That Popular Guy, Yeah, I Destroyed Him

When I transferred to this school, Parker had already worked his way through every pretty girl here.

He laughed with his buddies, "I'd rather take a dog to prom than Zoe."

I'm Zoe.

But a month later, his best friend backed me into a corner and confessed his feelings.

When Parker saw the marks on my skin, he lost it:

"Who the hell said you could touch her?"

"Hey, uh… could you give this to Parker for me?"

I took the pastel pink love letter—the eleventh one this month.

Everyone knew I was Parker's childhood friend. They also knew he'd date anyone except me.

So they felt safe using me as their personal Cupid.

But like always, when Parker got the letter, he'd smirk, try to place the girl's face, then scoff:

"My standards aren't that low."

He'd toss it back at me. "I don't do charity cases."

His friends would howl with laughter.

And Parker? He'd just stare at me with that same mocking glint in his eyes.

Why?

Because the first love letter Parker ever ripped to shreds was mine.

Parker and I were childhood sweethearts—at least, that's what our parents called us.

They were best friends, so naturally, they assumed we were too.

And for a while, we were.

Until the incident.

A stupid game of Truth or Dare.

Parker got dared—someone asked if he'd kiss me.