She laughs. “God, you’re an asshole. Can’t you let other people live in denial?”
I give her a small smile and tip my head back, staring at the stars.
“Different like I traded in that symphony for a single note,” she says. “And I’m forgetting what the rest of the music sounds like.”
A single note.Yeah, I know that song.
“You should get out of the tavern, Half-Pint. It’s no place for someone like you.”
She scoffs. “Do you always have to insult me?”
“It’s not an insult; it’s a compliment.”
“Where would I go? You gotta job for me?”
“My brother owns Dante’s. If you’re nicer, maybe I’ll put in a good word.”
“If this is your way of trying to bribe me to stop hating you, you’re doing a terrible job.”
I smirk. “I’m a terrible person, so that tracks.”
“You’re not terrible,” she says.
“Don’t lie to me, Half-Pint. I’ve just started to like you.”
She’s quiet for a few seconds, andwhythe fuck did I just say that?
“What about you?” she asks.
“What about me?”
“What’s something you miss?”
The question lands deep, somewhere I don’t normally let people touch.
“I don’t miss things.”
“Bullshit.”
I should leave it there. I should get up, walk away, and go home. Or even better, go underground and remind myself why feeling anything other than indifference toward people is a one-way ticket into getting them hurt.
People who matter are just more collateral for the men who control me.
Instead, I admit, “I miss having talks like this.”
My admission settles between us like it’s this fragile, vulnerable thing.
“Ginny, you back here?” Art’s voice rings out.
Everything warm in my body goes cold.
“Yeah, give me a second.” She stands, brushing off her pants, and then just stares at me without moving.
“Seven seconds?” I ask, ignoring the way my chest tightens.
Genevieve grins and taps her temple. “For my seven minutes. Guess you’re on a hot streak, huh, Champ?”
And then she’s gone, and I’m alone with the uncomfortablerealization that I just told my best friend’s girlfriend more than I’ve told anyone in years.
