Now, I’m sitting on the bed, wishing I was colouring Dean’s tattoos instead of a butterfly.
“I’ve had enough,” Hina barges into the room. “I don’t know what happened between you and big man down there, but it’s not fun.”
I cap the coloured marker. “Sorry my life is boring to you,” I sarcastically drawl.
“You know what I mean,” she walks to stand in front of my bed. “Rip his shirt off and have your way with him buttalk! That’s what adults do.”
Hina’s glowing. She’s happier and isn’t making snarky comments. Even her eyebags look less…baggy.
Tilting my head, “Something happened with you and Kat.”
“Wha—Howthe hell did you get that from looking at my face?” She rolls her eyes, but she’s smirking. It’s hard to hide happiness. “We might’ve made up.”
I raise my brows.
Hina points a finger. “I don’t kiss and tell.”
“I’m happy for you,” I say earnestly. “Despite all of your shortcomings, you deserve this.”
She gives me the middle finger. “Okay, enough. Come down with me.”
“And do what?” I ask. Make a fool of myself as I stare at Dean like a lovesick idiot?
“If you don’t want to talk to Dean, fine. Make him jealous by talking to Rhys.”
“Ihurt Dean.”
“So,” Hina grabs my colouring book and drops it on a vanity table. “Whatever loss you feel, he feels it a thousand times more. That’s how it is when you feel romantically for someone.”
No need to rub salt in open wounds. Hurting him wasn’t in the cards.
“Fine,” I get off the bed. Pyjama shorts and all. “But I’m not changing.”
She opens her mouth to refute but I make an action of zipping it.
Hina tucks her lips inside. “Got it.”
Rhys catches us walking down together. He waves me over, but I make a motion of drinking.
Hina doesn’t grace me with her presence all the way to the kitchen.
Mindlessly looking around. It wasn’t too long ago when I pushed Dean into telling me why he was here.
If Irene hadn’t interrupted us, I wonder if we would’ve had our first kiss here.
Don’t think about it. Or him.
Cold. I need a drink that’ll give me a brain freeze.
I open the fridge. Lots of junk, greens, random protein shakes… my eyes land on the bright pink post-it in familiar handwriting. There’s no note other than the cursive of my name.
Maybe thatisthe note.
A reminder that he exists and is waiting.
The note’s attached to a glass covered with a small plate.
It’s not green. That’s a good sign.
