Page 91 of Slay Ride

I clear my throat and turn toward the dining room, hoping against hope that they’ll just ignore me and carry on. I am not that lucky, however.

“Oh, Catarina!” Grim says. “Rosie would like to speak with you, if you have a moment.”

I turn and blink at them. What do I do with my eyes? I don’t know where to look. “N-now? You guys seem a bit . . . busy?”

The floor. I’ll look at the floor.

“Nonsense, nonsense. It will not take up much of your time. She is a woman of very few words.” He lets out a soft chuckle at his little joke. “Come closer so you can hear her more clearly.”

Do I have to?

Seeing no way out of this, I swallow and walk toward them. As I draw nearer, however, looking at the floor is no longer an option. If I look any lower than Rose’s navel, my left eye fills with an oddly large set of testicles, and my right eye is obscured by a bush the size of Rhode Island.

I’m not against women having pubic hair, but when the woman is as tiny as Rosie, the pussy ends up looking like a literal beaver dam. It’s a lot of fucking hair.

“She said you need to listen to your heart,” Grim said, and I pull myself out of the mental vortex their genitals have sent me into.

“Pardon?” I look at Rose.

She smiles at me—something that doesn’t happen very often—and takes my hand in hers. As her soft skin brushes over mine, I’m reminded of my mother. The ass and titties being out, not so much, but that gentle touch is reminiscent of home.

Maudlin Rose takes my hand and places it over my heart, then nods at me.

“See?” Grim says. “She wants you to listen to what you want. Cut out the noise. We are not on this planet for very long, so why are you wasting time on your unhappiness? You give it moreattention and consideration than what brings you joy. Do not waste another day, she says. Live.”

“She said . . . all of that?” I look at Rosie, and her eyes glisten with tears as she nods again.

Rose turns to Grim, grabs his hand, and does something to his palm. Her countenance shifts from joyful to serious, and Grim nods at her before turning to me.

“She says . . .” He looks at her again, seemingly unsure about the message she wants him to relay, but she communicates her point again, once more using his palm. “She says that only a fool would run from love, and if you do not take the correct path, you will be dead to her.”

I shift my focus to Rose, who smiles and blinks at me. “Um, okay,” I say. “Thanks, I think? I’m just gonna go now. You two, uh, be safe.”

Grim takes Rose’s hand in his and gives it a pat. “Of course. But we will be busy for the rest of the evening, so please do not interrupt us again.”

Rude, but he’ll get no complaints from me.

Backing away seems like the right move, but I’d rather not gawk at their junk as I make my exit, so I turn and head toward the kitchen once more. As I hurry toward the bar at the back of the dining room, Rosie’s words circle my brain.

Specifically, one word.

Love.

The rest of her message was simple enough to decode. Go for Bennett and stop worrying about what other people think. That part made sense, even if I can’t take her advice, despite the threat of excommunication. Also, how hypocritical of her to threaten me with the loss of friendship if I don’t follow my heart when that is exactly what I fear will happen if I do.

Kindra wouldn’t go so far as to completely ditch our friendship, but she would no longer respect me. Somehow, that’sworse. I admire her. She was an idol before I even knew her name or what she looked like. The woman stands for everything I believe in, and after getting to know her, my admiration has only grown. I don’t ever hope to have her feel the same about me—I’m her opposite in every way—but to lose what respect I’ve gained would destroy me.

So it’s not as simple as Maudlin Rose presents it to be. It’s just not.

But love? Psh, not even close. I’ve never been in love, aside from the occasional high-school obsession, but I imagine it differs from whatever this is. I should feel like I can’t get air when he’s not around, and I’m breathing just fine. The thought of being without him should crush the delicate things inside me, yet I feel as sturdy as I ever have. Sure, there’s a nagging itch to be near him, but I don’t feel as if I need to claw my skin away if I can’t get a fix.

Reaching the bar, I grab the soda gun and aim it at my chest, but then I pull it away. This will be a lot easier if the shirt is on the counter. After glancing around to be sure the coast is clear, I rip off the blouse and lay it on the bar. Aiming the gun’s nozzle at the bright-yellow splotch, I depress the trigger . . . but nothing happens.

Well, fuck. I guess I’ll have to go back to the walk-in. I spotted a few bottles of seltzer in there, and I’m sure they’ll work just as well.

I snatch the shirt from the bar and scurry into the kitchen, which is just as dark and empty as Bennett and I left it. His scent still lingers here—bergamot, sandalwood, and a hint of vanilla—and I close my eyes and breathe it in.

Clink.Clink-clink-clink.

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