“Okay, well if you need anything please let me know.”
A lot of people say that just because it’s the thing to say, but from Snow I feel she sincerely means it.
As soon as the door closes behind her, I ask Cinder. “Is Lysander coming by tonight?”
Pink tinges her cheeks as her violet eyes dart away. “Probably.”
We’ve talked way too much about my problems. I need to focus on Cinder and her life so she knows I care.
“If he’s not salty about our heated argument the other night. Inspired by one of Professor Stick Up My Ass’s lectures, we ended up debating whether it’s morally right for private collectors to hoard important works of art in their homes. Did you know a private collector has Napoleon’s tiny shriveled up dick locked away in a closet?”
“And that’s. . . bad?”
“Yeah, art is supposed to be a shared experience otherwise it loses all meaning. But Lysander said some bullshit I immediately translated into hoarding art like that makes the piece far more valuable and precious.” Cinder snorts dismissively.
“Right, well I was more wondering if there was anythingnewwith him? Anydevelopments?” My words are loaded with innuendo. As much as I care about how art is curated. . . wait, I don’t.
She adjusts her fishnet stockings. “Last week we did end up fooling around one night after watching one of those crappy art films on campus.”
My jaw drops. “And you didn’t tell me immediately? Was it good? Who started it? I need to know everything.” Even as I delve into Cinder’s life, fear presses into my mind. She doesn’t trust me. I bet she told Snow first. I’m more problems than I’m worth.
“You know me,” she shrugs one shoulder. “I have to process things for a long time before speaking about them. I started it. He’s a good kisser, though nobody got to finish, if you know what I mean. I was left with a severe case of blue tubes.” Her bow lips flatten as she sighs. “But nothing has happened since then. “Snow says Lysander seems like the kind of guy to process things slowly and independently, like me. She thinks he’ll be back after a little space, but to look out for subtle signs.”
“I like Snow. I think she’s the perfect addition to the lost girls. And hopefully she’s a semi-decent roommate?” My voice chirps up hopefully, trying not to focus on how I missed the girl talk. It doesn’t mean anything.
Insecurity has slowly but surely ballooned inside me in a way I haven’t felt for years and I can hear it in my own voice. At least, Cinder and Snow don’t seem to resent all the male attention I’ve been getting. Everything is fine, I try to convince myself.
If I have to replace myself, I have to make sure it’s the best damn replacement. Nothing but the best for my Cinder baby. Even if that means she and Snow end up better friends without me.
Even as I think it, something stabs my heart.
Nodding, Cinder confirms. “She is very nice.”
“Nice? That tells me nothing,” I pout. The need to know everything almost overwhelms me.
Cinder laughs, turning to the vanity and uncapping a black lipstick. It glides across her small but perfect cupid’s bow lips. “She doesn’t leave wet towels on the ground, if that’s what you're asking.”
“Hey.” I cross my arms over my chest. “I am very busy and important. I don’t always have time to clean up.” It’s true, I was notoriously the messy roommate. And here I was trying to tidy up a shit show of an old house. I wonder if this constitutes as irony. “But seriously, I think Snow has had it rough and really needs our support, so we better get our asses out there before Rap chews us out.”
Cinder gives me that half smirk, a knowing shine in her eyes as if she sees all. “You can’t help but see the best in everyone, don’t you?”
“Whoa,” I hold my hands up. “That’s not true. Remember how I grilled Brexley to the nth degree? I had to make sure he was good enough for our Red.”
Cinder rolls her eyes, still smiling as she holds the door open for me to enter the bar. “Please, you were always going to be besties with the Big Bad Wolf. Everyone can’t help but love you.”
My smile is weak. I used to strive to get into everyone’s good graces, but the polarized attention I’ve been getting is wearing away at me.
One person more than others has a more prominent effect. “If that were the case, my neighbor wouldn’t be such a raging douche to me.” Ugh, why does it bother me so much? I could chip the ice off his blue eyes when he looks at me. It stabs deep squishy vulnerable parts at my core, and I hate it. I don’t deserve the way he treats me, and I should leave it alone. I should chalk it up to him being miserable, but part of me still wants to go over and break his door down and demand why he doesn’t like me?
Because I sleepwalk and broke into his house. Or maybe it was the singing telegram…
“Do you really not know who the guy in the bed was?” Cinder asks as we near the counter.
I shake my head. “If not an evil adult-napper, then maybe big and grumpy’s lover?”
Cinder hops on the bar top and slides across the clean, glossy surface. In a couple hours it will be sticky, wet, and covered in fingerprints. “Want me to go over to his place and find out?”
My height and size don’t allow for me to pull off what she did, not gracefully anyway. So I catwalk around the bar and assume my spot. My confidence bolsters with every step. This is the Lost Girl’s house and I own this space. I feel more like myself with each moment we get closer to opening. “Faelords, no, please don’t.”
