For the love of God.
It’s not Kerri.
Jester: Took ur advice. Fucked myself
I roll my eyes at his stupid text. My brain has every intention of depositing the phone back in the bag without responding. My fingers, however, have a mind of their own. They fly over the screen, typing out a reply against my better judgment.
Me: Your poor hand.
His reply comes instantaneously.
Jester: Its only mildly abused
I’m about to toss the phone in the bag, but morbid curiosity stops me dead when another text comes in.
Jester: Whatcha up 2
Me: Living my life without you. It’s marvelous.
Jester: Bullshit. U miss me. When’s ur date
Me: Mind your business.
Jester: Must be tonight
Me: I hate you.
Jester: But do u really
Me: Yes.
No.
Me: Since you’re taking orders, go to hell.
Jester: Nah. That one’s no fun. Ur going to the other place. I’ll be bored in the basement without u
My stomach somersaults, but I ignore it because I’m done with this conversation. It’s rude to keep Matthew waiting.
Me: Goodbye Jester.
Jester: See u soon Fizzle
Why does his text feel like a warning?
Because it’s Jester, and when we dated, he never said goodbye. It was alwaystalk to you tomorroworgoodnight. Never goodbye. To him, it was a bad omen since those were the last words he spoke to his parents the day they died. The only time he told me goodbye was the day I walked away from him when I caught him with Megan. I’ll allow that we’re no longer enemies, but we’re far from friends. And as I drop the phone back in the bag, I won’t let him to ruin my night. Not after I got myself all dolled up. I’m even wearing heels, which, by the way, suck when walking over this gravel parking lot.
When I swing the bag around, it slaps against my back. I’m aware it clashes with the strappy black dress, and sure, I can fit my injector pen and cell phone in a cute pocketbook. This old, beat-up backpack has been with me forever. It’s become an extension of myself, and I tend to get panicky if it’s not with me when I leave the house.
Soon as I step inside the restaurant, a blast of air conditioning cools me off from the image of Jester jerking off (as if the visual isn’t seared into my brain for the rest of my life). Stanzia is the fanciest restaurant in Mayhem. The place is busy, even for a Thursday night. I do a quick scan for hostiles and let my guard down when I don’t see anyone who might be Unholy here. Unfortunately, Jester is crafty. He could have—
Good Lord, listen to me. I’m still doing it. Keeping that man planted firmly in my head. I give myself a mental shake and smile at the hostess who, with her poufy blonde hair and cute red dress, is adorable.
“Welcome to Stanzia,” she greets me as I walk to where she’s standing behind a podium stacked with leather-covered menus.
“Hi. I’m supposed to meet someone here…” I peer into the dining area and spot Matthew at one of the tables. “…And he’s right over there.”
She follows where I’m pointing. “Of course. I’ll walk you over.”
