Page 78 of Puppy Love

“You don’t have to stay here,” Adrian says, turning to our group. “Go look around!”

Avery and I share a concerned glance, and Adrian rolls their eyes, pushing us away.

“Space,” they say firmly, but giggling. “Give me some space for when Anassia comes.” Then, their hand grips the sleeve of Avery’s suit jacket, their eyes darting up to him. “But come back.”

We nod and start to spread out, taking different routes to different pieces that caught our eyes earlier in the night. I approach a sculpture, sitting on top of a sleek black display table. The sculpture isn’t of anything, at least nothing discernible to the naked eye. Still, something about it has me tilting my head, intrigued.

“You gonna make it?” Violet says behind me. My eyes roll as I turn to face her.

“Are you going to creep up on me all night, or can you find a different hobby?”

Violet sticks her hands up defensively, her almost empty Dirty Shirley waving in the air.

“Cool it, Sparks,” she says. “I was just checking on you. You seemed kind of upset back there.”

My cheeks turn pink, heat rushing to them at the thought of Violet watching me cry.

Crying isn’t embarrassing. At least I tell myself that, since I seem to do it frequently. I never think to myself when someone else is crying that they should be embarrassed. But knowing Violet watched me tear up at something so simple as a painting makes my stomach crawl.

It wasn’t simple though. That’s the thing. That painting is my family. Even the parts of it I’m not so fond of. I shake my head.

“I’m fine,” I say, looking back at the twisting yellow sculpture. Violet steps beside me, either analyzing it or pretending to. I glance at her briefly. I don’t know why I do. I don’t mean to, and I don’t want to. I don’t want anyone who might be watching us to think anything is going on. But she looks so beautiful in this suit, her hair slicked back, her hazel eyes beaming. I look back in front of me.

“I like your outfit,” I whisper, continuing to stare forward. Violet looks forward too, but out of the corner of my eye, I can see a smile.

“Thank you,” she says, tilting her head at the art in front of us. “I like yours too. Although…” She takes a sip of her drink. “I do feel like it’s missing something.”

My head turns to look at her, my brows furrowing. “What?”

She taps her index finger to the spot on her arm, the one that used to be empty. The hammerhead shark. Then, she bites back a smile as she turns and walks away.

Later in the night, after Anassia told Adrian their painting had “truly captured the modern-day family” and Avery left because he got overwhelmed by the constant flow of people, I see Violet, leaning against the bar, a full glass in her hand. But this drink is different, something blue that looks like it would for sure make me throw up. My eye is drawn to the person in front of her, the person she’s talking to, who’s holding the same blue drink in her delicate hands.

Anassia Walker.

I chew on the inside of my cheek as I walk over to them. Not to them. To the bar, of course, that’s all. If they happen to be there, that’s none of my business. I clear my throat, stepping between them to order.

“Can I have another Vodka Cranberry please?”

I watch the bartender as she makes my drink, but a hand tugs on my bare bicep.

“Cam!” Violet says my name louder than I would like in a public setting, but quieter than I would like in a private one. “This is Anassia. Anassia,” She gestures to me. “This is one of my employees, Cam.”

Heat fills my cheeks as I look up at the woman towering over me, her tall slender build not unlike a feminine version of Hayden’s. I know it shouldn’t, because that’s exactly what I am, but the word “employee” sticks to the sides of my brain, like a degradation. I frown.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Anassia says, reaching out a thin pale hand. She has coral acrylics, ones that match her button-up. They’re ugly, to be quite frank. I stick my hand out, shaking hers firmly. As firmly as I can, actually. I don’t know why; the intention wasn’t to hurt her. But I don’t like being looked down at like I’m just an “employee.”

“Your boss is really something, isn’t she? She’s not too hard on you I hope.”

“Here’s that Vodka Cranberry,” the bartender says, looking at me with almost-pity behind her eyes. “On the house.”

I grab it, taking a dramatically long sip and assure all the muscles in my face stay tight and unmoving. I set it back down, a tiny splash landing on the counter.

“Nope.”

I cut the word in half, turning it into two syllables instead of one, popping my lips on the “p.” A valley forms between Violet’s eyebrows as she presses them together. Anassia looks back up at her with a perfectly straight smile.

Are those veneers? I bet they’re veneers.

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