“You have all my secrets,” I say. “The balance of our friendship has shifted. You need to tell me something I don’t know about you before I die of a heart attack brought on by embarrassment and the revolting sight of your blood-red face.”
She sends me a flat stare that translates through the tiny screen asIf I was there, you’d be in pain right now.
“Fine,” she says. “How about this? I really don’t like people thinking I’m slutty for having one-night stands.”
Ah. This again.
“You’ve actually already told me that.” Along with a lot of other confusing drunken things before she passed out at a medical conference last year.
Her eyebrows shoot up. “I have?”
“In Vegas. Remember how drunk you got? Drunk Joss is very melancholy.”
She giggles, but the sound is tight, a bit uneasy. “Oh, man. I was smashed. I can’t believe I told you that. That’s my deepest, darkest fear.”
No. She’s got something far deeper and darker in there. It’s always lurked between us. I wish she’d tell me what it is. Sometimes I wonder what we’d be without it. Like always, I won’t press her, but I want her to confide in me more than I want to rewind time right now. “You have to tell me something that’s new to me, not new to you.”
She looks up, thoughtful. “All right. Here’s something you’d never guess. I secretly wish Cassie was nice to me.”
Ha. Not what I was expecting, but okay. “Really?”
“Yeah. Like, why does she hate me? What did I even do to her?”
“Maybe you should ask.”
She jerks back. “Ew. Don’t be extra. That sounds like a lot of work.”
Always quick to dole out advice, never one to take it. “You’rea lot of work.”
A proud grin stretches over her scarlet face, and it strikes me somewhere deep in my chest, kicking my heart up a gear. That’s weird. Probably just the anxiety. Or the embarrassment. Or the peculiar feeling that this girl is sinking into my skin like sunlight, altering my very DNA.
No, not that last one. I’m tired. That’s all.
Ignore, ignore, ignore.
“But you really need to do something about your skin,” I say, “because you look like Hellboy.”
The grin falls. “You’re dead to me. You’re wonderful, but dead to me. I’m done with you.”
And with that, she disconnects, leaving me to stare at my own tired face, glowing on the screen.
Jocelyn
Sex is not a replacement for real emotion.
—My Therapist
Lying beside me in his bed, eyes closed, mydateis pretty pleased with himself, but annoyance has grappled tenterhooks into me. Why can’t these men get me off? It’s not that hard. All my recent hookups have been total duds.
This one is cute. Blond. Super tall. Like, freakishly tall. Looks like he should be good in bed.
He isn’t.
While he catches his breath, a goofy smile on his face, my hand slips between my legs. His frisky voice rumbles near my ear. “You want some more?”
I ignore him but accept his help down below since I deserve it. My eyes fall shut, blotting out the view of him and his messy bedroom.
Behind my eyelids, a face that doesn’t belong creeps up.
