Page 69 of Seven Days in June

SHANE:No, ridiculous was me, lying on the floor, alone, with my dick out.

EVA:Actually, that was a beautiful sight.

SHANE:…thank you?

EVA:Np.

SHANE:Can I see you? I need to see you.

EVA:I don’t think it’s a good idea.

SHANE:But we had a perfect day.

EVA:We did! But…let’s leave it at that. We finally have closure. An ending.

SHANE:That felt like an ending to you?

EVA:*panicked silence

SHANE:Don’t panic. I’m fucking shook, too. Please, can we meet somewhere?

EVA:Texting is safer.

SHANE:Why, tho?

EVA:Seeing you in person makes me forget the things I should remember.

SHANE:Was that a haiku?

EVA:Shane.

SHANE:I wanna SEE you. You home? I’m coming over.

EVA:You don’t have my address.

SHANE:It’s easy to get. I have Cece’s number, and you know she loves drama.

SHANE:*hopeful silence

EVA:Fuck. 45 7th Avenue. Ground floor.

SHANE:You sure? If you really don’t want me to…

EVA:Get over here, before I change my mind.

Eva threw back her covers and bounded out of bed as her phone went flying, landing in her plush shag carpet. She’d deal with that later. Instead, she started pacing in boxers and a Bad Boy Family Reunion Tour concert tee, knuckles thrust into her pounding temples, her mind zipping from thought to thought.

It’s 9:45 a.m.! Did he mean he was coming now, or later in the afternoon? I need to put on blush, clean up the living room—fuck, we have zero food except Five Guys takeout and Pirate’s Booty. Should I get wine? No, no, no, OF COURSE Shane can’t have wine. Calm. Down. Start with a shower. Do I have time to book a quick highlights appointment? Shit. Shit. Shit. Is this crazy?

She flung open her bedroom door and bounded down the hallway to the kitchen. Coffee first. Then painkillers. Then she’d figure out the rest.

Slightly skidding in her fuzzy winter socks (her feet were permanently frozen, despite the almost-summer temps), she ran into the kitchen.

“AH!”

Eva jumped half a foot in the air and let out a proper slasher-flick scream. There was Audre, sitting cross-legged on the kitchen floor. Bent over her portrait of Lizette. She was surrounded by a flurry of feathers, paints, strips of fabric, and sequins. The second she heard Eva’s scream, she shrieked, too, hopping to her feet and brandishing her paintbrush like a sword.

Then they were standing there on opposite sides of the kitchen, breathing heavily, staring at each other. Audre had a burgundy feather stuck to her cheek.

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