He lifts his eyebrows.
“Yes, I’ve thieved, but I don’tscrewthe women I’ve screwedover.” I may be a conniving lowlife, but I’m not a complete jackass.
“Have you explained this distinction to Cadence?”
“I tried.” I swallow a rawness in my throat. “But she’s already made up her mind about me.”
“She doesn’t know you. Give her some time.”
I rub the towel over my hair. “I’m not sure I have time.”
Bastian shoots me a warning look, one that says: don’t think like that, but how can I not? The new moon is in less than a week.
“Brume’s changed you. You’ve never been the glass-half-empty sort, and you’venevercared what people thought about you.”
He’s right. I normally don’t give a shit about anyone’s opinion of me.
“I mean, I knew you liked her, but you mustreallylike her if you want to make such a great impression.”
I sink onto the edge of the bed, still rubbing my head with the towel.
Bastian’s gaze shifts toward the closed doors. “That Charlotte really reamed Adrien. Poor guy.”
“Poor guy? Whose side are you on?”
“Oh, there aresidesnow?” Bastian smirks.
“Cadence is like a sister to him. Who the hell calls out his sister’s name during sex?”
“Except she’s not his sister.”
“Except he’s a decade older.”
“Didn’t he just turn twenty-four?”
I scowl at Bastian, who studies me like I’m an amoeba under a microscope. “What?”
He tilts his head to the side. “You got it bad for her, huh?”
I lunge and grab a pillow, then toss it at him. Even though my downy missile meets its mark, it doesn’t wipe away the smile growing on Bastian’s face.
He makes kissy noises. “Slate’s in looooove.”
“How old are you? Five?” I glance at the door to the Jack and Jill bathroom. “And I’m not fucking in love. I don’t do love.”
He sits up, laughing. “Look at you. You’re all worked up. Over a girl.”
“You asked for it.” I spring to my feet and wrap an arm around his neck, grinding my knuckles against the top of his head.
Still laughing, he elbows me in the stomach, but I don’t let go. His glasses topple onto the bed as I turn his hair into a rodent nest.
“Truce!” he wheezes between two deep chuckles.
I release him. “Weakling.”
He plucks his glasses from the snow-white comforter. “I let you win.”
“Sure ya did.” Grinning, I retrieve my pillow, then yank the folded ivory and cream plaid blanket from the fat armchair in the corner. I toss both down on the carpet and lay back, eyes on the teardrop crystals of the chandelier. I’ve seen some fancy interiors, but a fucking crystal chandelier inside a bedroom . . .?
