Page 18 of Puck & Make Up

Her flush grows. “One of the servers called out late.”

“And beforethat?”

“Ugh,” she snaps. “Why do you care? Are you my keeper?”

“No, Des,” I say. “I just pay attention.”

Pay attention to everything about her.

“I’m fine.”

“So fine that you decided to kill time in the kitchen last night with someone you can’t stand?” I ask. “Thus avoiding any extra contact with your best friends?”

She stills. “I feel sorry for you is all.”

That stings. I can’t lie.

But I see it for the distraction it is. “At least I’m dealing with the bullshit from my past.”

“And what? You’re magically over it?”

I laugh darkly. “God no. But I’m working on it,” I say. “And I’m not in denial, trying to pretend that trauma doesn’t exist.”

There’s a long blip of quiet.

Then she mutters, “I’m tired. You need to go.”

“Liar,” I accuse, stepping close again, cupping her jaw, feeling the silk of her skin beneath my fingertips. “You’re hiding something, sugar. Something you don’t want even your friends to know.”

A sharp shake of her head. “No, I’m not.”

I lift my brows.

“Like I said, I’m tired.”

“Okay, so say I buy that,” I say, my tone clearly conveying that I don’t, not at fucking all. “Then why?”

A sharp sigh. “Why what?”

“Then why”—I brush my finger along her bottom lip—“did you choose to spend time micromanaging my cookies last night?”

Her throat works, and her voice is almost inaudible when she whispers, “I don’t hate you.”

I open my mouth, but I don’t get the chance to reply.

Because she bursts into tears.

Six

Dessie

Oh God.

I’m crying—something I never allow myself to do—and I’m doing it in Fox Brown’s arms.

And he’s not telling me to stop.

Instead, he’s just wrapped his big, strong arms around me and tugged me into his body, cradling me against his chest, rubbing one broad hand gently up and down my spine. “Easy, sugar,” he murmurs. “Just breathe.”

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