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“You never have to be sorry for wanting to kiss me, Lucy. You can kiss me fully, wildly and deeply.”
She nibbled on her pouty bottom lip. “I might take you up on that offer…”
Good, I thought.
Because, like an addiction, I didn’t want to quit her.
Chapter 16
Lucy
Chicago
I finally tookE up on her previous offer. We currently had luxurious pillows propped under our knees on her bed, ice cream tubs on each nightstand, and she had purchased each of us a single-use mud mask.
E wanted to watch one of the Batman movies, citing Christian Bale was nice to look at for a few hours, but I put a kibosh on that onerealquick.
“Aren’t you much happier singing along to Broadway songs?” I probed.
“Yeah. BecauseHairsprayis my absolute favorite,” she replied sarcastically around a mouthful of cookie dough.
E secretly loved it. One time when we were teenagers, I caught her in her room with “You Can’t Stop the Beat” on repeat. I mean, I couldn’t blame her; the song was super catchy and the fact that the entire movie built up to it, it was a sing-along favorite.
“Stop pretending that you hate it. It’s a hard fact to believe when you happen to know every lyric to every song,” I pointed out, you know, in case it wasn’t obvious.
“I could be watching Christian Bale in his bat suit right now,” she huffed.
I began to make an obnoxious snoring sound, nudging her with my foot for added measure. “Newsflash, Batman is boring.”
“How would you know? You’ve never sat down to watch it with me,” she flipped back.
“No need. He’s a spoiled rich guy that has people and resources at his disposal; he spends his time playing with the gadgets they make for him.” E was right—I hadn’t seen it, but I also didn’t need to. I’d seen enough as I passed in and out of the room to know that it was not something for me.
E put her tub of ice cream back on the nightstand. “So.” She continued looking forward at the TV.
“Use your words. ‘So’ isn’t a sentence,” I corrected. No matter what activity we did, or grand a time we had together, there always seemed to be an instance (or twelve) where one or both of us would get snarky. Sisterly love, I suppose.
“Hairspraywas an interesting choice.”
I clapped the hand holding my spoon against the tub, mocking her. “That’s a proper sentence. Good job.”
“Shut up.” She shifted her pillow and resumed the demolition of her cookie dough. Poor tub never stood a chance. “You uh, don’t notice any parallels?” She let her words hang in the air between us.
“Are you trying to tell me that you’re Tracy and I’m the annoying best friend, Penny? Because if you are, that’s rude, dear sister.” I opened my mouth wide, testing the mask; no cracking yet—plenty of time before rinsing it off.
“That wasn’t the similarity I was going for, but now that you mention it…” she teased.
A glob of my Cherry Garcia was on my spoon, poised and ready to fling.
“Don’t you dare,” she warned. “I was referring to the wholeregular girl lands the celebritybit, sheesh.”
After Jake and I talked about what transpired on the morning show, I hadn’t told E anything, really. Not that we kissed. Not that we sort of loosely agreed to venture forth into the future together.
But E was creepy with her sixth sense; she knew. God help her future children.
“I don’t know what you’re referring to,” I lied. Plus, I didn’t ‘land’ Jake; we were just hanging out.
For now, a tiny voice interjected my thoughts.
