Tired of Losing

She was fine. Totally. Like, completely fine.

Juniper Granger—queen of gymnastics, straight-A everything, Most Likely To Get Out Of This Crappy Town—was sitting on the cold-ass kitchen floor with a bottle of tequila in her lap and her lip gloss smudged halfway to her chin.

Okay, maybe not sitting.

Maybe... slumping?

Propped?

Definitely floor-adjacent.

The kitchen was spinning, slow but steady, like a lazy carousel. Everything smelled like chips and perfume and something sweet she couldn't name. Her head was heavy. Her heart was heavier.

She hiccupped.

Where was he?

Oh, right. Upstairs. With his harem. With all the girls who got there first.

"Ugh," she mumbled, squinting toward the counter. There was a bottle up there—hers, probably. Or not hers, but like... spiritually hers. She reached. Missed. Reached again. Something clattered. Whatever.

"You're too pretty," she said suddenly.

Wait. Who'd she say that to?

There was someone there. Tall. Black. Gorgeous. Hair like clouds. Legs like—damn. Some kind of model or something. What was she doing in Joey's kitchen?

Oh, right. Probably here for him, too. Obviously. Duh. Of course.

The girl said something nice. Or maybe mean. Juniper couldn't tell. Everything sounded like it was coming through a velvet tunnel.

"It's not a competition," the girl said.

Juniper snorted. That was cute. She liked that. She might steal it for her memoir.

"Everything's a competition when he's involved," she muttered, and there it was again—that sharp, stinging ache behind her ribs. Like she was being punished for being late to something, and now there were no seats left. No prizes. No Joey.

And then—oh. The door creaked.

She didn’t need to look. She knew it was him.

But she looked anyway.

And there he was. Joey Granger. Her little brother. The boy who used to cry when the power went out. The boy who once made her a lopsided birthday card with glitter glue and a crayon rocket ship.

The boy who was now standing in the doorway like a god.

She hated him a little. She loved him more.

"You're the girl from the hotel," he was saying, staring at the tall, pretty stranger. Not her. Her, not her.

Juniper slumped harder. Her knees didn’t bend right. Her whole body was made of sighs.

Joey talked to the woman. The woman smiled like she'd already won.

Then—finally—his eyes moved to Juniper.

He froze.

She wanted to laugh, but it came out like a croak.

"Juniper?" he said, like she'd just appeared. Like she hadn’t been waiting. Like she hadn’t been thinking about him, dreaming about him, wanting—

"What the hell happened to you? Why are you dressed like that? Are you drunk?!"

She tried to smile. Failed. Her lip trembled instead.

"Oh," she said. Just that. Just... oh.

Because what else was there to say?

"Suddenly you have time to notice me."

And then the floor came up to meet her, or maybe she slid. Hard to say. Everything was slow and soft. She let the tequila bottle roll away, heard it thunk lightly against a cabinet.

She laughed. Once. Broken. Then she cried.

She didn't want to. She was strong. She was Juniper. But she cried anyway, curling into the stupid cold tile like it was the only place left that hadn't moved on without her.

And in the haze, she heard the model woman speak.

"Do you want me to stay?"

No. Yes. Whatever.

Juniper closed her eyes and let herself drift.

She was so tired of losing.