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“I… I… It was an accident. I swear to God.”
I glimpse at the now three-quarters empty glass bottle with its wide opening at the top that, by some miracle, I’m still holding in my right hand.
Just to up the mortification factor nicely, on the other side of the lobby, I spot Fran holding her face as if trying not to give herself a hernia from laughing while Rami looks like she can’t decide who to eye more suspiciously—me or him.
We’d left to go for a walk before I remembered the beetroot, carrot and turmeric juice I’d left on the counter. I went back up to get it, only in my rushed state, I couldn’t find the freaking lid so decided to leave without it.
The plan was to drink it within a few blocks and then stick a tissue in my empty bottle and put it in my backpack, but on my way out of the elevator, I caught sight of my condescending walking orgasm of a neighbor, and immediately tripped, in the process managing to spray his entire front with the worst juice you could possibly ever conceive of in terms of stain removal.
I mean, you can add bleach and scrub on beetroot and turmeric stains for an entire moon cycle only for them to hit you with a very resoundingFuck right off.
“I believe you,” he says with a smirk, and I suddenly feel annoyed that I have to momentarily forgo my usual sass seeing as I’ve just tie-dyed his shirt without his consent.
I glance down at his pants, trying to pretend that I can’t see the large bulge around the crotch.
“It’s on your pants too.”
“I know. Thank you.”
“God, sorry,” I groan, fumbling in my backpack for some tissues. I grab some and go to kneel down to mop up the cold-pressed juice extraction on the shiny black and gray tiled floor, which I pray won’t stain, only for Greyson to stop me.
“No.” He turns to look at the reception desk across the huge lobby. “Neil, can you—?”
“Already on it!” shouts the respectable-looking bespectacled man behind the desk. “Got maintenance on their way down.”
“Thank you.”
“Um… your shirt,” I say, my brows creased into a frown which I suspect will be there all day as I cringe-relive this moment until I can start drinking in the hopes of blacking it out for a few hours. “Can I wash it for you?”
“What exactly is it?” he asks. “The blood of your enemies, by the looks of it?”
I try not to smile. “It’s…”Fuck. “It’s beetroot juice. And turmeric.”
He smiles. “Oh, that’s good.”
“Yeah… It’s gonna stain.”
“Mmm.”
“I could… buy you a new shirt,” I suggest, saying a silent prayer that his shirt costs less than my monthly rent. My eyes are magnetically pulled back to his pants and the few drips of juice on them, although luckily the fabric is jet black. “And pants.”
He shakes his head slowly. “That won’t be necessary.”
Crap.
“Well… I could try washing them. I’ve spilled more juice on me than the average person,” I say, to the raising of his eyebrows above mirthful eyes.
I glance down at my tatty white T-shirt with a faded print of a wolf on it and my loose magenta and navy-blue pants which are the most comfortable I’ve ever owned, in part because I’ve been wearing them for three years. “Although, granted, I don’t always get those stains out.”
“I think we both know the stains won’t come out, Indigo.”
My body turns to ice and my pulse kicks wildly in my neck as moisture decides to seep backwards from my mouth and into my salivary glands.
“How… How do you know my name?”
“As it turns out, Carrie had mentioned it to me before. I asked Tom today to confirm.”
His eyes narrow as he takes in my surprise.
