“They’re behind a password.”
Oh.
“And that password…” I clear my throat. “Is thatalsoone you’re willing to share, or?”
“Shut up and trick my brain.”
“I could do that a different way, you know,” I say, opening her music library.
“I’m sure,” she says sardonically. “We’re all one night with Milo Kablukov away from ending the mental health crisis. Alert the doctors! Tell the newspapers! We’ve got a cure!”
I can’t help but smile, rolling my eyes. “Don’t knock it till you try it.”
“I’ll pass, thanks.”
“Fine,” I grumble, hitting play on the sound of my childhood—the song Nik would play me after every big blowup, after every internal or external wound levied by my parents, or any time my feelings got a little too big for our far too tight house.
“ ‘Super Trouper.’ ” Prue sits up eagerly, but raises a brow that really ought to be accompanied by a different tone. “ABBA? Really?”
“What? Do I not strike you as an ABBA fan?”
She looks me up and down. “No.”
I scoff, feigning offense. “Why do you think Swedish people are always smiling? This shit workseverytime,” I tell her, rising to stand. “C’mon.” I hold out my hand until she begrudgingly takes it, and I pull her up. “You’ll feel better,” I tell her, “like this…” I swivel my neck as I throw my arms out to the side and begin rolling my hips. Nadia once said my dance moves were, and I quote, “mesmerizing…in a bad way, like a dog walking on hind legs.” Still, it’s never stopped me. “Trust me!” I shout over the music when she remains still, watching me. “It’ll help!”
She looks at me with every bit of skepticism available on earth but begins dancing, copying my moves as if she’s had years of practice.
A verse and a chorus later, she’s smiling and twirling and recklessly singing off-key.
And the second she does, I do too, keeping time with her as she marches in her bare feet across the rug.
Eventually, the song ends, and I pretend to collapse to the floor, wiping the imaginary sweat off my brow as she giggles for the very first time in my presence. I’m glad I was already on the floor when I heard it. That shit would’ve brought me to my knees.
“You never asked me what was wrong…” Prue says, slightly out of breath, cheeks still red from dancing, as she stands over me, her hands on her hips.
“I thought asking would make it sound like you needed a reason,” I tell her.
Her eyebrows jump up. “Don’t I?”
I shake my head, my eyes locking with hers. I find myself wondering how many angles of her I’d be able to see without getting her into bed, because I’m enjoying mentally collecting them so far. “I don’t think so, no. Life’s hard enough as it is without having to justify it.”
“My dad gave me an ultimatum,” she says, chewing at her bottom lip.
“Not sweet, darling Tom, surely?”
“Mm-hmm…” She nods slowly, lowering to sit cross-legged on the floor next to me.
Her willing proximity momentarily throws me off my game and six stupid words slip out. “Do you want to tell me?”
“Maybe…I don’t really have anyone else to tell.”
“Prudence Welch, am I youronlyfriend?”
She glares at me, far less convincingly than in her previous attempts. “I wouldn’t really call you that.”
Good, I wouldn’t either. I donotfuck friends. I did that once and it ended in disaster. His name was Derek and we met hiking in Panama. I thought he was straight, being that he was yourclassic southern boy-next-door type, so I didn’t think there’d be any harm in becoming his friend.
A month into traveling together, Derek got handsy. I liked him, he was hot and funny—but less funny than me, which is important—and he knew things about my past that I’d yet to tell anyone else and somehow still wanted me anyways. So, I gave it a shot. A few weeks, andlongnights later, Derek admitted he’d caught feelings. Naturally, I, in return, caught the earliest morning bus.
