This is the weirdest, most disturbing game of twenty questions I’ve ever played. Also the most frustrating. “Didyoudo something to them?” Even if the answer is “yes,” what does that have to do with me? Or coming to my house to shoot at me? I don’t know why I’m not more frightened. Best not to think about it too hard, or I’ll become a mess.
“In a manner of speaking.”
More of an answer, I guess, but one that comes with more questions. He asks his own before I can get another out. I didn’t know what I wanted to ask anyway.
“Why do you have clothing for an animal?”
Clothing for—oh, Augustus. “Lots of people get clothes for their cats and dogs.”
“That’s not either of those,” Miles points out.
“When I first got him, I started getting all these ads that were mostly about food for bearded dragon lizards. You know how when you see something, or talk about something, and suddenly your Facebook or Instagram feed is filled with it?” It happens to me enough it has to be a thing. Sometimes I only have tothinkabout something, and suddenly it’s everywhere.
The corner of his mouth lifts. “I don’t have either of those.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“That sounds nice.”
The curve lifts further, and I swear it’s a smile. He looks even nicer like that. Softer, somehow. Softer and more approachable. Also, still super dangerous. It’s a strangely compelling combination. I can’t help but glance at his very nice red lips, which is—stop that. Get your lizard out of the car and stoplookingat everyone.
“Does it?” he asks.
“Haven’t you ever heard the term doomscrolling?”
“No, and given the name, I doubt I’m missing out on much.”
This whole conversation is wild. “You aren’t,” I assure him. I don’t think I’ve met anyone over the age of fifteen who doesn’t have at least one social media profile. It really does sound nice. Stress free. The thought of closing down all of mine leaves me in a cold sweat. They do that on purpose, make people addicted to it, reliant on it. I’ve at least only succumbed to two of them, which I consider an accomplishment.
“What’s the point of doing it? Dressing it up?” He jerks his head towards the car, to let me know what he’s talking about. Which is good because it would have taken me an embarrassing amount of time to switch back to that. He really does have nice lips. Does he put something on them to make them that shade, or is it natural? Not a dark red or even lipstick red, just a nice coloured tinge to them.
What were we talking about? Oh, right. “There isn’t one, really. It’s fun, and he likes it.” Not everything has to be more complicated than that, though these three men do seem to like complicated.
“He likes it,” Miles repeats. “The lizard?”
“Yeah.”
He tilts his head, studying me before glancing at Augustus, who’s watching us with his intelligent eyes. “How do you know?”
“I… don’t really know. He doesn’t fuss or try to take them off?” Low-bar criteria. He’s not stressed out by it, so I figure it’s fine. How does one ask a lizard for permission to dress them up? I’m going to Google it later.
Miles nods, like we’re talking about a really serious matter. “Does he have a favourite?”
“Not that I’ve noticed, but he hasn’t worn everything yet.”
Another nod. I like the way he listens. His entire focus is on me, and he’s actually listening, not just present. What does he think when he looks at me? It’s hard to tell; his face is a rock. After last night and today he must think some unflattering things.
“What happened in there… I…” The sentence doesn’t get finished because I have zero idea what I was even trying to say.
“Which part?”
“There are a lot of parts, but the kissing bit sticks in my mind.”
“Xavier will be glad to hear it.”
I swallow hard at that. What does he mean? Because hewantsit to be memorable? “Are you all together?” My mouth clamps shut after that question. Not what I meant to ask. I mean, I want to know, I just wasn’t going to ask. What would I do with the answer?
