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“She is. She decorated the entire house while I was gone. Which I shouldn’t have even been surprised that you decided to get your own place, by the way.”
“No, you shouldn’t have. I like things a little more modern. A little more…”
I waved him off. “Yeah, yeah, we have different tastes.”
“In women as well, which is how I know that Nora Abbey is right up your alley.”
“No way,” I lied. Because he was so fucking right, and it was dangerous to think about. “Have you met anyone?”
“I have not,” he said. “A few dates, but nothing promising.”
“No one crazy enough for you?”
Whitton, despite being the suit, had a thing for…well, I could only describe it as batshit insane girls. Like the more psychotic they were, the more he was into them. I wasn’t sure if it was his actual type, but it was the only kind of girl I’d ever seen him pursue. And there wasn’t a screening process for the level of crazy he was into.
“You’re such a dick,” Whitton said. “I don’t look for crazy girls.”
“Sure, Whitt.”
He scowled at me as we pulled up to Thai Pepper. The line was already ten people deep in the hole-in-the-wall Thai place that had the best noodles I’d ever had in my life. We had excellent Thai in Seattle, and I’d been skeptical when Nora insisted we go here. But damn, she had been right.
Harley waved from a seat at the back of the restaurant. She was in a black miniskirt with ripped fishnets and Doc Martens, paired with a white leather jacket that might have been one of my old ones. Her long, freshly dyed, blonde hair was in two pigtails, her eyes were heavily lined, and she had on bubblegum-pink lipstick. Oh, Harley.
We pushed through the space to where she was.
“West!” she cried, throwing her arms around me.
She was nearly six feet tall but didn’t hide behind her height. She never slumped or refused to wear heels or anything. She took up as much space as she wanted, and I loved that about her.
“Hey, Harley.”
“I’m glad you’re back. How was LA?”
Whitt hugged her next, and then we took the seats opposite her.
“Oh, and I already ordered for the table.”
“Thanks,” Whitton said.
“LA was great. Just wrapped the album. Best work of my life.”
“I bet it is,” she said enthusiastically. “I cannot wait to hear it. When do I get an early copy? Also, can I meet Yorke? Because hello!”
“No!” Whitt said automatically.
“That sounds like a bad idea,” I agreed.
Yorke was another member of Cosmere. He played guitar, was usually silent unless it mattered, and had an avid following called the Peppermint Patties.
She sighed and slumped back. “Y’all are no fun.”
Whitton froze. “Are you using Southern phrases now?”
“Well, I’m Southern!” Harley said, leaning in just to irritate him.
“You’ve lived in Texas for six months.”
“Yeah, but Dad is from here, which means we’re from here, which means I get to say it. I find that way better than you guys or something fucking gendered. At least y’all is neutral. You can say it about any group of people. We don’t have to be so goddamn binary.”
Whitton looked at me in panic. “This is what you’ve missed.”
