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“Shh. I’m cuddling a chronically burnt-out little man. He can’t even get ice cream without feeling guilty for being unproductive. The despair. The humanity.”
I swear. “Princess, I’m not in the mood for games.”
Her laughter is like butterfly wing beats—soft and lovely. Fixing a funny smile on her face, she pulls away. “If only that were a rare condition, pet. The problem is that you’re never in the mood for games. I don’t think you’ve unclenched the muscles in your jaw since you were born. Scientific grants should be awarded in order to study why your teeth haven’t shattered in response to the constant force.”
I stretch my jaw, discover it is impossibly tight, and rub a spot just below my ear. “Please answer my question. Do we have anything more to consider concerning the Maxim Project?”
“Thank you for being polite. I’m still waiting to hear back from my web of informants now. In other pressing news, Granger’s goons have been sighted sticking together in a warehouse off the coast of Lake Erie. It’s all very cinematic, and I don’t trust it. I think we should blow it up.”
The tension in my jaw returns. “Why?”
“They got their second chance. They didn’t become upstanding citizens, because upstanding citizens don’t hang around in abandoned warehouses like Batman villains. Now they explode.” She mimics the sound of an explosion and tosses her hands into the air. Then she beams at me.
It’s too cute for words, and I hate it so, so much.
Pinching the bridge of my nose, I manage to take a cooling breath. “No.”
“You know why there are so many Batman comics?”
“Because he’s the best DC superhero, and it sells?”
Her grin broadens. “I love that you know he’s the best, but no. It’s because he doesn’t get rid of the bad guys. Arkham Asylum is a vacation prison where all the villains go to plot their next doomsday device. Batman’s stuck in a perpetual trolley problem where he’s refusing to switch the lanes and take responsibility for one murder over being an ‘innocent bystander’ to the five.”
“Ideally there is no murder.”
“We don’t live in an ideal world, Rowan.” Something sad touches her eyes, tainting her smile. “Perhaps my methods are a little violent, though. All the same, I would consider getting the rest of the riffraff locked up so they can’t cause more harm. Thankfully, successful prison escapes in the real world are minimal, so I do doubt they’d manage to plot revenge behind bars.” She turns, heading to the bathroom. After brushing her hair and fixing her makeup, she slips on a black headband, and my heart trips about lamely in my chest when she emerges again.
This is truly torture at a level I’ve never experienced before.
Woe is me.
Cupcake has made her way up my side, stuck in the crevice between me and the couch. Wincing, I stand and awkwardly lift the…muscle noodle from the cushions.
“Support her head,” Briar notes as she begins going through her purses in the closet, holding them up to her outfit in the dresser mirror—like a perfectly normal girl who would never blow up a warehouse full of people.
Cupcake’s body wraps around my arm, tightening, and I grimace as I try to support her head.
Briar glances at me while I wrestle the animal, then she giggles. “My poor baby feels about as secure as you do—which is not very. Come here.”
I do as I’m told, and she frees me from Cupcake’s constricting hold.
With her snake wrapped firmly around her shoulders again, Briar smiles up at me. “Sometimes big, strong things just need to be held properly for them to relax.”
“Are you trying to be allegorical?” I grumble.
Twisting toward the door, she sings, “Maybe.”
I massage my stiff jaw, cut a glance at my couch, and sigh. “Assuming the offer hasn’t expired, where are we getting ice cream?”
Her smile lights up the entire world.
And I hate how much I don’t hate it at all…
Chapter 18
~~~~~~~~~~~~
It’s only ice cream, not the end of the world.
