Chapter 5

This is the brunch from hell.

I push around my pancakes, drowning the flapjacks in a pool of syrup. Beside me, Ashley is on her third Bloody Mary of the morning—not because Ashley is hungover but because she must listen to Alissa speak.

I eye the girl in question.

There is nothing wrong with Alissa per se; in fact, if she would stop feeding Scott strawberries, I could grudgingly admit that I could probably like her. But there’s something about her voice.

It’s high-pitched and grating, like nails scratching across a chalkboard. I feel as if my ears are being slowly sandpapered off every time Alissa speaks.

OK, that’s harsh and dramatic. But I’m allowed to be a little petty this morning, especially because this brunch was not my idea, and given the opportunity, I might strangle myself to death with one of the monogrammed napkins soon.

Next to me, Kyle shifts in his seat. “Whose idea was this brunch?” he whispers, as if reading my mind.