Page 68 of Girls Will Be Girls
She shrugs. “People talk.”
“What people?”
“Let’s just say, I wouldn’t be surprised if there was a betting pool about you two.” She says nonchalantly.
“What?” I say shocked.
“I’m not saying there is.” She backtracks. “But I wouldn’t be surprised.”
I study her for a moment. “What did you bet?” I ask.
“I’m underage. I’m not allowed to gamble.” She defends, her eyes never leaving her pottery wheel.
“What did you bet?” I repeat, fighting my amusement now.
“Geez.” She shakes her head. “So paranoid.”
I feel like an inflexible circus acrobat as I bend my back to keep the top half of my body out of the bubbling water. I’m writing up notes from our ceramics evening while I sit in the hot tub. I was adamant that I wanted to soak, but am struggling to find a position that will keep the pages in my notebook dry. Currently,my head is tilted back over the edge as I hold the book and pen above my face. The blood rushing up only adds to the flavor of my writing.
Doing aCeramics & Sipnight probably isn’t technically considered a wellbeing activity, but you’ve gotta keep the mind healthy too. It works.
I’m not sure whether Casey’s suggestion to include quotes from her like “Stoppotteringaround and come on down to Village Bay!” or “People arekilnthemselves to try this!” are particularly useful to me, but I write them down nonetheless. I fear she’d scold me for not giving herhard work— her words — a fair shot.
“That looks comfortable.”
I shoot up at his raspy voice, almost dropping the pages on my upturned face. “Hi.” I flounder to put the notebook down on the dry deck.
“Hi.” He smiles.
He’s leaning against the frame of his sliding doors, his body hunched slightly. I can barely see him through the dim lighting, with nothing but the string lights above me and the soft glow of a lamp behind him.
“You just get back?” I wipe at my face, worried the steam and upside-down time have made me red and sweaty.
“Yeah.” He nods.
He steps further out of the shadows onto the decking, showing off his small smile and the ever-growing stubble on his chin.
“Good day?” I ask.
“Long day.” He says.
I squint at him. “That’s what you said last time.”
He huffs out a laugh. “It usually is.”
He’s leaning against the empty deck chair, next to the one with my towel slung over it, his eyes trained on my face. I can’thelp but lower mine to take in his slightly unbuttoned shirt, his flexed arms. He always looks perfectly disheveled at this time of night.
“You wanna get in?” I ask. “I can get out.”
His lips lift on one side. “I’m good here. Besides, exclusive use.” He draws the chair out and sits down, leaning his elbows on his knees, his eyes still fixed on me. There’s no way I’m imagining the heat that’s radiating from his gaze. In the dim lighting, I swear his eyes look like all pupil, as if they’re completely black. It feels almost predatory, and I’m not opposed to being the prey.
“How was your day?” He asks.
I nod slowly, my mouth feeling dry under his watch.
“Good,” I say, but my voice sounds as if a replacement car never came for me on that first day, and I’ve been wandering the desert ever since.
“Good.” He smiles.
