Page 44 of Make Me Dream of You

She loves to talk about art. So we talk about art. I’ve been studying up on it at night, while I’m up in the loft while everyone else is sleeping. I’m learning about Dali and Degas at four in the morning. I can’t really explain why, but I want to know what she’s talking about when she references their works, see what she’s seeing.

It’s late when we get off work. Wood’s usually out on a date, sometimes he’s home, uh, entertaining that date. Bex is in and out. She works late and sleeps during the day plus has an active social life. I hardly even see her. I spend more time with Livvy than I have with anyone else in a long time.

Thursday night, she’s officially been living here a week, but it feels like she’s been with us longer. I was going to ask her if she wanted to hang out on our night off. Maybe go walk somewhere to get food or go down to the bar for a bit or maybe just hang out here and see if there’s a good movie to stream or she can put on that ridiculous reality dating show she likes to watch, and we can order food in.

But as I’m sipping on a beer in the kitchen, scrolling through my latest messages with Angel, Livvy walks out, Wood on her heels, and she’s all dressed up.

She looks so goddamn pretty.

“I’m glad we went with the open-toed shoes instead of the pumps, aren’t you?” Wood asks.

She lets out a high laugh. “Yes, you have excellent taste.”

He smiles his lopsided smile. Wood holds his hand up for a high five. She returns it and then they do this little handshake-back-clap-fist-bump-exploding thing. Interesting.

And just as they finish this new handshake ritual they’ve developed, she glances my way.

“What’s going on?” I ask, trying to sound nonchalant.

“Oh, I thought I mentioned it.” She smiles, but her eyes are shifty. “I have a date tonight.”

She definitely did not mention it. I grunt. “With Mark again?”

“Um, no. Not Mark.” She bites her lip.

The door buzzes.

I stay in the kitchen nursing my beer as she heads for the door. Little purse over her shoulder. A short cream dress that shows off her legs. And lipstick—she’s wearing bright red lipstick and I know her date is going to be staring at her mouth all night. And she’ll be smiling and laughing and touching his arm and?—

I take a sip of my beer, the glass bottle cold against my lips.

My stomach is in knots.

I’m not prepared for those knots to turn to a red-hot ball of inexplicable fury when she opens the front door to my apartment and Anthony is standing on the other side.

“Hey, gorgeous,” he says, looking her up and down. Too slowly, too appreciatively.

I stand, and clear my throat, almost knocking over my beer. “Livvy, can I talk to you real quick, before you leave?”

She turns, hand still on the doorknob, brows furrowed. “Okay. I’ll be right back,” she says to Anthony, smiling.

I jerk my chin to the right and walk to my room where she follows.

She’s between me and the door when I shut it, my arm over her head. Her eyes are greener than normal as she looks up at me.

“Anthony? You’re going out with Anthony? Really?”

“Yes. He seems nice and he asked me out. What’s wrong with that?”

“First of all, you work together. That always gets messy. And, I don’t know, he dates around a lot?—”

“Is that a crime?” She narrows a glare at me.

“No, I guess not. But you’re also still injured.”

“I’m fine. What kind of physical activity do you think we’re going to be doing on a first date? Rock climbing?”

I wasn’t thinking about rock climbing. Why was I thinking about her not rock climbing with Anthony? I don’t know. It’s not like I’m jealous of him.

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