"I said I don't want to talk about it," I spit back. "Can we just sit here on the deck in the sunshine and drink margaritas and talk about celebrities or something?"
"Fine," Sable mutters, crossing her arms over her chest.
We sit in silence.
"You're not talking about celebrities," I complain finally.
"Neither are you."
"Yeah, because I'm sitting here wallowing in self-pity and you're the one who's supposed to be distracting me."
"Fine," Sable grumbles. "Kardashian gossip?"
I shrug.
"Royal family gossip?"
"Boring." I'm being petulant and pissy and bitchy and horrible.
"That Asshole gossip?"
"Screw you, Sable."
"He is a celebrity," she points out. "He's been in gossip magazines. And I think you're being ridiculous, not even willing to consider alternative explanations for what happened."
My new margarita arrives and I suck down half of it while glaring at Sable. "I can't believe you're sitting here defending him."
"Whoa, whoa," she says. "I'm not defending him. If he was screwing around, he's an ass."
"You are defending him. What other possible explanation could there be for a naked girl in his bedroom who was clearly waiting for –" My voice drops to a whisper. "Colton King to crown her?"
"Crown her?" the corners of Sable's mouth turn up. "At least heartbreak hasn't ruined your sense of humor. How long have you been waiting to use that one?"
"A while," I admit.
I don't tell her the rest, which is that if I don't joke about it, I'm going to lose my shit. And there's nothing more pathetic than a tipsy girl crying into her margarita in the middle of a restaurant. Unless it's a tipsy girl crying into her margarita at a restaurant because she thought she was in love with the school's most notorious player and believed he felt the same about her.
That would just make her a stupid tipsy girl.
"There could be lots of explanations," Sable reasons.
"Name one."
"She… got lost."
"Naked. Asking about That Asshole's cock."
"She could have been trying to screw another player on the team."
"Again, saying she was waiting for his cock."
"It could have been a joke," Sable says. "Those guys are basically all overgrown adolescents."
"Yeah, hilarious."
"Maybe someone sent her up there. Like… an end-of-finals prize. One of his teammates."
"Like a prize?" I ask. "Not helping at all, Sable."
"It could have had to do with the guy he beat up."
I exhale heavily. "Why are you, of all people, trying to justify what he did?" I ask. "You're the one who warned me that he was probably hooking up with someone at the party before we even went. And you were right."
"I didn't say probably," she says. "I said it was possible. And… I don't really think that anymore."
"Are you high? Because your perception of reality is significantly impaired. You think he might hook up with someone before we go to the party, but when he actually does have a naked girl in his bedroom, you think he's pure and innocent."
I turn to reach for a chip and see the couple at the table beside us staring at us. The guy leans over. "Guy with a girl naked in his room?" he asks. "Don't go back to that."
"You shouldn't stay with a guy who hurts you," the girl across from him agrees.
I almost tell them to shut up and stop eavesdropping, but I don't. "See? I blurt instead, gesturing to them while talking to Sable. "Complete strangers think there's no justification for it. Total strangers. Meanwhile my best friend is trying to reason away what happened."
Sable gives the couple the nastiest stink-eye I've ever seen. "Will you two mind your own fucking business?"
Their heads snap down and they huddle over their food.
Sable leans forward and speaks in a hushed tone. "You didn't see the look on his face, Cassie," she says. "When we told him you left. It was – I don't know how to explain it. It was like he just watched his dog get put down."
I know that look.
I know it because it was the look he gave me through the barely-open door. The one that pulled at my heartstrings and gave me a brief moment of pause… a second of thought that maybe I was getting things wrong.
I shove that image aside and clench my jaw. Then I grab a chip and bury that feeling under more queso.
"You're a sucker for strays, Sable," I tell her. "I'm not."
"I'm going to write that comment off to you being heartbroken," Sable says, "and not that you're being a big ol' bitch right now."