I laugh at the selfie. “We look like we came straight out of that old vampire cult movie in this light.”
“Maybe that’s what the next album cover should be. Early 90s horror vibes,” he agrees.
“Oh hell yeah,” I say. “Mads and Reed would be all over that.”
Zeb takes another drag from the waning cigarette. “Let’s do it.”
“You two are the last ones I expected to see up this early,” we hear someone say behind us.
Talk of the album cover goes amiss the instant her voice enters my ears.
My breath seems to stagger as Gemma comes into view from our left. Her curly hair is pulled up into space buns, showing off more of the burgundy strands streaked through it. Sweat is rolling down her skin, soaking her dark grey sports bra. I’m taken aback by the nose-piercing chain draped over the bridge of her nose, and the snake bite piercings beneath her bottom lip that she’s drawing into her mouth.
Shit, that makes her so much hotter.
The sight of her on her morning run while Zeb and I smoke cigarettes, eat donuts and leftover pizza with shit black coffee as our drug of choice, all while wearing stained hoodies and the same itchy sweat from the night before is somehow the funniest thing I think I’ve experienced in a while.
Zeb grins as if he’s thinking the same thing. “Fucking iconic, man,” he says, chuckling.
“It’s like we’re the dirty alt vampires, and she’s the pretty target,” I grin. “Maybe we should take her back to our cave.” I glance at Gemma and lick at one of my canine teeth, the point scratching my tongue. “The chase is Zeb’s favorite sport, you know.”
It feels so much better now that the initial nerves are out of the way. Walking with her last night, even if it was only a few minutes, seemed to relax the pent-up anxiety I had swirling around my brain before the show.
Don’t overthink it.
Go with the fucking flow.
Don’t let it in your head.
Gemma smiles. “Yeah? I like the chase, too.”
Zeb lifts his arm to fist bump her and takes an inhale from the cigarette with his other hand. “Looks like you got into the right line of work, then,” he says.
She nods my way. “What’s your favorite?” she asks me.
“My prey usually comes to me,” I say, leaning back on my palms. I nudge the box of donuts with my foot. “Have a treat,” I say. “I think you’ve been good enough this morning for a reward.”
Gemma eyes my smirk, the look heating my center, yet she doesn’t reply. Shifting her weight on her feet from left to right, she kicks off her sneakers, then joins us on the blanket, crossing her legs beneath her.
Thank fuck for these dark sunglasses so that she can’t see me gawking at her. I want to lick the sweat off her neck so badly that I have to force myself not to tell Zeb to take a hike. I can already imagine myself dragging my tongue along the fine line tattoos crawling up her neck, the thin vine-like artwork framing her breasts and sternum.
Gemma grabs a donut from the box and takes a bite, powdered sugar lingering in the crease of her full lips. “I was hoping to run into you two this morning,” she says.
“We don’t talk shop before noon,” Zeb says. “So if you sit with us, you have to chat bullshit.”
“Should I wear pink next Wednesday, too?” she asks, and I grin at the pop culture reference.
“Fishnet tights are also a requirement,” I reply.
Gemma chuckles. “I’ll have to go shopping then.” She wipes her powdered hands off with a wipe and sighs back onto her palms.
“Do you ever go back home?” she asks me.
The mention of home sobers my mood a fraction. “Ah, yeah. My dad is still there. Though, he moved to an oceanfront place. You?”
She shakes her head. “Hell no. I ran far away from that place after my parents split. I tried going to the community college for a couple of years to shave off the eventual debt. It was just like high school all over again.”
“Yeah, fuck that,” I agree.
