—Present Day—

"Tell me, Charles. Who's more handsome? Me? Or Billy Loomis over here?"

Holding the Forbes magazine next to my face, I glance at Lovejoy's photo on the cover before giving my best friend a threatening glare.

Chucky tilts his head to the side and moves his eyes between me and the magazine, his pointy ears flicking back and forth. Uncertainty crosses the brown-and-white Chihuahua's dark eyes before he presses his ears back and gives me that all-too-familiar guilty look.

I click my tongue in disapproval. "You ungrateful traitor. I'm demoting you back to my third best friend."

Letting out a small whine, Chucky rests his head on my kitchen floor and puts his paw over his eyes.

It's been nineteen days since Nessa started dating that creep, Lovejoy. I've tried numerous times to convince her that he's a serial killer—and possibly a cannibal too—but she always laughs at me instead. And over the past few days, it takes her eons to reply to my texts, probably because she's too busy texting with that creep.

Now that my best-friend throne is vacant, it's as if there's a huge hole inside my heart. I've tried to fill that empty void by promoting Chucky to sit on that throne, but even the 10-year-old Chihuahua chooses Lovejoy over me.

A sigh of anguish escapes my lips. What should I do?

Against my better judgment, I pick up my phone from the countertop and type Nessa a text.

Me: Hey. Wanna grab some dinner and watch some horny teenagers get butchered?

My common sense stops me before I press the send button. Why do I sound like I'm asking her to watch some torture porn with me?

Shaking my head, I erase the message and write another one.

Me: Hey. Wanna grab some dinner and watch Ghostface go on a killing spree?

My thumb hovers over the send button, but my ego refuses to let me press it.

Oh, who am I kidding? She's probably going on a date with that creep right now.

With a frustrated huff, I delete the text and put my phone on the countertop upside-down. As I tap my fingers on the cold granite of my countertop, my gaze is drawn to the magazine.

I pick up the magazine and squint at the bearded man on the cover again, trying to find any flaws on his pretty face. A crooked tooth, a bump on his nose, or perhaps even an acne scar. But I can't find any.

This has got to be photoshopped.

The urge to smoke becomes unbearable, and I reach for the box of peppermint candy. My frustration flares when I find the box empty. Muttering a string of curses, I stride toward the refrigerator to take my cookies-and-cream ice cream.

What should I do? What should I do? What should I do?

Plopping back on the stool, I gobble down my pint of ice cream and hold the magazine a few inches away from my eyes. The longer I stare at Lovejoy's photo, the stronger the urge to turn this magazine into a dartboard. But at the same time, a sense of familiarity grates on my nerves.

Where have I seen him before?

I have an excellent memory. And I swear I've experienced this exact, powerful desire to punch him in his pretty face before.

Wait a second. Did he stalk Nessa and me?

My thoughts are interrupted when Chucky starts yapping. The smooth sound of a sports car grabs my attention, and through the window, I see TJ's 3.5-million-dollar, limited-edition Lamborghini pulling into my driveway.

"Great," I mutter. "What now?"

I pick Chucky up and lay him behind the gate that divides the living room from the stairs before dragging my feet to the front door. When I open the door, TJ greets me with his shit-eating grin.

"What's up, bro—" TJ jerks his head back and blinks. Keeping his gaze on my face, he sweeps into my house without permission. "What the heck happened to you?"

"What do you mean?"

"Have you stood in front of a mirror lately? You look like some creepy walking dead shit."

These past nineteen days have been torturous to me, and I haven't been able to get a restful night's sleep. Every time I close my eyes, all I think about is Nessa; and it only gets worse ever since I felt that strange déjà vu at the Neko Café two weeks ago. Whenever I doze off, I always dream of that day Nessa took me to Pacific Park, and it sends a chain of curiosity running around my mind in a loop I can't seem to escape from.

I've always remembered that blood-curdling roller coaster ride, Nessa's expression when she saw the clown dolls, and how the paparazzi fabricated the story by saying I was kissing Nessa while I was only cleaning those damn chocolate blotches off her face.

But the one thing I didn't remember was how I wanted to kiss her that day.

How come I didn't remember that?

Pushing the thought aside, I'm about to throw TJ out of my house when the sight of the small cake box in his hand stops me. "What do you have in there?"

"Oh, you'll love this." He holds the white box in front of his chest. "It's Nina's famous chocolate fudge brownie cake. Your favorite."

Nina bakes the most delicious chocolate fudge brownie cake I've ever tasted in my entire life, and my stomach growls at the mere mention of it. Still, suspicion stops me from accepting TJ's gift.

"What are you playing?"

"Nothing," TJ says, but the twinkle in his eyes tells me he's lying. "Nina has a craving, so she baked this. It's too much for the two of us, so I thought, why not be a good friend and give some to my best friend?"

I follow him as he strides toward the kitchen. "What are you here for, Teej?"

TJ puts the cake box next to my pint of ice cream on the kitchen island. "Ice cream on a Saturday night. I take it things don't go well with Vanessa?"

Ignoring him, I grab a fork and open the box. My mouth waters as soon as my eyes lay on the delectable brownie, and I shove a forkful into my mouth. The fluffiness of the cake and the bitterness of the perfectly melted dark chocolate draw a moan from me. This cake is the true definition of heaven on earth—which brings my suspicion back to life.

"What are you really here for, huh? You only give me this when you're trying to bribe me or feeling guilty. So which one is it?"

"Okay, okay. You caught me." TJ holds his hands up in defeat and sits across the island from me. "So, I talked to Nina about Lovejoy, and . . ." He glances at the Forbes magazine and allows his voice to trail away, his mouth forming a tight line.

I rest my elbows on the countertop and lean forward. "What?"

An apologetic smile spreads across his face. "It seems like I gave you the wrong information."

"What do you mean wrong information?"

"As it turns out, he's not exactly called a sex god. He's called The Love Guru."

My mind inadvertently reminds me of that awful movie Nessa dragged me to watch as a punishment for losing one of our bets. Even after four years have passed, I still cringe whenever I remember that disastrous experience. "The Love Guru? What is this? A crappy low-budget movie?"

"I know, I know. Just hear me out, will ya?"

"Fine." I scoop a forkful of ice cream and mix it with my brownie before stuffing them into my mouth.

"So, that Bianca Lattucca rumor?"

I narrow my eyes at TJ. "I thought you said her name was Bianca Lettuce?"

"Yeah," he replies with an awkward chuckle. "I was wrong about that. Her name was Bianca Lattucca, and she died peacefully in her sleep."

A wave of relief sweeps through me. At least Lovejoy isn't a serial killer.

"And that gigolo rumor?" TJ continues.

"Mm-hmm?"

"That's not true either. That guy has some seriously shady past, but he's not a gigolo. It's more like he teaches people about dating and stuff."

"What? Like Will Smith in Hitch?"

TJ's full lips curl into a teasing smirk. "Well, well, well. Somebody's been studying too many chick flicks."

I'm not—and will never be—a fan of chick flicks (although I have to admit that that Will Smith movie is good). But hours of being dragged into a rom-com marathon have broadened my knowledge of the genre and taught me one thing about Nessa: she's a hopeless romantic, so much to the point of being delusional.

Maybe that's why she agrees to date that creep. She must be thinking that this is some kind of a fantasy Cinderella story, or worse, 1001 Shades of Pink!

TJ clears his throat, snapping me back to reality.

"So you're saying he's not a real-life Christopher Pink?" I ask.

"Well, here's the tricky part. That fifty-grand thing?" TJ sucks in a breath through closed teeth, his lips sliding into a somewhat sympathetic smile. "It's for a sex education session."

I choke on my cake, my fork slipping off my grip and hitting the countertop with a clang.

"He's a certified sex therapist. Retired now, though. Word is he accidentally fell in love with one of his clients or something. A true tragic rom-com shit."

I blink and swallow the tightness lodging in my throat. "S-so let me get this straight. You're saying he's not a gigolo, but he's great at relationships, and . . . he's still a sex god?"

"Pretty much yeah."

A dull throbbing begins to pound inside my head like a marching band. How am I supposed to beat that? More importantly, why do I even want to beat that?

"How are things between you and Vanessa, really?" TJ asks.

"Not good. We still work together, but things are different between us these days, and . . ." Pain settles deep inside my chest, and I throw my head back in frustration. "God!"

"You miss her?"

"Oh God, yes . . ." I wail like the pathetic loser that I am and drop my head onto the countertop.

Although I hate to admit it, I miss my best friend. I miss her so much I can't even eat without thinking about what she's doing right this very second. What the heck is wrong with me? Did she cast a spell on me?

"Good, good," TJ murmurs to himself. "Baby steps, baby steps."

"Huh?"

"Nothing." He flashes a questionable grin at me. "So what are you gonna do next?"

"I don't know." I prop my chin in my palm. "I know I have no right to tell her to stop seeing that creep, but my gut says there's something wrong with him. He might not be a serial killer, but he might still be a stalker. I tried to warn her, but—"

The vibrating sound of my phone cuts me off, and I reach for it. I shoot straight up in my seat when I see it's a new text from Nessa. "Speak of the devil."

"Ooh." TJ rushes to my side, his eyes glittering with mischief.

Miss Mochi: Good evening, Mr. Dumpy!

Miss Mochi: Whatcha doin' tomorrow?

The message comes with a sticker of a coquettish Miss Mochi fluttering her lashes.

I knit my brows together. "Tomorrow?"

A curious tingle inches down my spine, but caution seeps into my bloodstream at the same time. At first glance, it seems as if she just wants to hang out as usual. Yet there's silent wickedness in her word choices that rings an alarm in my head.

"What's wrong?" TJ asks. "You don't wanna hang out with her anymore?"

"No, it's not that."

"Then what are you waiting for? Just say yes!"

While doubt still plagues my mind, I draw a deep breath and text her back.

Me: Depends. What do you have in mind?

I send her a sticker of Mr. Dumpy wearing a deerstalker looking through a magnifying glass. My pulse picks up its pace as I wait for her reply, and I start chewing my nails—something I haven't done in years.

Miss Mochi: So. I'm inviting you to . . .

Miss Mochi: *drumroll*

A few seconds pass without another text popping up on my phone, and my darn heart hammers against my rib cage. "Dammit, Ness. What is it?"

Miss Mochi: A Sundate with yours truly!!!

Miss Mochi: It's gonna be just you, me, and my boo!

Miss Mochi: Ryan's booked a place at Beverly Hills Hotel.

Miss Mochi: How cool is that?

Is she . . . inviting me to . . . a threesome?

Shock hits me as if Mike Tyson had just punched me right in the face. I pinch my arm, wishing this was just a nightmare I could wake up from. But the sharp sting tells me this is real.

"My boo? At Beverly Hills Hotel?" TJ cackles with laughter. "Oh, man. You're in deep shit now."

While I'm still frozen in horror, a string of messages bombards my phone.

Miss Mochi: Wait.

Miss Mochi: I mean a LUNCH Sundate.

Miss Mochi: At the Polo Lounge at the Beverly Hills Hotel.

Miss Mochi: Not in the bungalow or something.

Miss Mochi: It's not *that* kind of date.

As TJ breaks into a guffaw, a mixture of relief and annoyance surges through me. Why is she inviting me to a lunch date with that creep? Does she want to spark a bloodbath or something?

I clench my jaw and text her back, my thumbs slamming the keyboard.

Me: Why would I want to have lunch with Billy Loomis, Ness?

Me: Unlike you, I don't want to be stabbed to death with a hunting knife!

"The nerve that woman has." I'm about to reach for my fork and continue drowning myself in the indulgence of my delicious dessert when my phone buzzes.

Miss Mochi: Oh, come on, Ol! He's dying to meet you!

Miss Mochi: And don't you think it's about time you meet him too?

Miss Mochi: I just want my best friend and my boo to get along . . .

A sticker of a sad Miss Mochi with tear-rimmed eyes arrives on my phone, and something inside me stirs. To my utter surprise and slight horror, I consider going on that absurd Sundate just to make her happy.

I really need a trip to a shrink, don't I?

"Ooh. I know what this is." TJ nods to himself and rubs his chin.

"What?"

"Lovejoy is trying to befriend you."

I frown. "Why?"

"Well, if I were him, then I'd want to be on the good side of my girl's best friend. Get you to support him and talk good about him."

"Hmm. That certainly sounds like something that manipulative creep might do."

"But there's also a second possibility." TJ allows a dramatic pause, making me stare at him with anticipation. "He's trying to intimidate you."

"Huh?"

"He knows how close you are with Vanessa, doesn't he?"

"I guess so, why?"

"Then he probably wants to show you that he's superior to you. Make you feel like you're a worthless piece of trash to get you to back off." TJ's thick, rounded eyebrows jiggle up and down when he says, "Eliminating a potential love rival."

"Oh, yeah. That sounds like something that loser would do." A sense of triumph rushes through me when I realize that that seemingly perfect guy feels threatened by me. As I grin to myself, my phone buzzes again.

Miss Mochi: Ol?

The text comes with a sticker of Miss Mochi, pleading with her adorable Bambi eyes.

"What are you gonna do, brother?" TJ asks, a gleam of mischief in his eyes. "Are you ready to go face-to-face with the legendary Love Guru?"

An orange giant—Donkey Kong—emerges from the jungle in my head, demanding me to face my love rival. What the heck?

Donkey Kong grows stronger with each second, erasing any traces of doubt in me, and he quickly devises a plan to turn the table on my enemy.

Me: Fine. But we're not meeting in some fancy hotel, okay?

Me: I have a better idea.

A wicked smirk tugs at my lips as I send the messages. You want a bloodbath, Ness? I'll give you a bloodbath.

Author's Note:

So, what do you think about this chapter?

Get ready for more chaos! xD

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