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Tension throbbed in my shoulders. She was probably telling Luna I’d forced her to get donuts against her will.
We didn’t spend long in the shop. The scent of the donuts filled my head, but the prospect of them wasn’t nearly as enticing when Ryan was acting so strangely. She couldn’t be that annoyed that I’d wanted her to come in with me.
Then again, she was stubborn as hell. And how well did I know her really?
Dre called after Ryan as I opened the door to usher her out. “You better call me. I need that reading asap.”
Ryan didn’t even wave, just marched over to where I’d double-parked the car and slipped inside without a word.
I circled around to my side and noticed she was back on her phone. Lovely. I was about to get in when I noticed a telltale slip on the windshield.
My incredible morning was devolving into utter bullshit.
She didn’t even ask about the ticket when I got in and set the bakery box on the floor on her side. Whatever held her attention on her phone was far more important than dealing with me.
“I’m taking you home?”
“Yeah. Thanks.” She never glanced up.
A couple moments later, I pulled into her lot. She thanked me absently once more before climbing out and hurrying around the side of the building.
I drummed my thumbs on the steering wheel. Okay, then.
At a loss, I turned on the phone I’d silenced last night and had no fewer than thirty-seven voicemails and texts waiting.
The last from my father.
Dad: Where the hell are you? What are you doing?
Twenty-Three
That couldn’t be right.
I frowned as I scrolled through my Instagram. It couldn’t be right.
No way, no how.
My DMs were bulging. The red number in the corner of the app was in the triple digits. What the hell had happened?
I scrolled and saw the expired story in every single one of the replies.
More?
What’s this? What are their names? I need more!
So cute!
Is that a fox? *insert pterodactyl screech* I NEED MORE!
A screenshot of my work was reshared by Penn Masterson, the famous graphic artist. The Penn Masterson who could write his ticket at DC Entertainment or Dark Horse. I wasn’t a huge comic girl, but I followed his stuff. It was epic shit and his was one of the first indie comics to really blow up.
And he’d shared my Roz and Sylvia to his seventeen million followers.
My heart raced and my stomach pitched. I bent at the waist near the side of my building as the gravel went sparkly. Panic and shock layered one on top of the other.
I’d only posted the story with the sketch so the universe would show me that it was nothing.
And okay, maybe a little tiny part of me thought it would get a few nice replies from people who followed my tarot posts. Tarot Tramps, my podcast with Luna, also had a decent following. But not like this.
