Page 23 of Puck & Make Up

We’re watching a film about a troll inhabiting an apartment building in San Francisco…and it’s not a kids’ movie. This being after I sat on the couch, exchanged a handful of cookies for a bottle of beer, and watched the tail end of a movie about sharks who can somehow “swim” in the sand on beaches.

Yup. It makes no sense.

But I got to watch Dessie cackle and hoard the cookies I passed her like she was Gollum with the ring that ruled them all, and…

Drink beer.

Until the tension began to leave her body and she stopped looking over at me every few seconds as though she expected me to turn and attack.

Chocolate, sugar, and beer.

And bad movies.

They tame the beast that is Dessie.

Noted.

“I don’t hate you either,” I tell her, offering up the last cookie in the bag.

She exhales. “So why do we put so much effort into pretending we do?”

“I don’t know,” I admit, head buzzing from the beers I drank and tongue suitably loosened enough to add, “Except that it seems like sometimes when you’re pissed at me it’s the only time you actually see me.”

Her inhale is sharp. “I—” A shaky exhale. “Seriously?” she whispers.

I shrug. “I walked into Monroe’s that first night, and it was like you hated me on sight.”

“You came with the reputation of the Rush Hockey squad.”

“For the record, I was never into the whole property damage side those losers seemed to revel in.”

“Just the carousing and women and being general nuisances?” she asks drolly.

My lips twitch. “You know me, sugar lips. Do I enjoy being a nuisance?”

Not even a second of hesitation when she says, “Yes.”

Our eyes connect and then we both start busting up, the sounds of the trolls growling on the TV echoing through the room behind us. But I’m barely aware of the wizardly battle taking place in the background.

All I see is Dessie.

Her smile wide, her eyes dancing, her expression relaxed. She’s not like this with me, not ever. Even when she’s ignoring me, there’s tension around her mouth, in her shoulders.

“So, nuisance tendencies aside, why do you really not like spending time with me?” I blurt.

I know the moment I ask the question that it’s a mistake.

Then tension roars back in an instant.

“Sugar,” I say, “ignore me.”

“No,” she whispers, and I hate that she seems small right now, that my words reduced her from the bright, beautiful woman to…

This.

“It’s okay,” I say. “I’m an idiot. Let’s just watch the movie and?—”

“I’m attracted to you.”

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