“Therapy. So much therapy, Emily. Turns out if you go to enough behavioral group sessions when you’re fourteen, you eventually won’t think the world hates you anymore.”
Her smile is genuine, and I’m relieved.
“Don’t see why someone would hate you,” she says. “I see why Logan likes you, for sure.”
“Yeah? Does he have a penchant for broken toys?”
She shakes her head. “No. You just have good energy. I’ve been talking to you for two minutes and I already get it.”
“Honestly, I have been told I have good energy at least a few times. Horrible decision making and self-control, but good energy.”
“See?” she says, raising her eyebrows. “I’m never wrong.”
I smile at her, feeling a weight lift from my chest.
I like being complimented, sure. I eat that shit up. Once upon a time, if a woman like Emily was being this kind and conversational with me, I would be flirting so hard I’d already be mentally planning out the appropriate time to askif she’d like an orgasm or three. I always enjoyed women who were older than me, and they’ve tended to enjoy my cock, too.
Now, though?
All I can focus on is what she said earlier.
Logan likes me.
The thought glitters inside me. I’m like a kid pulling petals off of a daisy.
Emily asks me about which desserts we have on hand and quickly taps out a list, in a spreadsheet complete with color-coded columns, for an order she wants to put in. She sends it wirelessly to a printer, prints it out, and hands me the list.
“Thank you, Tongue Ring Barbie,” I tell her.
She laughs and reaches up to give me a high five. Just then, Logan steps in through the billowing curtains over by the balcony doors.
“Chase,” Logan says, glancing at me, then at Emily, then at our hands that just touched.
“Hi.”
I give him a wave, making no attempt to hide that I’m looking him up and down in his breezy white button-down.
“How are they?” Emily asks in a quiet tone, nodding toward the balcony.
Logan looks over at her, blinking. “Oh. They’re great,” he says, waving a hand through the air. “I think they’re going to say yes.”
“Knew they’d be interested if you were involved,” Emily says. “I’ll go chat with them about scheduling now.”
“Perfect.”
Emily quickly walks out onto the balcony and I’m left inside with Logan.
“You guys sound like you’re plotting something,” I tell him.
“Just trying to get a few actors interested in a small indiefilm I’m starring in soon. The director asked if I would meet with them, and… did you get a new tattoo?”
I nod, taking a few steps forward to show him.
The moth’s wings stretch all the way from the middle of my inner forearm down to below my wrist, the ends of the lines of ink trailing down onto the back of my hand and the first knuckle of my thumb.
“Got it almost a week ago,” I tell him.
“Did you draw that? It’s beautiful.”
