Her head tilts for a different angle of the photo, and she squints like she’s trying to unlock a secret code. “I bet I can tell you exactly what his dinner plans were. Okay, so what about the guy you went out with on Thursday?”
“Fuck that guy.” I take a swig of my coffee, staring across the cafe at a couple who can’t take their hands off each other. “The entire time we browsed the menu, he was going on and on about macros. So naturally I stuck to a side salad and then ordered pizza when I got home. Plus, when I mentioned my illustrations, his only question was if I have a ‘real job’.”
“Fucker.” She slides my phone across the table to me and makes a face. “Somebody with as much talent as you doesn’t need a blood—and creativity—sucking corporate job. Macro-dummy would know that if he bothered to look at them.”
I snort. Something tells me showing him my explicit monster smut illustrations wouldn’t sway his opinion. “Unfortunately,the bloodsuckers pay well, so I have to tough it out for the foreseeable future.”
I do well selling illustrated book covers and character art commissions, even bringing in hundreds of dollars each month through a paid platform where I post NSFW drawings weekly. But as much as it pains me to admit, I doubt I’ll be in a place where I’m making enough to pay the bills anytime soon—at least, not if I’m going to keep my $2,500-per-month apartment in the city.
“At least the holidays are coming up, and my vampiric boss is closing the office for a few days.”
“Speaking of the holidays, have you figured out what you’re going to do for Christmas?”
Tossing my head back with a groan, I slump further down into the chair and look out the window. Piles of off-white snow line the slick city street, and people trudge cautiously down the sidewalk littered with blue de-icing salt.
“Since Mom and Dad are doing a Mediterranean cruise, abandoning their only daughter, I guess I’ll sit at home and draw. Hopefully I can make a few pieces to sell on top of my commissions.” I shrug casually. “And please don’t feel the need to give me yet another pity invite to come to Daniel’s parents’ house like I’m your pet dog.”
I don’treallycare that my parents won’t be around. We’ve never been the type of family to go all out for holidays, anyway. Dad drags the pre-decorated tree up from storage on Christmas Eve, and the three of us eat our weight in food while watching movies. The morning of the twenty-sixth it’s back to business as usual. But this year I’ll spend the entire holiday season rotting alone in my studio apartment.
“You’re our love-child, not dog.” She wags a finger. “Actually, I was wondering how you’d feel about renting a cabin in the woods.”
I blink at her. Then down at the expensive heeled boots on my feet. Then back at her.
I’m waiting for the punchline.
Seems there isn’t one.
“Yeah, no, Holls. I know we’re annoyed with my parents for ditching me at Christmas, but I don’t think that warrants them coming home to find out their only child died alone in the woods.”
“I think the police would contact them on their cruise. They wouldn’t have to wait to find out.”
“Even worse. Now I’m deadandit’s ruining their holiday.” The last bit of coffee goes down cold. “I’m not sure where you’re going with this, but when have I ever given off ‘cabin in the woods’ vibes?”
“That’s why you’d be perfect.”This is a sales pitch. I know one when I see it. And the way she’s leaning forward, steepling her hands and staring into my soul would be a dead giveaway for even the most unobservant. “I’ve told you before that my brother has a ranch a few hours outside the city, right?”
My stomach rolls at the mention of Lucas, and a vivid slideshow of the night we spent together flashes behind my eyes. Normally, any social engagement leaves me reeling over the things I might’ve said wrong. All the potential ways I could’ve embarrassed myself without even knowing it—the moments where somebody quickly changed the subject or pulled a face after something I said.
With Lucas, I embarrassed myself in the worst way, yet didn’t have a niggling voice telling me he thought I was a complete loser. I didn’t go home and lose sleep replaying every second of our interaction.
Okay, maybe I did… but in agoodway. No room for self-loathing inside the effervescence of each Lucas-infused thought. His touch branded into my skin, scent ingrained in my memory,and kiss stained on my lips. My mental tape of that night wore out from being played so often.
Sitting at the bar until well past midnight—long after the party guests left and the live band packed up—I drew various bar-patrons on cocktail napkins. Then Lucas guessed who each one was, and we made up absurd backstories for every person we didn’t know, constantly trying to outdo one another.
“Terry actually just found out his wife spent their entire life savings on 1990s Beanie Babies,” I whispered, punctuating the end with a tipsy hiccup and finishing the details on what had to be my thirtieth napkin drawing. The subject was a lonely looking, middle-aged man wallowing in a concerning amount of cheap vodka at the far end of the bar.
“People have always said they were going to be worth a lot of money one day,” Lucas shrugged, finishing the last of his bourbon.
The thought of tasting it on his tongue made my core tighten, and I instinctively licked my lips.
“Maybe that day is coming soon, and she knows something we don’t,” he said.
I grimaced. “Sure. But at what cost? Terry kicked her out, and she’s living in a self-storage unit with 10,000 stuffed animals.”
Lucas’s empty glass clunked against the bar top, and he undressed me with a heated gaze under the dim bar light as he swallowed. “You should come back to my hotel.” A statement rather than a question.
My fingertips teasingly walked the length of his muscular forearm, feigning sultry confidence. “To check out your Beanie Baby collection?”
With a laugh under his breath, he said, “Nothing I plan to do to you tonight is child’s play, Eira.”
