Page 47 of Black Bird

“You think Dom will invite a bunch of famous artists to this little shindig?” Sarah asked, smirking. There it was, a little spark of excitement.

“Man, I hope so. Give me a reason to tote my damn portfolio to this thing.”

Sarahpulled up her sleeves. “But … youare.” She grinned, waving a hand over the countless tattoos that Wren had painstakingly covered her skin with.

“Touché, bitch.” Wren laughed, nodding. “But if you’re gonna go as my walking art gallery, then you’re gonna have to dress the part.” She winked. Sarah’s face slackened.

“Meaning?”

“Meaning I get to dress you as slutty as humanly possible, and you show as much of my work as you can.” Wren clapped excitedly.

“Oh, fuck.” Sarah’s head fell back, and she turned her body back toward the costume rack. “Mistakes were made. I changed my mind.”

“Nope.” Wren cackled, tearing through revealing adult costumes.“Slutty …”

“On second thought, I really feel like we’d have just as much fun watching horror movies and overeating.”

“What if I can convince your hot detective to come?” Wren took a chance, hoping to see some sign of life. It was Sarah’s turn to bulge her eyes. She threw her palms up, waving them frantically and shaking her head.

“No. Absolutely not.”

“Why?”

“Because, Wren … I told you. That’s just—it’s complicated, okay?”

Wren knuckled her hips. “Did he not text you the other night asking if you were safe?”

“Sure.” Sarah shrugged. “But tell me how that is in any way unprofessional, considering what they both bailed me out of at the bar? Northwood texted me later that night, too.”

“Northwood doesn’t look at you like she could devour your mouth, either.” Wren pointed toward her. “And … I don’t remember her getting all hot on your neck at your apartment. Plus, there’s that little bit you keep forgetting about how he said that if you hadn’t been with bitch-boy then he might would have talked to you at the club that night.”

“He doesn’t want this, Wren.”

“Bullshit.”

Sarah threw her arms out to the sides. “I can’t blame him. I’m a lot to deal with even without all the new drama. Photographers everywhere … just … let it go, okay?”

Wren tossed her hand up and rummaged through the rack. “Alright.” It was an effort not to look incredibly guilty, so Wren decided not to turn her face back toward her when she asked her next question. “You heard anything from him?”

“Who?”

“Brent.”

“Why do you care? I thought you’d be happier, honestly.”

Wren pulled out a costume, turning it over and glancing at the price tag before promptly shoving it back onto the rack. “Oh, I’m giddy. I just … wondered how you both were handling it. I kind of expected it to be a little more—I dunno … theatrical?” She huffed a laugh.

“He hasn’t said a word. I’m kind of glad. I mean, I have some questions I’d like answers to, but … I’m not ready for more awkward, tense shit right now. I have enough of that as it is.”

“I get that.” Wren’s eyes grew wide and ravenous when she spotted the perfect outfit. The price wasn’t going to matter. She’d pay it. “Oh, my fu—Sarah.” She jerked the hanger off the rod and spun excitedly toward her. Sarah took one look at it and paled.

“Oh, my God. Please, no. No … no, no and no.”

“Yep. You’re wearing it,” Wren said, hurrying down the aisle while Sarah nervously ran at her heels.

“Wren!”

“It’s not up for debate, bitch!” Sarah tried grasping at the back of her jacket and Wren giggled loudly, batting her away and hauling ass toward the checkout counter.

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