Page 78 of Dreadful

“You know what though, I still dream about that latte.” She stares off toward the neon sign above the register, straw between her teeth, and her voice comes out soft, almost to herself. “That pistachio dream whatever it was called was a fucking wet dream.”

I’m laughing as I wedge myself into the corner of the booth, tucking one knee up so I can see both her and the door. We’re an hour outside Hollow Beach, but as life has shown me over and over again, you never know what can happen.

“Speaking of wet dreams,” she hedges.

My gaze snaps to hers, my eyes narrowing. “No.”

“I haven’t even asked anything yet.”

“You’re about to.”

Her mouth curls into a wild sort of grin. “I’m just curious. How many boyfriends do you have now, hm? Two? Three? Four?” She takes a sip, raising her eyebrows expectantly.

Heat rushes straight into my cheeks, and I clench my teeth together hard enough that my molars instantly ache. I don’t let up though, afraid that if I do, all kinds of truths will tumble out. The ones I’m not ready to share just yet.

She nearly chokes on her coffee. “Oh, holy shit, Bells,” she says through a cough. “I was just joking, but you did it, didn't you?” She lays one hand on her breastbone, her mouth parting a little.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You sneaky, freaky little undercover queen. You’re my fucking idol, Bellamy, I swear to god,” she crows, shifting to tuck one ankle under her other knee, fully facing me now. “Tell me you bagged yourself a four-course meal. And spare no detail.”

A laugh escapes me as I shove her hand down before she can start fist bumping and cheering again. “I'm not giving you a play-by-play of my sex life.”

“I don't need a play-by-play.” She rolls her eyes as she leans toward me. “Just broad strokes. Who, what, when, where, how many times, and who made you come the most.” She pauses, taking a sip of her latte.

I bite the inside of my cheek to kill the wide grin desperately trying to spring free.

God, I’ve missed her.

She gestures with her coffee, the straw pointed toward me like an accusation. “I’m betting it was Cruz, wasn’t it? That man looks like he can get into it, ya know what I mean?” Her grin looks a little too wild, her eyes sparking with mischief.

I take a long drink of my latte, letting my silence do all the talking.

“And Nate and East? You want to tell me the who, what, when, where, and how many times of that whole thing?”

She drops an elbow to the table and rests her chin in her palm. “Absolutely, I do.”

A laugh bursts out of me, sharp and sudden, and she grins back, the sound mingling with the clink of ice in our cups. The tight coil of tension in my shoulders loosens just enough to feel like I can breathe.

Lola takes another long drink before her gaze drops to my face, lingering on the fading bruise along my jawline. Her smile falters, the playful light in her eyes dimming. “So,” she says softly, setting her cup down with a quiet tap. “Are you going to tell me what happened to your face, or am I supposed to keep pretending I haven’t noticed?”

I trace my thumb through the cold condensation on my cup, watching the water bead and drip. “Depends. How much do you want to know?”

“Everything.”

“Then you're going to be disappointed.”

“Bellamy.”

“The power went out. Some people showed up who weren't invited. Things got a little… messy.”

“A little messy.” She points at my face. “Is that what we're calling this?”

“You should see the other guy.” It’s an offhand quip, but there’s truth in it this time.

Her lips twitch. “Did you shoot him?”

The corners of my mouth twist up, and my sister’s grin matches my own. “Good.”