‘You’ve been ignoring me, so yes. Call this a wellbeing check.’
‘Well, make yourself at home. Raid my fridge. Take a shower. Go through my drawers,’ I finish with a sardonic grin.
She pointedly chomps down another spoonful as loudly as she can, knowing I can’t stand the sound. I remind myself to start locking the door, though I probably won’t. When I moved out, Ma insisted I stay in the urban village on the south side. I didn’t need her permission to leave, but something about me living in a duplex home eased her anxiety a little. Besides, Monique would have a heart attack if she came to the door and realised she needed a key.
‘I didn’t need permission, but if you must know, snooping through your things is next on my to-do list. When do you finish? I want to go shopping.’
I groan. I don’t hate shopping – and with Monique, it’s actually fun – but I feel off today. As I have every day since a certain nuisance blazed his way back into Booker Bay and shifted my world on its axis.
I lean across the metal benchtop’s cool edge. ‘Shopping for what?’
Monique’s walk-in wardrobe is massive and full to the brim with both designer and Monique-made dresses.
‘I need outfit inspiration, because guess who got us VIP tickets to Lucifer’s Dream next week?’
‘You?’
She takes another bite of cereal. ‘And guess who needs costumes?’ She does a little happy dance and it’s impossible to not let loose a small smile.
‘We do.’
She starts shooting off a few outfit ideas and I give non-committal hums where they’re due as I drum myalmond-tipped nails on the bench. Annoyance runs through me when I notice a nail is chipped, a little corner on the inside of my thumb. I’ve been feeling it snag my clothing all morning. I make a note to file it down later. My fingers may always be covered in paint, but the shape is on point.
Monique’s on the third outfit idea when I realise I’m not getting off this call anytime soon, so I may as well get comfy. Grabbing my phone, I stand up and push open the glass doors into the main workshop. The smell of paint is instantly replaced by odours of rubber, oil and metal.
I enter the back office, where Chuckie looks up from his bed in the corner before stretching out his paws and striding to my side for pats. He jumps up to sit on the couch with me.
‘Who was the biker, by the way?’ Monique’s sudden change of topic throws me.
‘What biker?’
‘The one who wouldn’t bet against you. Huge, black leather, Ducati. Ring any bells?’
‘No one I knew,’ I answer in a half-truth. I don’t know that person. I don’t know what’s happened to him, but the Ryker I know would never be so … cold? There was a darkness in his eyes I’ve only seen once before … on the worst night of my life.
‘Yeah?’ Monique crunches loudly. ‘Then why’d you let him kiss you?’
Heat creeps up my neck and I freeze.Shit, she saw that?‘What?’
‘You heard me. I didn’t get a look at his face, but I could see yours and I thought you were gonna jump his bones right there. Did you go back to his place? Is that why you’ve been ignoring me?’
I stare down at the cracks forming in the old leather couch, wanting to disappear into them. If I tell her Ryker’s back, that would mean his reappearance is real, and I’d like to pretend it’s not for just a little while longer, thank you very much.
Still, do I deny it? No. Monique knows me too well for me to pull that off. The truth then. ‘I didn’t let him kiss me.’
She clicks her tongue. ‘Looked like a kiss to me.’
‘How would you know? You didn’t have your glasses on.’
‘I have contacts now,’ she retorts, her spoon clanging against the bowl, ‘and don’t deflect. You suck at it. I’m just saying, it wouldn’t be a bad thing if you did hook up with a hot biker, babe. I’m worried I’ll be an old grandma when you finally tell me someone’s popped your cherry.’
‘Hey!’ I protest. ‘I’ve done … stuff.’
‘Gianna, please,’ she scoffs. ‘I mean sex. Sex with a big giant cock. A monster cock. That’s what you need.’
‘Would you please stop saying cock?’ I hiss.
‘I just worry,’ she retorts. ‘You never really moved on from …’ Her face gets serious. ‘You know.’
