Page 31 of Strelitzias in Spring

I roll my eyes. “Sit, C,” I command and wait for Celeste to sit before continuing. “Nothing happened on Friday other than I went to that stupid-as-fuck party, picked up Serena, and drove her home.”

Her finger darts out, pointing at me like a nun with a ruler in Sunday school. “See, I knew you would lie.”

I raise my hand, running it over my head, and wish that I had hair to pull onto so that I could vent my frustrations. “I’m not lying.”

“You are. You went into her apartment. You cleaned her scrapes.” Celeste pauses, lowering her voice until I have to lean forward to hear her. “You saw the flying dicks on her back and offered to have someone fix them for her.”

I scowl at the reminder of the busted tattoo on her skin and the images that mar the perfection of her back.

I shudder at that thought; the perfection of her back? What the fuck am I even thinking?

“What was I supposed to do, drop her at her apartment door while she was bleeding and bruised after pretending to lock herself in a goddamn bathroom? I may be a fighter, but I’m not a fucking monster. Of course I helped, and thank fuck I did because that girl had expired hydrogen peroxide from 2019 in her cabinet and probably would have used it to treat her wounds.”

“Woman,” C says gently.

“What?”

“You called her a girl. She’s not a girl; she’s a woman. You have this idea in your head that she’s a child, but she isn’t.”

“I know she’s not a fucking child, Celeste. Fucking hell, one look at her is all you need to know she isn’t a child.”

“So, what you’re saying is, you think she’s pretty?” Dante asks from the corner like a moron.

“I swear to God, I will kill him if he doesn’t stop talking.”

“No, you won’t. All that is fine, but the part I don’t understand is how you saw her back tattoo or how you came to offer her a difficult-to-get, highly coveted appointment with one of your artists when you have a yearslong waitlist for each tattooist.”

I sigh, done with this conversation and the line of questioning. “Because I couldn’t leave a beautifulwoman,”I emphasize, “with a tattoo of flying cocks for the rest of her life. Because the only thing that should grace her skin is a beautiful piece designed with care and consideration, not one stabbed out like a prison tat in exchange for ramen noodles.” Shaking my head, I continue, “What do you want from me, C? The end result is the same because I know damn well that the moment you saw the monstrosity on her back, you would have called me up and asked for a favor to fix your friend. I got in front of it and offered up my team’s skills on my terms, provided that she’s fully healed and mentally ready for a cover-up.”

C stands from the chair and walks toward me, slowly approaching like I’m a caged animal, and she’s a trainer worried about getting bit. “Wolf, I have to ask you a question.”

“What, Celeste?” My voice sounds resigned.

“Do you like her?”

I choke on the saliva in my throat. Like her? I don’t fucking know her other than how she smells like an unorthodox combination of serenity and sin, has a fire buried underneath her adherence to societal expectations and social pressure, and looks disgustingly like the Sailor Jerry pinup I just did on Anthony.

I didn’t intend for the drawing to look like Serena, but it happened and unnerved me the entire goddamn time.

“I don’t know her, and she’s got too much left to figure out.”

“I forgot how old you are, you troll,” C comments, rolling her eyes to accentuate her annoyance. “You’re less than six years older than us. Stop acting like you grew up in a different generation.”

“What do you want me to say, C?” I shrug, holding out my hands in defeat. “You want me to sit here and say that I don’t think she’s beautiful when we both know that’s a lie? I’m not ignorant, nor am I blind. But nothing is happening, so stop pushing your matchmaking agenda on me when I neither want nor need your interference.”

“She is an adult.”

“Okay,” I agree. “That still doesn’t change anything.”

“So, you view her the same way you do Ava and her sisters?”

I rear back, disgusted by the comparison. I’ve known Ava and her sisters since they were knobby-kneed kids who raised hell on the playground. They’re my de facto cousins through Celeste, and I see them as an extension of my family. To view them as anything else feels incestuous. “Fuck no, I don’t view Serena the same as Ava. I’ve known Ava since she was five. It’s two unrelated views.”

Celeste’s expression transforms from contemplative to sly, and I cringe at the smirk that breaks out on her face. “Whatever you say, Wolfie. But a word to the wise: if you hurt her, I’ll put you in a headlock and laugh as you lose oxygen.”

“Did you not hear a single word I just said?”

“Oh, she heard it, McCleery. But all the same, you’re fucked.” Dante laughs, shaking his head like it’s the funniest thing he’s ever heard.

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