“Yeah.” I slide inside, lock the deadbolt, then cross to the front windows in eight quick steps. My fingers part the curtain just enough to create a sliver of visibility. The street stretches empty in both directions.
“Who were you talking to out there?”
The curtain whispers closed. “Just some guy.” I turn to find Lola leaning against the doorframe. “Said he was looking for someone.”
“Weird. Is he gone?”
“Yeah. I think we’ll hear him if he comes back.” I drain my coffee in three swallows, the liquid cold and bitter now.
“Okay, well whatever. I’m going out tonight. How do I look?” She twirls in front of me. Her black dress flares at mid-thigh, the plunging neckline disguised underneath a black lace longsleeve overlay.
I toss my cup into recycling, the plastic clattering against glass. “Ten out of ten as usual. You meeting yourmystery friendstonight?”
Her mouth curves slightly. “Yeah. We’re going to The Pit.”
“What an interesting place for a date,” I muse.
She scoffs. “It’s not a date. Besides, like you wouldn’t say yes if a couple of Calloways invited you out for a night.”
Heat crawls up my neck as my brain flashes an image—tangled limbs, a hand with scarred knuckles gripping my hip, another with fingerprints pressing into my thigh. I blink threetimes, fast. “That’s—it’s not the same. Technically, I’m not even dating anyone.”
“You haven’t seen anyone in what—two weeks?”
I trace the rim of my empty cup. “Something like that.” My phone screen stays dark in my hand. No notifications. No texts. Two weeks of silence until today, and even then, it wasn’t?—
“And that has nothing to do with you avoiding your own situation?”
I cut her a look. “I’m not avoiding anything.”
“Mm-hmm.”
My eyebrow rises as my mouth twists. She doesn’t even glance up.
“So which one do you want?” she asks, reapplying her lipstick like she’s asking about dinner options. “Or is it one of those all or nothing things?”
I blink. “What?”
“Don’t do that.” She bumps her hip against mine, nearly smearing her perfect burgundy line. “You don’t need to be coy with me.”
“I’m not being?—”
“Sis.” She caps her lipstick with a decisive click. “I have been rooting for you to make terrible decisions with the Calloways since the second they showed back up. You don’t have to pretend with me.”
My skin prickles hot from collarbone to hairline. I open my mouth, but nothing comes out except a strangled sound.
“Relax,” she says, voice gentler now. “I’m not going to judge you for fucking brothers.”
“Jesus Christ, Lola,” I choke out. “It’s not like that.”
Not yet, at least,an intrusive thought whispers.
“What?” She swipes her nail underneath her lipliner, fixing a smudge. “It’s not like you’re trying to wife them up.”
Something twists behind my ribs. “Yeah,” I manage, stretching my lips into what might pass for a smile if you squint. “That would be wild.”
She snorts. “Exactly. So ride those boys as often as you canwhileyou can.”
“I haven’t actually talked to Gage.” My voice drops. “Not about... any of it.”
