“Ain’t this a pretty picture,” she says with sarcasm.
I ignore her sour tone and offer a smile. “How was your day, my seraph?”
She doesn’t reply, watching Julian as he studies the board. I can’t tell if he’s ignoring her or lost in thought. Priya appears just inside the doorway of the small second bedroom, looking out and sizing us up.
She balances one foot on the opposite calf in a yoga-like pose. “Hey, Sage.”
“Oh, hey,” Sage responds. Her tone is light, but moreembarrassed than aloof, like she wants to say more but is afraid to. She plucks my king off the board and tickles my earlobe with it. “Gonna take a shower. You should join me, honeybee.”
Julian looks up from the board with a scowl. “Hey, put that down.”
Sage backs away with a lazy smile and underhand-tosses the piece to him, forcing him to catch it against his chest. “Just gave you a win. You’re welcome.” She saunters toward the primary bedroom, and I can’t resist watching that round little arse of hers. She throws a bit of extra hip sway into it as if she knows. “You coming, Sandy-boy?”
“At your command.” I tip a helpless shrug at Julian as I rise and follow Sage to the bedroom.
The moment I’m through the doorway, she grabs me by the front of my shirt and yanks it open, sending a stray button flying. She pauses to look out into the living room as if remembering other people are here, then swings the door shut.
Smoothing a hand down my gaping shirtfront, she winces. “Sorry ’bout that. I’ll buy you a new one.” With an exhausted sigh, she goes and flops down at the foot of the bed.
“No need, pet. I’ve plenty more.” I sink my hands into my pockets and watch her stiff posture. “But… a suggestion?”
She looks up, expression flat and defensive.
“Rather than putting on a ridiculous show”—I nod sideways toward the closed bedroom door—“and announcing a communal shower on which you most certainly don’t plan to deliver, why don’t you go talk to Priya and clear the air? The tension is—”
“Urrrggghhh,” she moans, flopping back onto the bed and throwing her arms wide. “Not now, for fuck’s sake. I’m tired, okay?I’ll bury the hatchet tomorrow. Right now I just want, uh…” She peeks at me, then drops her head again, sighing. “Like, no stress.”
“I wonder if you’re not making things harder for yourself unnecessarily.”
“I wonder if I asked your opinion,” she returns, sitting up. She pries off her still-tied shoes and flings them toward an untidy pile of clothing in a corner.
The level of wreckage in this bedroom is as if Sage has been squatting here for weeks: clothing, shoes, books and magazines, food wrappers, empty cups, styling tools and products, and—inexplicably—a dented papier-mâché bust of Saint Nicholas, wearing a pair of Sage’s sunglasses.
I open a hand at it, changing the subject so Sage doesn’t get stroppy and ask me to leave. “Story there?”
“Saw it in the trash outside a vintage store. They were just throwing it away!” She stands and heads for the en suite. “I gotta rinse off, honeybee. Make yourself at home.”
While she’s off-key belting out Violent Femmes’ “Blister in the Sun” under the spray, I indulge in a bit of snooping. The magazines—battered copies ofStartling StoriesandWeird Tales—were clearly bought at whatever vintage shop was discarding the alarming St. Nick. There’s a half-finished newspaper sudoku puzzle. Protein bar wrappers and empty alkaline water bottles.Somany rumpled clothes.
Hanging off a wardrobe pull is a red satin brassiere, which I pick up to check the measurement. As I’m grasping the tag between my fingers, Sage’s voice pipes up behind me.
“Thirty-six double-A, babes. Small boobs, but a sizable rib cage.” She thumps a fist against her chest. “Strong as an ox.”
Her hair is piled on top of her head, secured with a clip shaped like a slice of lemon, and she’s wearing a white cotton camisole and men’s boxers that readTHE FAMILY JEWELSamidst a pattern of silver-glitter gems. The shirt fabric is so thin that for a moment I can’t tear my eyes from the tea-rose outline of her areolae and nipples.
She does a slow catwalk toward me, shoulders held regally. Her scrubbed skin is faintly pink. She stops inches away, and a tempting whiff of piquant, soapy warmth hits me.
“I had a fun idea just now in the shower,” she tells me.
“You may not want to know where my mind went when you said that,” I tease.
“Oooorrrrrrr… that may beexactlywhere I wanted it to go.” She runs a finger along my shirt placket where the button is missing. Glancing at my eyes to gauge my response, she shifts the fingertip to my skin, tracing down my sternum. “This is a nice chest you’re always showing off with your disco-level unbuttoning habits.”
“Saucy girl. ‘Disco’ indeed.”
I move my left hand to her hair, open the jaws of the hair clip, and drop it. Sage’s eyes go wide, and her breath catches.
“Is this allowed?” I comb my fingers through her steam-dampened tresses. “I’m not sure what you want tonight.” I brush my knuckles along her tattooed neck and her eyes drop closed. “Pleasure? Or just to take the piss with Priya and make her think there’s something between us?”
