Immediately, a voice calls from the other side of the house. “Matty?” Lana.
“Marco.”
“Polo.” The voice is closer now.
“Marco.”
Her head pops through the doorway, grinning. “Polo.” She moves into the kitchen properly, and my eyebrows lift into my hairline.
“Whoa.” She’s wearing a sparkling black-and-gold flapper dress with black T-strap heels and black sheer leggings. Her hair has been permed and is bouncing around her ears, the lookcompleted with a sequined and feathered headband. “Uh… did I go back in time when no one was looking?”
“We’re going to a Gatsby dress party.” She twirls for me and bends a knee, lifting her foot. “What do you think?”
“You look beautiful.”
She beams at me. “Do you like my feathers?”
“They’re very feathery.” And shiny.
“That’s what I was going for.”
Jack joins us, dressed in a white striped suit with black tie and black bracers, a black trilby hat, and a scarf with tassels. They’ve really gone all out on their costumes. They always do, no matter where they’re going.
“Oh my God, you look like a gangster.”
He tips his hat and winks at me. “Why, thank you.”
“It wasn’t a compliment.” Maybe. A few days ago, I’d have meant that. Now I don’t know what to think. It’s not like the men that I’ve… slept with? Been with? Am involved with? Any of those. It’s not like they’re paragons of society. Nothing seems black-and-white anymore. It’s all grayscale, in a way I’ve never had to think about before.
“You should come with us,” Lana says. She looks into the mirror above the side table on the opposite end of the dining area and puffs up her curled hair.
“I’m not exactly dressed for the occasion.” And they’ve gone all out. I’d look incredibly dull and out of place next to them.
“Jack has spare outfits. You’d look like a million dollars.” She looks over her shoulder and waggles her eyebrows at me. “I bet there are some single men just waiting for you to rock their world.”
“I…” How do I even begin to explain? “I don’t think I’m single.”
They both turn to look at me, shocked. Is it really that shocking? Lana was literally just saying I was a catch. Was thata line to get me to go? No, that’s not her. She doesn’t even generally try to set me up with people, but every now and again, both of them introduce me to someone. It never pans out, but I guess it’s nice they don’t want me to die alone or something. But I’m not sure I’d want to meet my soulmate at a dress-up party. Besides, I have my hands full right now. Literally and figuratively. Well, not literallyright nowsince my hands are empty, but with three men they have the potential to get full. That sounded dirty. I guess it kind of was anyway.
“Since when?” Jack asks. He pats the stool at the breakfast bench. “Sit down. Tell us everything.”
“Everything?” I blink. I’m not really comfortable telling them about the sex stuff. Or the killing stuff. Or the “what they do for a living” stuff. What does that leave? What I’m doing with them? What they’re doing withme? I wish I had answers for that. “I don’t know—”
“Ignore him,” Lana says, waving Jack off. “Juicy details are for cocktails. Tell us who he is, how you met him, all the sweet details.” She slides onto one of the stools and pats the same one Jack’s hand is on. Their fingers touch, and they smile at each other so sweetly it gives me a pang in my chest. I’d love for someone to look at me like that, to find what they have. Xavier and Hunter look at each other like that. Will they look at me like that? And Miles?
There’s a lot of unknowns, and the situation with them is definitely complicated.
“Is that too hard to answer?” Jack asks. “It’s okay if you met him at a strip club.”
“I—what? No!”
Jack shrugs. “Lots of relationships start in lots of places.”
“Good for them? I have never been to a strip club.” If I did, would I meet a stripper or someone going there toseethestrippers? I’m not adventurous enough for that. What if a parent from school saw me? No. Just no. “Anyway, it’s not a him.”
Jack tilts his head. “You met a woman? Hey, good for you. Bisexuality is great. I’m here for that.”
“Are you auditioning for best ally or something?” I ask, flicking his arm. “I’m not bisexual. I did not meet a woman. It's not a him; it’s athem.”
