A breeze moves the curtains along the living room, and I catch a glimpse of the balcony.
Logan is out there.
I see his tan skin in the sunlight as he leans back on a picnic chair outside, eating lunch across the table from three other people. It’s one man and two women, and all of them look just as screen-ready and gorgeous as he does.
One of the women reaches her arm up and starts flexing her biceps, laughing and joking with Logan, and he starts flexing, too. He’s making everyone at the table laugh as he pretends to be some sort of Adonis, posing and getting out of his chair to strut.
The breeze flutters the curtains again and blocks the view of the balcony for a while.
“Logan’s told me about you,” Emily says, looking up from her tablet for a moment to glance at me.
“Hopefully confessing to you how badly he wants to buy one of my paintings?” I joke.
She smiles. “Come. Sit for a second,” she says, pulling one of the dining chairs out beside her. “I want to write out anorder for desserts to take to an event tonight. Is that something the restaurant can do on short notice?”
“We will do just about anything for Logan Stone, and by extension, Emily…”
“Vega.”
“Fuck, you have a cool name, too?Vega and Stonesounds like a sick comic book.”
“I guess Logan and I have to team up and take over the world as supervillains.”
“Please do,” I plead in a playful voice. “I’d like to live in a world ruled by you two.”
I push my sleeves up as I sit down, being careful around my new tattoo that I just took out of its clear healing wrap earlier. It spans the lower half of my forearm. I got it the day after Logan’s premiere, on a whim when I needed to distract myself, and I’ve been very happy with the decision.
Emily’s eyes glance over at it and she does a double-take at my forearm. “That’s beautiful,” she says. “Is that a Morpho butterfly?”
“Luna moth.”
“Its wings are amazing.”
“Thank you. Lunas are usually green, but I asked the artist for blue. I figured that if it’s my arm, I’m in control of the colors. Hurt like a motherfucker, but I think it’s my favorite tattoo now.”
I glimpse Logan outside again for a moment as the curtains shift.
I take a moment to gaze at him while Emily’s checking out my arm. Logan is facing the other direction on the balcony, and he still has no idea I’m here. The sun shines over his hair, bringing out the pale highlights in his golden curls.
“I like your Black Flag one, also,” Emily tells me, nodding at the tattoo of four little stripes on the edge of my other wrist.
“You know the band?”
She nods. “I know I look like Corporate Barbie now, but when I was younger I was obsessed with punk bands. I’ve taken out all of my piercings by now, but… hold on.”
A moment later she shows me an old-looking photo on her phone of a girl with neon green hair, dark makeup, and a ring at the center of her stuck-out tongue.
“No way that’s you,” I murmur.
“I used to be cool,” she says, grinning as she locks the phone. She’s probably a few years older than Logan, maybe somewhere in her mid-30s. She pulls in a long breath, shaking her head. “Best advice I can give you is don’t ever grow up.”
“Nah. Growing up is a good thing. I’m so glad I’m not the same as I was last year… let alone when I was a teenager.”
“Were you bad?”
“Very bad,” I tell her, looking down at the table. “And not in a cool way. In ahe needs helpway.”
“Ah. Seems like you turned out well, at least.”
