Page 18 of So That Happened

And I look at her. Really look at her.

Take in her weird, haphazard clothing, her halo of messy auburn hair and red lipstick now slightly smudged at the corner of her full bottom lip. Her otherwise makeup-free face is very pretty, all things considered—creamy, pale skin and perfect symmetry.

And her eyes. Big eyes with long, sooty lashes and delicate, purple-veined lids. Hazel irises ringed with yellow and gold, and filled with so much complexity and depth that I forget where I am for a moment.

My mouth dries, the rest of my angry sentence frozen on my tongue. I don’t regret helping her out with Slimy Guy, I realize.

Even if the result means bunking with her tonight.

She nods in response to my unfinished statement. “How bad can it be? I’ll even take the bed closest to the door so I get murdered first.” I stare at her blankly and she adds, “you know, like inSchitt’s Creek.”

“I do not.”

“Ooh, it’s a great show. You should check it out.”

Cyrus nods in agreement, suddenly capable of being readily involved. “It really is.”

Annie smiles. “Come on, I’ll tell you about it on the way to our room.”

“Please don’t,” I respond.

Annie smiles wider.

* * *

“Old Walter’s got his work cut out for him with that spitfire, huh?” Annie asks conversationally as we step into the elevator.

I’m not sure at what point I gave her the indication that I wanted to chat about Rosemary’s love life, but it seems all the more imperative that we sort out this mess before I get an earful about Annie’s dating life. We don’t know each other, and I intend for it to stay that way.

I look at her, hoping she takes my silence as a sign to stop talking. Instead, she answers her question for me in a deep, fake baritone. “Why yes he does, Annie.”

It’s so ridiculous, it almost makes me chuckle.

Almost.

When we get to our floor, I stall in the hallway. “You go ahead. I need to make a call.”

“Oh, yes.” She runs her teeth along her bottom lip. “I hope your girlfriend understands that this is all just a big mixup.”

I’m left to wonder, yet again, whether this woman lives in a world all her own. “What girlfriend?”

“Ah,” she says, her eyes lighting like she’s just figured something out. It’s quite unnerving, and I again get the sense she somehow knows something I don’t. “I see how it is.”

“Howwhatis?” I ask, but she’s already striding down the hall towards her—our—room.

I shake my head as I watch her retreating back. Only her back.

No way do I notice that she has a nice butt. Nope.

I dial Luke’s number and sink into a hideous pleather armchair that someone placed outside the elevator. Must be an attempt at decoration.

He answers on the second ring. “Yo. You really stuck in Boston for the night?”

The background noise makes it apparent that he’s frequenting an establishment of the “serves alcohol” nature. I could go for a drink myself right about now.

“You got my texts.”

“Yeah. Bummer,” my brother half-yells over the noise. Then, “hang on, I’m going to step outside.”

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