We keep walking, slipping between pools of bright light from the shacks and dark shadows behind the buildings. The scents of various fried foods mingle together.
“Do you want to get something to eat?” I ask.
“I already ate.”
Did Torch take her out to dinner? Did she eat at the bar with Remy? Grab a burger from Pax before I got here?
The last shack stands empty. The door’s ajar and I open it wider, motioning Molly inside.
She frowns and stares back at the path we just followed.
“It’s cold out,” I explain.
“Okay.”
Inside, I flip a switch by the door. Dim yellow light flickers above us, barely chasing away the shadows. It isn’t much warmer in here than it is outside. The front windows are shuttered, so no one can see us at least. I push the door closed but don’t latch it.
Molly frowns at the door.
I step closer and she backs up until her butt hits an old, wooden counter.
Where should I start?
I clear my throat. “Can I ask you something?”
She lifts her head and I feel the heat of her glare shooting out from behind the mask. I used to think her pissy little death-glares were cute, but that’s just because I was never on the receiving end of a serious one before. There’s no humor hiding behind her expression. Just raw hurt and disappointment pursing her lips.
“Go ahead,” she challenges.
I flick one of the tall, leather bunny ears on her head. “What are you supposed to be?”
Her defensive stance softens a fraction. “A devil bunny.”
Leave it to Molly to always come up with something clever from her own imagination. “Ahh, cute but deadly?”
She crosses her arms over her chest. “Yup.”
“Can you take it off for a minute?”
She mashes her lips together, like she’s about to tell me to go fuck myself with the nearest rigid object, but then she reaches behind her head. There’s a sharp click. She carefully pulls the mask off and sets it on the counter behind her, then runs her fingers through her hair.
“Stop.” I grab one of her hands. “Your hair’s fine.”
“It’s all flat and sweaty.” She yanks her hand away but stops trying to tame her wild waves.
Finally, I can see her face.
There’s my girl.
Well, my girl with bloodred lipstick and dark, sparkly shadow smudged around her eyes. I kinda like the elaborate makeup, though.
Molly could wear anything and paint her face any way she wanted, and I’d still think she’s the most beautiful woman in the world.
“What’d you want to talk about?” She lifts her chin and the glare returns.
“Everything. I missed you.”
You’re my girl.