothwell, a suspected killer and arsonist, kiss and touch me?

Annabelle is the sweetest, kindest human I have ever met, but she always attracts men who walk all over her and treat her as less than the amazing person she is. She always wants to try and fix the unfixable.

Her eyes begin to shine as she thinks about him. "We met in our marketing class. We got partnered up for a group project and he's funny and smart and not a douchebag," she adds with emphasis towards her cousin.