Page 79 of Roulette Rodeo
"Oh my god." I grab two more bottles, determined to educate this heathen. "Okay, look. This shade of red?" I hold up a deep, dark crimson. "This is like the fake vampire blood they use in movies. All dramatic and oozing and slightly purple because it photographs better."
I switch to a brighter, more orange-toned red. "This red is what actually comes out of a body. More orange, more alive, because real blood has iron and oxygen and?—"
"Oh." His eyes widen slightly, understanding dawning. "You're right."
"Wow." The sarcasm drips from my voice like honey. "Alert the media. Man admits woman is right about something."
"Hey," he protests, but there's amusement in it. "It's not that easy to differentiate, you know. They all just look... red."
"They all just look red," I mimic in a deep voice that sounds nothing like him. "Next you'll tell me all wine tastes the same."
"Well—"
"Shiloh Whoever-The-Fuck-You-Are, if you tell me all wine tastes the same, I'm drowning you in this bathtub."
He laughs, the sound rich and warm, transforming his whole face.
When he's not being all broody and military, he's actually...beautiful. Handsome is too simple a word. Beautiful in a rough way, like a landscape that's been carved by wind and weather into something stunning.
"Wine has... variety," he concedes.
"So does nail polish."
"But you can drink wine. Nail polish just sits there."
"Looking pretty. Which is more than you can say for wine after you drink it."
"You can't get drunk on nail polish."
"You clearly haven't met the right nail polish."
We're both grinning now, the bickering comfortable in a way that surprises me. When was the last time I just... talked to someone? Not performed, not calculated every word for maximum tip potential, but just talked?
Duke apparently decides we're boring because he picks up his rabbit corpse and trots out of the bathroom, probably to find somewhere more interesting to continue his destruction.
"Sorry," I say, suddenly aware that I'm monopolizing not just the bathroom but also his dog.
"For what?"
"Being an inconvenience." The words come out smaller than intended. "You've had to carry me twice now because my stupid legs stopped working. And now I'm stealing your dog and your bathroom and probably your hot water?—"
"Red."
The way he says my name stops me mid-ramble. Not sharp, not angry, just... firm. Grounding.
"You're not an inconvenience."
"I literally couldn't walk."
"So? You weigh nothing. I've carried heavier grocery bags."
"Did you just compare me to groceries?"
"Premium groceries. The fancy kind from that organic place Corwin likes."
I laugh despite myself, sinking lower in the bubbles until they tickle my chin.
He stares at me for a long moment, and I can see him thinking, processing something. His eyes do this thing where they go from forest green to darker, like evening creeping through trees.
