The goats bleated in alarm, and Libby used their distress as an excuse to lurch away from Jefferson, turning to check on her alleged pets before acknowledging her roommate.
Jean stood at the back door, annoyance radiating from her narrowed eyes to her tapping foot.
“I better see what she needs,” Libby mumbled, hurrying toward the house.
She was ninety-eight percent certain Jefferson was watchingher walk away. The heat of his gaze was almost enough to offset the chill in her best friend’s eyes.
Inside the kitchen, Libby offered a tentative smile. “The goats are here.”
“It looks like they machine-gunned the front yard with poop. Did you try to milk them or something?”
“Uh, no. I wasn’t going to walk up and start squeezing their—teats.” Libby half mumbled the word, less out of modesty than being iffy on the pronunciation. “Also I thought one of them was a boy.”
Jean grabbed a bottle of water from the refrigerator.
“I put a plate in there for you,” Libby told her.
Her roommate’s nod was perfunctory. “I’ll take it with me.”
“Upstairs?”
“I have to go back to the resort.”
“What? Why?”
“A shift came open, so I grabbed it. I’ll get time-and-a-half. And until you have a job with an actual salary, somebody needs to step up and pay the rent. I don’t want to be homeless because you suddenly went boy-crazy.”
“That’s not fair.”
“No, what’s not fair is that this situation affects all three of us, but you act like it’s just you. What you want. Your dysfunctional hormones.”
“You think I don’t care about Keoki’s restaurant? Why else would I be running around pretending I’m going to illegally marry a strange man who thinks my teeth are weird?”
Jean shushed her with a finger to her lips, frowning at the ceiling. After a few beats of silence, she turned back to Libby. “And me?”
“What do you mean?” Libby sensed a trap.
“Think about the doors this would open for my career. Johnson Media must have a crap-ton of artists on their payroll. I could do graphic design, illustration—for serious money.”
“You want a steady job?”
“Not necessarily. But I wouldn’t mind making bank for some freelance work, so I have more time to spend on my own stuff. You heard what Hildy said. Amagazine cover.Can you imagine?”
“That would be incredible. And of course I want to help.”
“Great. You can start by not screwing this up.” Jean stalked out of the kitchen.
“What did you mean about the dysfunctional thing?” Libby asked, half a step behind.
Her roommate sighed. “This is not the time.”
Libby accepted the subject change because she wasn’t in a place to push her luck (and didn’t reallywantto know). As they passed the living room, she glanced through the open doors, eyes landing on the giant nude. “Should we change her clothes?”
Jean had taken to dressing up the Lillibet portrait in different outfits, mostly (Libby assumed) for her own twisted amusement, though Hildy also found the ritual delightful, like a supersized paper doll.
Tonight, however, painted Lillibet was still wearing the seaweed bandolier and panties she’d had on that morning. With a huff of impatience, Jean retraced her steps to the kitchen, returning with a frilly white apron wadded up in one hand. Dragging the ladder into place, Jean climbed high enough to reach the sandy bikini, stripping it off and dropping it to the floor. With the same care she would have used to throw a pair of dirty socks in the hamper, Jean tossed the apron at the portrait.
“There,” she said, jumping down the last few rungs.
