I blinked. “You think I would do that?”
“Two words,” Olly said. “Graveyard. Sex.” She gave me a smile, letting me know she was teasing.
“Hey, this is a no-judgment zone,” Lithie continued. “Sometimes a guy offers you an edible and you think, yeah, that sounds fun, and you don’t realize until later, at home, in the bath, that that could have been a roofie and goddamn you were lucky.”
I sat forward, messing up whatever Olly was doing with my face. “Did that happen to you?”
Olly shoved me back into position as my sister waved her hand. “Unimportant.”
“I think rule number one should be we don’t meet strangers in graveyards for sex,” Eames deadpanned.
“Call that rule zero,” Lithie amended. “Now, I’ve spent a decade deciphering the fuck-boy language. Let me give you a crash course. A tourist’s understanding of French, as it were.”
“Fuck-boy language?”
“After you finish fucking,” Lithie continued, “you may hear such things as ‘I have an early day tomorrow’ or they could yawn and say, ‘I’m sleepy.’ It’s important you know they’re lying assholes and are trying to get you to leave.”
“Mm-hmm,” Eames agreed at my back, unwrapping a strand of hair from a hot roller.
“I don’t know if that will be a problem,” I said.
“You’re meeting a guy for a one-night stand. The odds of him being a fuck boy are at least ninety-eight percent.”
Fuck boy.
That in-over-my-head feeling came rushing back. I’d only ever slept with one person. The one time Itriedto be spontaneous, I ended up in a graveyard, and even that I fucked up. I hadn’t kissed anyone new in years. Now I had to learn a whole new fucking language?
Earlier, I’d gone back toC’s profile, trying to learn about him. So much of my life had been unpredictable and out of my control that mapping the future became my coping mechanism. It usedto be so bad that I couldn’t go to a new place unless I knew exactly everything about it.How far is parking from the door? What’s the dress code?
There were things I already knew by his bio, like his height—six-four. He’d graduated with a degree in accounting—which felt a little too normal for the vibe his pictures gave off. He loved to read, but didn’t list a genre.
Other information I gleaned. His tattoos were mostly hidden by his long shirt, but his knuckles were visible. Every finger was tattooed in runes—some meant protection, others strength. There was a unique symbol I’d never seen on his hand, like a sigil mixed with something animalistic.
His bio was too sparse. I still didn’t know enough about him, and I kept stuttering on one line.
In town for a few months. One night only.
Maybe I wasn’t anxious with Void because it never feltreal. It was like a fantasy sprung from my books. There were no stakes.
But this? This was dinner. This was a one-night stand that would probably happen in a bed.
“Don’t use flavored lube,” Lithie continued. “I can’t eat a cupcake ever again without associating it with the worst sex of my life.”
“Also it’s always the cheapest shit,” Olly added. “Say hello to contact dermatitis.”
“That,” Eames added, unwrapping another strand of hair. It fell hot to my shoulders.
Olly sat back, holding a powder brush, like she was examining me for imperfections.
“Do your best to stay away from straight boys,” Lithie said, drawing my attention from Olly’s furrowed brow. “They are objectively the worst in bed.”
I raised a brow. “Objectively.”
“It’s peer reviewed,” she said.
“Me, I am the peer,” Olly said, leaning back in and resuming her work on my face. I don’t think I’d ever spent this much time on makeup. I was a tinted-concealer-and-lip-balm girl. Not because I didn’t like it—I was deeply envious of anyone who could do a full glam—but I knew my limitations: organic chemistry, bell peppers, and the perfect winged eyeliner.
“Get you a bisexual baddie,” my sister continued. “A heteroflexible hunk. A genderqueer gem. A pansexual…” She made a face, like she wasn’t sure what would alliterate withpansexual.“Prince?”
