I looked back at Chrysanthemum’s mom to see she’d definitely watched us load up and take off, because she was only now walking up to the house (so much for being in a rush and behind on things), doing it watching the Jeep drive away.
“If that ninny doesn’t pay attention to where she’s going, trips and ruins my cake, I’m going to lose my shit,” I told the window.
“Ninny?”
She made it into the house, thank God.
When she did, I faced forward, explaining, “I don’t want to say bitch, because she’s a bitch, but I don’t want to be the sister who calls a bitch a bitch.”
“You women have some really weird fuckin’ rules,” he muttered.
I turned to him. “Well, it isn’t nice.”
“Babe, a man’s a dick, I’m gonna call him a dick. He’s a clown, I’m gonna call him a clown. He’s an asshole, I’m gonna call him an asshole. I’m not letting the brotherhood down by calling them as they are. And you aren’t letting the sisterhood down either. A woman of means contracts for custom from a small business owner and then tries to jack her around because she fucked up on her budget and is gonna piss off her husband because he knows he’s already paying way too much for her highlights or whatever is not you letting the sisterhood down. It’s her doing it. And not one of the three of us was unaware that bitch had no intention of settling up.”
He had a point.
But now I was in a quandary because he’d horned in on this, and saved my bacon, and he’d been ignoring me for months because I’d drawn a line between us, and I should be pissed, but I was grateful, and I should keep my distance, but I wanted to throw myself at him.
Oh my God, you’re giving me a headache, Dreamer complained.
Just say thank you, that’s hardly going to open any doors, Logic pointed out.
“Thank you,” I said. “For driving me, because you’re right, I am tired. And for helping me out with her, because, yeah, she was a bitch, that wasn’t cool, and her deposit might have covered materials, but it far from covered my time.”
“Anytime, cupcake,” he murmured.
Oh boy.
Him calling me “cupcake” now meant my nipples were poking at the padding of my bra.
Time to be quiet, Logic advised.
Good advice.
I took it.
THREE
HALF-SMILE
I woke.
I didn’t open my eyes, I just woke, feeling warm and good, if not refreshed.
Oh, and weirdness, it also felt like someone was playing with a tendril of my hair (that was a big part of the “good” I was feeling).
But…
That couldn’t be.
Right?
I wasn’t sure what was going on.
The only thing I was sure of was that I was in the pitch black of my bedroom, curled into myself—like I normally slept—and that was it.
Then, as was my everyday occurrence, all I needed to get done flooded my head.
