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“We’re not dating-dating.”
My best friend doesn’t even know my name. I don’t know his. Hell, I don’t know what the fuck he looks like under his mask.
Maybe he’s a bridge troll.
Wind shoots through between the trees, frigid as shit. It reaches down the back of my hoodie and freezes my ears into cubes. I shiver, and Beckett’s arms tighten around me.
His breath stirs my hair when he laughs, and it takes two heartbeats to realize his lips are on my head.
I look up, and we’re close.
Really, really close.
I’m not doing this. No matter how much I want to. Straight guys are fun once in a while—when I don’t have to see them again—but not my roommate.
I don’t want to keep ruining this.
Letting go, I move away from him.
“I’ll be back late again tonight,” I say. “I have another um… class project.”
Even his smile’s awkward. “Okay. I’ll leave my lamp on so you don’t trip.”
The cops don’t know the Sunny Bunny exists.
I’m worrying for jack shit.
I love February. I hate February.
I love February.
I fucking hate February.
It hasn’t stopped snowing since this afternoon. We have a winter warning that tells people not to drive unless it’s essential—that’s on top of a curfew the mayor keeps threatening.
Bunnies are essential workers. We keep populations up!
The conversation hearts jiggle in my pocket, knocking against each other as I skip up to the house that won the “Eeny, Meeny, Miny, Mo” competition tonight.
Three knocks.
No answer.
I touch the doorknob, and the metal’s just as cold as my palm. It turns easily…
Then the door creaks open.
I can’t stop my grin.
Lucky lucky lucky.
Even my feet are rabbit’s feet. My entire body is morphing into one right before my eyes. Maybe the mask will seal onto my skin too at some point, like one of those sick 90s horror flicks.
“Is that you, Delilah?” a dude yells from upstairs.
Oh, definitely.
I close the door behind me, twisting the knob so it doesn’t catch. There’s no reason to bother locking it this time of night. Maybe Delilah’s a hooker he ordered online.
