Page 19 of House of Wolves
“What?”
“I know that will be hard for you, but I need to know you enjoy some part of my company. I don’t want to force you to be near me if you hate everything about me.”
“I don’t hate everything about you.”
“Then tell me what you like.”
He studies me for a long moment, his stare heavy. I can’t tell if it’s hard for him to pick something, or there’s just so many he doesn’t know which one to choose. Who am I kidding? I know it’s the former.
“I like your pinky.”
“My pinky?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
He sighs, shaking his head, sitting back, and taking in the view of me. “Because it’s a safe answer.” His eyes drill into my pores.
“Safe,” I say, accepting his meaning, even if I only have a guess as to what it is.
The lights crawl to life like electronic bugs flapping their wings. It’s then I notice the rain outside has subsided. Our conversation seemed to cloud the environment around us, making coming to reality jarring.
I straighten, rising to my feet. “Well, it looks like we can both leave now. I bet you’re relieved.”
He stands as well, straightens his jacket, and gives me a confused look.
“You said you were eager to get home.”
Recognizing dawns on his face. “Right, yes.” I nod, walking toward the door. “Let me walk you out.” He follows after me. We’re silent until we reach the glass doors, leading out into the parking lot.
He seems nervous now. God, so much can change between two people in such a short amount of time. Before I reach the door handle, he clears his throat. “So, tomorrow night, for dinner?”
“Right. Um, yeah, sure. That works.”
“Great.” A hopeful smile washes over his face, and it’s odd. How is he such a good actor? Maybe he wants to fuck me, but there’s no way in hell he’s suddenly decided he likes me. Nothing has truly changed between us. We’re just both on the same page with pretending, and we’re both fucking fantastic at it.
9
A Pig in Lipstick
“Ouch!”Iyell,holdingmy hand to my recently burnt scalp.
“Sorry!” Red pulls the crimper away from me and leans over to see her damage.
“Would ya’ just stop trying to burn all my hair off?”
She tsks. “You’re the one who wanted me to do your hair. You can’t be needy and whiny.” She moves to the next section of my dwindling locks.
“I asked you to do my hair, not ruin it.”
“Ha, ha. Well, it actually looks pretty fucking good, so I would stop complaining.” She turns me around to face the vanity mirror behind me. Staring back at me is an image of myself. Same dark brown hair, metallic brown eyes, dusting of freckles, and my nose ring, but everything is a little different. I push a lock of my styled hair behind my ear, turning my chin to examine the winged eyeliner and new shade of red lipstick Red applied to my lips. I always wear make-up, but it feels like a scene in a nineties rom-com. Seeing yourself under someone else’s creative enhancement is new and exciting. I nod with a smile.
“See you like it,” she says, hitting my shoulder.
“It helps when you have such a perfect canvas.” I caress my cheeks and throw back my head.
“You’re annoying.” Red rolls her eyes and waddles to her bed, attempting to pull herself onto the King mattress but struggles with a huff.
