Page 60 of Justice for Puck Bunnies

. . . or lack thereof.

Vin’s sitting on the floor in front of the couch between my legs. I was teaching him to French braid the hair on top of his head so he doesn’t have to use metal clips. The braid is done, but he hasn’t moved, and I’m not asking him to.

My fingers scratch over his scalp and massage the tight knot at the base of his neck. He tilts his head into my touch.

My phone on the coffee table lights up with a notification. He plucks it from the surface and hands it to me.

“Hey, have you ever thought about social media?” Vin asks.

“I live on my phone.”

“No, I mean for work. That’s a job.”

“I’m not a PR person.”

“I don’t think you need to be. My sponsored posts are mostly me awkwardly trying the product while Trick records it. My agent makes me go to a new restaurant every so often for the tag.”

“No one cares about the things I’m doing.”

“There are... What do they call them? Lifestyle creators?”

“Yeah, I’m sure my threadbare leggings and four-year-old work blouses are very OOTD.”

“I like the things you wear.”

The smile pops up unbidden, and I have to school my face to settle it.

“It’s not a good idea to draw attention to myself.”

“Oh, right. Of course.”

Text messages come in notifying us where our alphas are. It cuts off both the conversation and the easy-going attitude we’d been sharing.

Trick was held back for yet more meetings. Mason’s manager insisted on taking him out to talk to sponsors.

The oven timer goes off, but my stomach is too uneasy even for cookies now.

Without the rest of the guys here, Vin and I argue and then decide to watch a movie. The cable box offers a million channels. Sensory overload builds with every “page down” in the myriad of choices.

If Trick were here, he’d pick and we’d be done with it. Mason might give him shit for the outcome, but Trick would consider what everyone likes and be fair. Mason knows that.

Vin seems to recognize this too. He frowns at the remote like it’ll select the answer for him. He comes to sit with me on the long side of the L-shaped couch, facing the TV, but we’re both too in our heads.

We pick from the choices currently playing on one of the regular movie channels to limit it to a manageable number.

I want Mean Girls. He wants Pulp Fiction. We settle on Sin City because we universally agree that Jessica Alba is fucking hot in that movie.

It also matches both of our dour moods. Rainy and grim, we’re both stung that neither Trick nor Mason are home. Trick, I understand, but Mason annoys me.

Because, yes, I feel a certain kind of way about him going out drinking and partying without me.

I have no right to. I know that.

The unspoken words from Vin are that he agrees.

But Mason has the specter of being mine, and it rankles that he’s off without me... without us, even if I know logically it’s as much for his career as it is for fun.

I hate the idea of other girls in the club grinding on him.

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