Page 100 of You're so Basic

“Yes,” I say for the second time that day. It’s becoming a habit, I guess, claiming Danny. I don’t regret it. I just…

I wonder what’s happening at Glitterati, is all.

“What do you see in him that you didn’t find in me?”

He says this with a completely straight face, even though we’re waiting outside the office of a psychic because he tried to put a hex on me and inadvertently hexed both of us. In his mind anyway.

Things have definitely been a little strange for me over the past few weeks, but I wouldn’t say I feel cursed anymore. True, I did break my ankle. Also true, I was caught publicly fornicating by a portly officer whose name lends itself naturally to cops-love-donuts jokes. And, yes, an undercover cop and as-yet-unidentified woman have been watching Danny and me…

But I’ve discovered that I don’t need to step into Glitterati for life to become strange and magical. It can be weirdly beautiful in a perfectly normal looking apartment, with a man who seems perfectly normal on the surface but is a hidden pool with depths that could drown you.

“We weren’t right for each other, Byron.” He tightens the scarf, and I have to admit he looks good in it. “We were never right for each other. I need someone…”

“You need someoneexciting,” he says officiously, as if he can’t imagine Danny could fit the bill.

“You’re right, and I’ve found him. I need someone who’s excitingandsteady.” I think about Danny and that damn tree. Danny, telling me about being the Reaper and Bo Peep. Danny, carrying his niece on his shoulders. Danny. My eyes feel hot. My heart feels full and heavy and…worried. “Maybe you need—”

“You’reboth of those things,” he says.

“But you need someone who’ll pay you more attention… Someone who’ll—”

Keep you from doing dumbass shit like placing hexes on people or crisping your hair.

No, he wouldn’t like it if I say that. And even if I don’t believe in the hex, I don’t want another one on my head.

“Someone who’ll hold your hand through life’s ups and downs,” I settle for. I want to be that person for Danny, and for the first time, I want someone to be that person for me.

“Fuck, these are good lyrics,” he says, and he pulls his phone out of his pocket feverishly, pulling up the voice recording app. “I want to hold your hand, whether we’re going up and down, baby. It’ll be you and me. On the seesaw.” His mouth pulls to the side. “Wait. Does that make it sound like I’m after a teenager?”

“Yes,” I say, giving a theatrical shudder.

“Nix on the seesaw,” he says into the app. “No seesaw. Hm. Merry-go-round?” He looks at me in question.

“Worse. A lot worse.”

“No rides,” he says into the phone. Then he pockets it and gives me a quarter of his attention again. “I don’t want to walk away from us for good, Meer. We’re perfect for each other. We keep the same hours.”

That’s a sore subject for me, but I manage to keep my cool. “Not a great reason for being with someone. Vampires keep those hours too, but I don’t want anyone to suck my blood.”

I see the flashing in his eyes, and he turns his back to me, muttering into the phone. Maybe I have a future second career in unintentionally writing song lyrics. Then again, there’s a very good chance that all of these songs will suck.

Turning back to me, Byron says, “But you’re my inspiration, baby. I just wrote the best song I’ve ever written, and everything you’re saying is lighting a fire inside of me.” He reaches for my hands. I dodge him, putting them behind my back like I’m a kid playing keep away. They’re just hands, and I touch plenty of people with them, but it would feel wrong to let him touch me like that. Even for a second.

He frowns, but he’s not ready to give up. “The hand-holding crap is going to track well with our fans too. And that vampire thing.” He shakes a finger. “People like vampires.”

“That one’s already been done,” I tell him, neglecting to mention that all of it’s been done, and probably better. “And it sounds like it was our breakup that inspired you more than I did. Maybe you just need to keep breaking up with people to write good music.”

He brightens. “You think?”

I shrug. “Sure, look at Taylor Swift.” His name and the queen’s don’t belong in the same paragraph, let alone the same sentence, but I don’t mind buttering him up if it’ll result in him leaving me alone.

I glance at my phone, which I still have out. We’ve been here for thirty minutes, and Josie still hasn’t answered my text. Fabulous.

“I’m only waiting out here for another five minutes,” I warn.

My chest constricts at the thought of leaving—not because I’m worried about Josie, who’s given us further proof she’s unreliable, but because I don’t know what I should do next. I could get back to Glitterati in time for Danny’s meeting with Daphne, although not Big Mike. But if I do that, it’d be like saying I don’t trust Danny.

Idotrust him.

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