CHAPTER 21 The Manipulator I *m stewing. Nana used to make this god-awful stew when I was young. It smelled like a dumpster fire and tasted even worse. My attitude is about as foul as that stew right now. “T don’t even know his name,” I groan, my voice muffled by my hands. They’ve been glued to my face ever since Daya got here, and I confessed he broke in again. I haven’t gotten around to what happened yet. There’s not an ounce of courage in my bones. She’s been patiently waiting, knowing that I’m holding something back. Something terrible and shameful. And something I can’t stop fucking thinking about. “You fucked him, didn’t you?” she asks calmly. My eyes bulge, and I unglue my hands from my face so I can pin her with a glare. “No, I did not fuck him,” I snarl, as if she’s suggesting something insane and I didn’t come really damn close to it. I can feel the blood rising in my cheeks and my left eye twitches. Fuck. Daya knows that’s my tell. “You did!” she bursts, standing up from her chair and looking down at me with shock. “I didn’t! I promise,” I rush out, grabbing her hand. “But... something did happen.” She puffs out a breath and settles back down in her chair, scooting back into the island in my kitchen and grabbing her margarita. She sucks down two huge gulps, trepidation on her face. “You sucked his dick?” she guesses, lifting a hand to fiddle with her nose ring. The images those words just put in my head have my blood pressure rising to dangerous levels. I bite my lip and shake my head slowly, the guilty look still present on my face. “He sucked you?”