Page 33 of Truth Be Told
I run up to her car and tap on the window. I bend, lowering my shoulders and peer through to her. “I’d say it look like the universe wants you to stay,” I say through the whipping wind.
With both hands still on the steering wheel, Stella gives up. She sighs and smiles back at me. In that instant, she melts me. She says, “Sure seems like the universe knows what it’s doing.”
STELLA
“Where the fuck?”
As soon as I swing the door open, Lorelei is standing there staring at me. Her words weren’t so much a question as they were a loving slap in the face.
“Where the fuck were you?” she says again, stepping into my apartment without waiting for an invitation.
I walk away from her, knowing that she’ll follow. None of this is new to me; this is Lorelei we’re talking about, after all. “Door,” I say over my shoulder. “And that’s it. You’re officially not getting my razor anymore. I warned you about that, fair and square.” Never mind that I won’t be returning to Sapphire… I haven’t broken that news to Lorelei yet. We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.
She slams the door and throws her things down on my kitchen island. The island that isn’t nearly as expensive or as big as Cohen’s, but which brings with it a wave of flashbacks all the same. I try to hide a grin, hoping that Lorelei doesn’t catch on, but knowing that she will. I can’t keep anything from her. And if by some miracle she doesn’t catch on, she’ll end up prying it out of me sooner or later. That’s why I’ve learned when it comes to her, there’s no use in trying to hide things. It’s just not worth the effort.
“Don’t lie to me, Stella,” she says.
I lift my arms in innocence, the oversized sleeves of my robe hanging out in front of me. “What?”
“I needed to borrow one of your outfits for work. You know, that black lacey number with the big pink bow on the butt? Mama May added another shift to my schedule at the last minute–the way she does that sheknowsdrives me nuts–and I thought you’d help me out.”
Sapphire has this stupid rule. You’re not supposed to dance in the same outfit more than once a week. It’s for the benefit of the regulars, and Mama May is convinced that that little bit of diversity is what keeps them coming back. Me? I think they don’t come for what we’re wearing at all.
“Why didn’t you text me?” I ask.
“I did text you. You never answered.”
I furrow my brow and reach for my phone that’s resting next to my coffee machine. I could swear I don’t have any missed texts. I navigate through my phone, into the Messages folder, and sure enough, there’s Lorelei.
9:39 P.M. Hey bitch. I need to borrow an outfit. The one you wore last week, with the big pink bow that made all the guys look at your butt and leave super huge tips. Please.
10:01 P.M. What time can I come over?
10:29 Stellaaaa
11:14 Ok. You’ve never not responded to me, so I’m kind of freaking out over here.
11:29 Hellooooo? Where the fuck???
“And stop avoiding the question,” she says.
I sigh and drop the hand that’s holding my phone, then jokingly roll my eyes. If she’s going to get it out of me in the end anyway, I might as well have some fun with her. “You haven’t asked a question yet, Lorelei.”
“Yes, I did. I asked where the fuck you were.”
I cross my arms. “Well, if you have to know…” I can barely contain myself, so a smile unexpectedly breaks. “I was with a guy. A guy who just so happens to be very, very rich. So that’s where I was, all night. At his mansion.” With that, I turn and pretend to busy myself with a late-night cup.
“You did not,” she gasps, suddenly intrigued.
I turn back to her, the holding the steaming coffee up to my nose, trying to hide my grin. “I did.”
“Well, who the hell is this rich guy, and why haven’t I met him?” A flash of possible recognition crosses her face. “Wait. It wasn’t… it wasn’t the guy from the club the other night. Was it?”
“Actually, it kind of… was. His name is Cohen.”
“Cohen.” The repeated name rolls off her tongue like honey, and her drool is almost visible from where I’m standing halfway across the room. I don’t bother pointing out that I’m aware she’s only jealous because I just told her he’s loaded.
She snaps back to reality as I take another drink. I’m still trying to hide my obvious humor. “Hot damn,” she says. “So this Cohen guy is a millionaire.”
