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“Luce. If we didn’t share blood, I’d still know that you and Jake are an item. Why is it so hard for you to admit that?”
Staring into the ice cream, I began counting the cherry chunks that were visible.Four, five…
“You accuse me of speaking in fragmented sentences and here you are unable to even articulate one. That’s rich, Luce…”
Six, seven…
“We’re just having fun.” There was very little conviction to my voice.Eight…
“Well, does he know that?” she pressed.
“What do you mean? He and I talked, okay? We both know what’s what,” I snapped defensively.
E didn’t say anything for a beat.
Ordinarily, I’d appreciate the silence coming from her, but now it was overbearing and oppressive. It seemed to say more than if she was still on her soapbox caterwauling about. I didn’t like it.
“What?”
She lowered her voice and the sincerity behind it annoyed me. “I just want you to be happy for once, Luce.”
“Shhh,” I hissed. “Zac Efron’s song is on.”
I didn’t have to see her face to know she rolled her eyes. “Half the movie is Zac Efron singing…” she muttered. “Suit yourself.”
E left the bed and I could hear her soaking a washcloth to remove her mask.
I was glad of the drying mud on my face. Not only would I have smooth, clear skin by the time I was done, but I could blame the redness on the hot water and gentle scrubbing.
Not my chagrin.
Now that twocities were under my belt, things felt a little more routine.
I knew the job and its expectations well. I enjoyed it and looked forward to going every day. A fleeting thought to thank E for recommending me in the first place ran through my mind, but I decided to hold off for now. I was still a little salty about ourHairspraymovie night.
Incidentally, Jake’s days were a little more unpredictable. It didn’t matter that his schedule was printed in ink; the proverbial permanence of that was no better than a child crossing their fingers behind their back while they made a pinky promise.
It was no fault of Jake’s or his assistant’s or the con’s. Simply put, it was just how it went. Too many variables were present to stay as rigid as they’d like.
But we had the evenings together. Mostly, at least.
When Jake was otherwise engaged, we spent the late nights texting each other. Which I know sounds a little elementary; we were in the same hotel, under the same roof, but there was something to be said for written correspondence.
Now, don’t go calling me Bill Shakespeare—it’d be farcical. All I’m saying is that little slice of time that existed somewhere between a dusky evening sky and an inky one, is where Jake and I learned about each other.
It was where certain idiosyncrasies came to light. Jake never texted in abbreviations. He always spelled the entire word and used proper punctuation. And he rarely used emojis. He never really needed to; he articulated himself well enough without them.
It was our first night in Chicago when Jake told me not to make any plans for the following evening.
Intrigued, I kept my calendar open that had otherwise consisted of enormously grand plans like shaving my legs and applying a hair masque.
Skipping the deep conditioner, I did a quick job of my legs, slathered some lotion on, and got dressed.
I didn’t know what he had in mind; did it require flip flops and a tank or something a little nicer? In the end, I settled on a romper. It had spaghetti straps and it was short, which was a godsend in the Chicago humidity.
Moments later there was a knock at my door. Pinching my cheeks for a vain attempt at a little more added color, I stole a glance through the peep hole before swinging the door open.
“Hi,” I smiled. It was impossible not to smile around Jake. He radiated warmth and candor while hinting at a sliver of rogue wickedness.
