Page 17 of All Your Lies
Once we gather our belongings, including my switchblade, which I attach to my body right away, we exit through the front entrance. A rush of refreshing, cool air compels me to take a long, satisfying breath in, and then out, to purge my mind and body of all the debauchery that pumped through my veins minutes ago.
“Keys.” I hold my hand out to Jenna, and she hands them over without a fight before climbing into the passenger side.
I make my way around to the driver’s side, but halt when I see another red rose hanging from the driver’s-side door handle.
A wave of nausea hits me as my stomach plummets and I frantically scan the dark, deserted parking lot.
Now I’m a little creeped out, thinking someone followed us. I throw it on the concrete, hurry inside the car, and slam the door lock.
Once I’m on the freeway, the tension eases as I glance in the rearview mirror and see no signs of anyone following us.
I turn my attention to Jenna, who’s curled up on her side. “You sure you’re okay? Do you want to talk about it?” I say just above a whisper.
It’s a rare occurrence for her to be in this state. Mostly, she’s a ball of sunshine. Her infectious energy lights up the room, but every so often, a wave of melancholy washes over her.
She avoids discussions about her past, but I sense it sometimes affects her. I mean, how could it not? She’s an orphan. The thought of not having my family is unbearable, and I hate that she only has me, that she never had a dad to protect her and a mom to love her unconditionally.
“I’m good, I promise,” she mumbles.
“I’m always here if you want to talk. You know that, right?” I ask, giving her back a rub.
“Yeah.”
After we get home, I make sure Jenna gets in her place safely, then head to mine. I take my shears to the too tight dress and moan in satisfaction as it falls to the floor, then hop in the shower. The thought of sinking into my soft sheets and sleeping for a solid three to five business days is all I can think about as I rush through my night routine.
My mind drifts back to earlier at the club. I still can’t believe that guy. He acted like he wanted to devour me whole. Only to ghost me the second my back was turned.
I rub my hand against my side where his fingers traveled. He had to be real. I can still smell him, still feel him. How his hands grabbed hold of me. Anchoring me to him. How his fingers worked me.
Guiding me to the highest peaks. And how his words caressed me. Mind, body, and soul.
Only to leave me hanging.
What a dick.
“We came, we saw, we conquered. Can we go home now?” I say with a huff as I wind my hair into a bun, which should be criminal since I just got a fresh blowout. I’m exhausted from last night, and Jenna woke me up at the ass crack of dawn for a massage, which was actually just my body getting polished and waxed until I’m raw and shiny but hydrated. Followed by shopping.
“Not until we eat. I’m starving. What are you feeling like? Italian? Mediterranean?”
Honestly, I will have anything if it gets us home sooner.
“You decide.” I yawn. “I’m not feeling picky today.”
“Shocker,” she says and gestures with her palms to her mouth.
“I am not picky!”
“Oh yes, you are. You’re picky with food and men.”
“I find those both reasonable things to be picky about.”
“Eh, true. But still. The way you’re going, you’ll end up dying a virgin who has the food variety of a child. I think we’ll have Mediterranean. Let’s go.” She all but pulls me to a little restaurant down the street.
The inside is adorable. Different shades of green. Plants and mosaic Turkish chandeliers hang from the ceiling, giving the whole restaurant an intimate, upscale tree-house vibe. We opt for a patio seat since the weather is so nice.
“What did you think of the club last night?” Jenna asks with a mouthful of falafel.
“It was okay. The music was decent, and the drinks were lethal. Wouldn’t you say?” I say, poking fun at how drunk she was and steering the conversation away from the sex room I was held hostage in before getting ghosted.
