Page 20 of The Devil Wears Tartan

She gives a sharp shake of her head. “No way. I think you were Irish enough for the both of us.”

“I’ll pick a different question, then.”

I lean over enough to snatch the notebook out of her hands and then scan my way down the page.

“Oh, this one’s good! Tell me, Kenzie Andrianakis...”

I put on my own reporter voice and glance up at her, but the rest of my question fades as her name rolls off my tongue.

Something about that sound on my lips makes us both go still for a second. My gaze drops to her mouth before I force myself to look back down at the page.

I really need to get out more.

Sure, Kenzie is pretty, but she’s Kenzie. Maybe if I actually associated with other humans, I wouldn’t be so caught up in imagining what it would be like to feel that mouth on mine.

She probably kisses girls every weekend. Tonight is probably a break from her usual Saturday schedule of going to bars and making out with anyone she wants to. When you look as good as she does, you must want to take advantage of it.

I’m not sure if she’s bi or a lesbian or what, but I do remember there being some talk about her seeing a girl towards the end of high school. How anyone in the highland community found that out considering what an iron wall of a person she is beats me, but thankfully it was all mostly ‘good for her’ comments. My own mom stepped in and shut things down the one time I heard a girl from our school saying some bullshit about lesbians not being allowed to change with the other competitors.

I remember the way I felt when I found out Kenzie might be queer. I was just starting to think I might like girls—which complicated having a high school boyfriend at the time. I felt this weird tug in the bottom of my stomach. It was like someone yanking part of me out with a fish hook, pulling a piece of me I wasn’t sure I was ready to see into the light.

“So, uh...” I can barely read the letters on the page anymore. I can still taste her name on my tongue. “Andrianakis. That’s, uh...where’s that name from?”

“That wasn’t on your list.”

Her tone suggests I’ve gone ahead and asked her something as personal as when the first time she kissed a girl was. I look up and see her fixing me with that emotionless, almost haughty expression she puts on when she’s about to totally shut down.

“I was just curious—”

“It’s Greek,” she interrupts.

I swallow and nod. The air between us has turned icy and brittle again.

“So...your parents have Greek backgrounds?”

And there is today’s pointless statement of the obvious.

“My...my father does.”

She shifts her gaze to the table between us and grabs her cup before twisting her head to stare out the window at the sunset streaking the street. She’s gone totally stiff, her body language indicating this part of the conversation is very much over.

I squeeze my notebook in my hands and shift my weight around in my seat until the sound of someone clearing their throat behind us saves us from what was quickly becoming a full minute of silence.

“Um, hey!” says a barista in a green apron, his voice dripping with customer service faux charm. “Just so you two know, we’re closing in ten minutes.”

I click my phone screen on to check the time.

“At seven?” I ask. “Oh, whoops, I thought this place closed at nine.”

“Not on Saturdays!” he answers, barely concealing his glee at getting out of here soon before he takes off back behind the counter.

I turn to Kenzie, who seems to have gotten at least a little less bristly in the past thirty seconds.

“So this has been...not all that successful or productive,” I say.

She nods and makes a sound somewhere between a grunt and a laugh. “Yeah, we’ve gotten nowhere.”

“Do you want to find somewhere else? I know we might not get to film tonight, but we could at least try to finalize the questions.”

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