And Roo makes me put on a dress and escort her to seedy bars the other three weekends…
Math isn’t mathing?
Yeah. I know.
Roo doesn’t care about the universal laws of numbers. If she has to read and wine, without the h, then I have to dance and drink liquor.
Tonight, she leaves me at the bar because she’s vibing with the music… Which is code for she needs to lose herself before she stabs someone.
I sit on the worn wooden stool, my back to Hardy—the guest bartender when the owner needs a vacation from chaos—and watch the crowd.
My dress is a pale gray that matches my eyes and the perfect mix of t-shirt and bodycon… But Roo’s dress barely covers her ass, her cheeks playing peek-a-boo with every step she takes. She’s in all black tonight, from her lipstick to her leather jacket and boots.
Her outfit screams fuck with me. The knife against her thigh says she doesn’t mind working while she plays.
“Want another, Eris?” Hardy asks over the music, a lopsided grin on his face as he winks at a woman near the end of the bar. “You’re empty. Isn’t that against some Soko rule Roo will gut us for breaking?”
“Sokolov isn’t my keeper,” I smart, rolling my eyes at my childhood neighbor. “You know better than anyone that I lead our little shit-show of three.”
“Keep me out of this. You two are troublemakers, and as always, I want no part in it. Do you want another drink or not?”
I quirk an unimpressed brow at Hardy. “Don’t get sassy with me.”
“Vodka, then?”
“Just give me some watered-down orange juice so Roo thinks I’m drinking. I’m not really in the mood for liquor.”
He grimaces. “Dickhead still being a dickhead?”
I nod. “Is it too soon to make him disappear?”
“You know it is,” Hardy warns as he passes me a drink. “Here she comes.”
I turn to watch Roo get stopped by the man she was just dancing with, and she lets him whisk her back onto the dance floor for one more song.
Hardy slides down the bar to tend his customers, leaving me to observe the rowdy crowd until I grow bored and take out my phone.
I told myself I wouldn’t check it…
But I can’t help it.
The temptation is fueling my curiosity in a way that I’m finding difficult to ignore. There’s something… off about HimLock, but I can’t quite put my finger on it yet, though I don’t find it unappealing. In fact, I find the prospect of putting my finger on it intriguing and becoming a gnawing necessity. A question I feel compelled to answer.
A growing obsession that’s twisting into something dangerous for me to focus on.
The message is already waiting, provoking a smile from me. And that pisses me off.
Locke:
You look good tonight.
My thumb hesitates over my phone screen as I cycle through a myriad of emotions. I can’t settle on anything other than mild annoyance.
On the one hand, uhm yeah, I know I look good. Roo would never let me leave my apartment looking like anything less than perfection.
And on the other hand… I have to remind myself this is just code. A clever design. Randomized compliments to simulate connection. Nothing more.
Still… I hadn’t sent a photo. To the app or anyone in my contacts.
