Page 93 of Scattered Glitter

Thanks, Captain Bossy. I appreciate it.

Don’t get used to it.

You’re lucky I’m in a generous mood today.

Is this where you tell me you’re sending flowers to make up for being a jerk?

Nah, I don’t do flowers.

But I’ll let you buy me a drink when this is all over.

I smile, shaking my head.

You’re such a romantic. How can I resist?

You can’t. That’s the point.

Still smiling, I set my phone back on the table. Good Lookin’ shifts in my lap, her purring getting louder as I scratch behind her ears again. “Guess things aren’t completely hopeless,” I murmur to her, feeling a little bit lighter.

The door swings open, and I hear Annabelle’s voice before I see her. “Babe! I brought Chinese!” I turn my headas she steps through the door, a bag of takeout in one hand and her keys jingling in the other. She takes one look at me sprawled on the couch with Good Lookin’ in my lap, closes the door, and strides over to let herself fall beside me, the cushions bouncing. “You look like shit.”

“Gee, thanks,” I drawl, my lips twitching. “Just what every girl wants to hear.”

“Anytime, babe.” Annabelle grins, nudging me with her elbow, and I shoot her a look. “Don’t look at me like that. You’re as glittery and beautiful as ever. Seriously, though, what happened? You’ve got that crease between your brows that tells me you’re moody as fuck.”

Oh, nothing.Hottie snuck his way under my skin only to drop me like a hot potato, Koen changed me from a functioning alcoholic to a non-functioning dry one, and Captain Bossy made me feel alive after years of numbness, even though I have no idea what he even looks like.

I shrug, trying to keep it vague. “Men.”

“You’re moody overmen?” Annabelle snorts, reaching into the takeout bag. “That’s new and usually my line.” She pulls out a box and hands it to me, then takes one for herself. “Here. Eat. It’ll help.”

“How would food help with that?” I ask as I pull my hair into a loose ponytail.

Shrugging, she opens her box. “Food is better than men.” She twirls some noodles around her chopsticks. “Whoever it is, if he’s already making you feel that way, fuck him. I mean, my ex was all ‘I know a spot’and then brought me to the lowest point in my life.”

I snort, shaking my head. “Men are trash.”

“Yeah, but we love the drama.” She winks at me, then takes another bite. “Spill.”

“I don’t know. I’m just…” I trail off, trying to find the words. “It’s been three days since I hooked up with anyone.” I fiddle with the lid of the takeout box, my appetite flickering.

“Wait, you’re counting?” Annabelle raises an eyebrow, intrigued. “But yeah, that long of a dry spell isn’t like you.”

I snort. “Three days isn’t a dry spell.”

Except she’s right. It is for me. Isn’t it?

I shrug, trying to play it off. “It’s not that I wasn’t looking for somebody. I’ve tried, but…” My words falter as I think about Hottie. The way his touch lingered like an imprint on my skin, and no one else could measure up since.

“But?” she presses, leaning forward like a gossip columnist waiting for the scoop.

I wave her off, forcing a laugh. “But maybe I’m just losing my touch.”

Annabelle gasps in mock horror. “You? Losing your touch? Never.” Then her grin fades, replaced by a knowing look. “Come on. What’s really going on? Did one of them get to you? Like, in arealway?”

Talking about my hookups is second nature to us. No detail too small, no topic too taboo—dick sizes, positions, whether he made me come, or how many times. But admitting it was Hottie? Saying his name out loud? That feels like crossing a line I’m not ready for.

She knows him.Knows him. If I say it, it’ll make everything more real, like admitting that this thing with Hottie is more than just another hookup. And I can’t deal with that. Not when I’m still trying to convince myself he doesn’t matter.

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