Page 93 of King

“You live on your own?”

“Hell yeah! I mean, it’s no Eden Gardens but it's a hell of a lot better than Mr. Murphy’s basement. Where’s Willow? I can set up something for her too.”

“She’s in better hands without me." Reality sinks in. "It’s just me, on my own, no home to call my—”

“That’s a load of crap,” she interrupts, bangles dangling when she pulls me up from my seat. “You are home!”

“Mi casa es su casa!” Shauna kicks open the door to her studio.

She ushers me in from the hallway that smells like spicy chicken before giving me a tour.

It’s more like a twirl around the main room. Parquet floors, dusty windows. It’s no bigger than my bathroom back at The Archibalds' but she’s got everything she needs.

“Shower’s through that door, I don’t have a clean towel but you can use mine or an old t-shirt." She shrugs before flopping down on a stained beige sofa.

Shauna has a couple of R&B singers I recognize posted on brownish-white walls. Above her bed is a purple tapestry with a hypnotizing design.

Turning on a music video on the old boxy television, she sits up. “You hungry?”

I look over at the pile of dishes in the sink, empty takeout containers next to it. “Nah it's cool,” I say. “My appetite’s nonexistent.”

She nods before a smile spreads across her face, “Whiskey it is.”

Shauna heads to the ground of her four-storey walk-up to grab a bottle from the convenience store. It doesn’t take long for us to get a couple of shots in and on the third, it already starts to feel like old times.

"What?" Shauna snorts, her back against the sofa's armrest, a slice of pizza in her hand. “What’s that face?”

A mouthful of whiskey sits on my tongue. Placing the glass on the wobbly coffee table, I reach for a slice of pizza to wash it down. “What face?”

“Is there something in the glass?” She leans over, checking.

“No!” I laugh. “It’s just harsher than the stuff I was drinking in Eden.”

“Well excuse me.” Shauna makes a haughty face, her pinky finger in the air. “Too good for some ol' Jack Daniels?”

I take a bite before I pick up the glass with my free hand. “Never.” I take another sip and let the alcohol blur my memories of Eden some more.

“What’s the dick like over there?”

I almost spit out my drink, but I don’t know why I’m surprised by Shauna’s crassness. As soon as I get over her question, Damien settles into my mind. His body. His smooth skin. His devious smile.

“Alright, spill,” she says, reading my face again. “Who is he?”

“It’s no one." I did not come back to The Grove to talk about Damien King.

“Jo, don’t bullshit a bullshitter.” She sits up, refilling my glass with some more straight whiskey. “You can tell me.”

I roll my eyes before I let his name fall out of my mouth, “Damien King.”

“Damien King?” she repeats. “Like, son of Sebastien King?”

“Yep.” I pop the ‘p’ and go for the bottle instead of the glass. “That Damien King.”

“Damn girl.” She takes a sip of her drink. “So? How was it?”

I laugh, Shauna poking my leg with her painted blue toe. “Good,” I confess. “Really good.”

Shauna presses for details and I only skim the surface before her eyes are bugging out of her head. “Fuck. He sounds even hotter than Zane.”

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