“You okay?” she inquires, grimacing. “Emotionally, I mean.”
I nod. “Surprisingly, yes.”
“You don’t look emotionally okay,” she tells me tenderly, but the glint in her eyes gives her away before she stirs up her bullshit. “You look like you’ve been gently destroyed in a way that might change your taste in music.”
I choke on my drink. “Jesus, Roo.”
She sips her mimosa like she’s innocent. “What? I’m happy for you. I’m just saying?—”
“Stop telling me how I look. I get it.”
Roo ignores my interruption. “You’ve got that post-death, pre-resurrection glow. Like you saw God last night, and he bought you breakfast.”
“It wasn’t God,” I mumble, tugging my sweatshirt sleeves over my hands.
My best friend raises an eyebrow, too observant in the nuances of Eris Caldwell.
I don’t elaborate.
Because the truth is worse.
It wasn’t God.
It was Kieran… whoever he is.
With the deep green eyes that keep popping into my mind, the large hands that will haunt my dreams, and a gravitational pull I can’t rationalize.
I’ve only seen him twice, but I already need to see him again.
I reach for my phone without thinking. And like it knows, like it’s been waiting for my attention, the app is already open.
Locke:
You’re glowing this morning.
I smirk, propping my hand under my chin like I’m showing off. To Roo, it will look like I’m taking a selfie… I’m not, though. I’ve made it my personal mission to see how far I can push the men behind the app. I want them to break and show themselves to me. Also, I want to know how much access they have to me on a daily basis.
Eris:
Do you use the camera that much?
Locke:
Only when I’m starved.
My fingers pause as I note the change in tone. This one is different again. Smooth, calculated, his answer a little too controlled.
Not Whisper.
Not the watcher in my bedroom
Someone else. The third one in their triad.
I haven’t quite sorted the difference between Hollow and Cipher because sometimes they blend. One of them is the dirty poet, and the other is the man who always sounds like he wants to lock me in a room to keep me safe from the world.
Whisper flirts as much as my peeping poet does, but he sounds more like a jealous boyfriend.
At least, this is my new running guess today.
