Page 52 of 1001 Dark Nights: Bundle Forty-Two

A small awkward silence descends at the mention of herbrother, but we can’t avoid the subject forever.

“You’re doing pretty good for a backup,” she says, her toneone of forced lightness.

“And how’s Cliff doing?” I ask, watching her face closely.“How’s he been?”

“He’s better.” She lowers her arms, the little wand she wasusing on my brows dangling from her fingers. “He’s actuallydoing really well. He just got a job coaching at my old high school.”

“That’s fantastic.” The granule of guilt I always feel whenI think about Cliff scratches inside me for a second. “I’m really glad to hearthat.”

“He’s, um…” She turns back to the mirror, stowing the toolsshe used. “He’s been clean for a while now. I assume you know about hisstruggles.”

In the mirror, I watch her plump lips pull into a flat line.

“After Sportsco did thatdisgusting exposé on him and other ‘flops,’” she says, bitterness woven intoher words, “it triggered a relapse, but he’s better now.”

Her eyes find mine in the mirror.

“The reporter said you’d been contacted and asked to commenton all the trouble Cliff’s had since the championship game.” Her expressionsoftens. “Thank you for not giving them anything more than they already had.”

They had a lot. The two-hour special documented inpainstaking detail why Cliff and several other highschool and college basketball phenoms ultimately failed to realize theirpotential. It was damning, and I wanted nothing to do with it.

“I would never talk about him to the press, or anyone, forthat matter,” I say, my voice quiet, subdued. “I never have.”

“I know.”

Our eyes hold, and the space separating us heats, shrinksuntil even though she’s more than a foot away, it feels like there’s only abreath between us. Her chest rises and falls on a deep inhale. She licks herlips, almost nervously, and I can’t help myself. My eyes greedily track themovement, how she wets her bottom lip with her little pink tongue. Before mybrain can wander to all the places I’d like that tongue to be, someone breaksthe spell we’re under. Or at least, I am under.

“Are you Takira?” a tall girl with pink hair asks, steppinginto our space. “Catalina sent me over for makeup.”

“Um, yeah.” Takira nods briskly. “I was just finishing upwith someone.”

Pink Hair’s eyes wander to me, over me, and her grin goeswicked. “Well, hello, Mr. Armstrong. Ballers, ballers, everywhere. I’ll be atthe after-party later if you’re looking for company.”

“I’ll be there.” I stand, removing the little smock tiedaround my neck to cover my clothes, and look down into Takira’s guarded eyes.“But I hope I’ll be busy catching up with an old friend.”

Takira doesn’t respond, but that’s okay. I don’t need herto. She gets started on Pink Hair’s makeup. If Takira doesn’t show up for theafter-party, I’ll find her. After all these years and all that’s happened, weowe ourselves that.

Chapter Four

Takira

What are the odds?

Whatever they are, they’re against me. Of all people to sitdown in my chair at today’s fashion show, an event I wasn’t even originallybooked for…Nazareth Armstrong.

I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought of him often overthe years. How could I not? Every milestone of his career he celebrated,my brother bemoaned. Sometimes the amazing turns his life took were the verythings that sent Cliff on his worst benders. When Naz’s team won thechampionship a few years ago, giving him a ring before the age of thirty, Mamacouldn’t find Cliff for days. I flew home to help search because she was sodesperate. The boy who was once her greatest source of pride hasdelivered the most sorrow to her door.

“Thank you again for stepping in today,” Catalina says,sipping her drink, the lights from the pool in Lotus’s backyard casting a glowon her face.

“Oh, thanks for asking.” I swirl the pomegranate martini inmy glass. “It was fun.”

It had been. Not having done a fashion show in a while, I’dforgotten the rush of adrenaline that comes with the lightning-fast outfitchanges and look adjustments. I practically launched a few models down therunway when time was tight.

“Takira!” Lotus calls from a few feet away. She’s changedand now wears a dress so short it exposes what looks like lace stockingstattooed around the tops of her thighs. The tiny straps show off the delicateline of her collarbone, and her platinum braids contrast perfectly against therich brown of her face. Her round belly should appear incongruous in the sexyoutfit with the strappy heels, but she manages to look effortlessly glamorousand comfortable in her own skin.

“I’m so glad you came,” she says, drawing even with Catalinaand me. “Thanks for helping out today and for coming tonight.”

“Hey, Hollywood party filled with beautiful people. Itdidn’t take much convincing,” I joke.