Total pages in book: 135
Estimated words: 132933 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 665(@200wpm)___ 532(@250wpm)___ 443(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132933 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 665(@200wpm)___ 532(@250wpm)___ 443(@300wpm)
It wasn’t like that.
It wasn’t.
Jane must take pity on me because she remains in my room. Pressing the door shut behind her, she comes forward. Her yellow sequined top is unusually half-tucked in her jeans, her brown hair frizzier than normal too. Ruffled like she might’ve woken from a nap.
Or sex.
But that’d be unlikely. She’s been on a sex hiatus. The flush creeping up her neck is likely from accidentally walking in on me and Donnelly.
I shimmy up the headboard and snap my bra back on. When she appraises Donnelly like he’s the bad guy here, my gaze beelines to him.
Don’t hate him. I asked him. It was me.
Defenses pile in my head like I’m gathering little plastic arrows. I’m ready to spring in front of him and aim them at my cousin. Plastic, because I can’t imagine truly hurting Jane, and because I’m not a Cobalt. I’m not sure I have a lethal arsenal at my disposal.
I might be too soft to protect someone like Donnelly from an attack, and that fact tries to draw my head downward—but I don’t let it. I look up.
At him.
Donnelly is fixing a safety pin pierced through his ear’s cartilage. Totally unbothered, he takes a seat on my alien beanbag and stays cool, his forearms on his legs. With less of my worry on him, it sends me into hyper-drive to explain my side to my cousin.
I’m still partially naked, so I wiggle my shorts on underneath the sheets. I slide out of the bunk and land purposefully on my butt, then I rest against the bedframe. Loosely hugging my legs to my chest, I feel Jane watching me carefully.
Jane Eleanor Cobalt was always meant to be like an older sister to me. And she is that. Wise, protective, and so effortlessly generous. Now that I’m getting older, now that I live with her, the intensity of her protection has amplified.
“So Donnelly was here to design my tattoo,” I start.
Donnelly nods, slipping a cigarette behind his ear.
Her inquisitive eyes dart to the sketchbook on the floor. Jane being the Queen of Curiosity is usually not in conflict with me, and it’s too late for this moment to be a complete mystery to her.
“I see,” she says, and I refrain from pointing at the sketchbook and screaming, EVIDENCE! I don’t want to lay it on too thick.
When I catch a glimpse of the burnt orange knitted thing, still hanging out of the drawer, I suddenly remember what I planned. “Donnelly, that’s for you, by the way. Just as payment for the design. I have cash for the actual tattoo.”
I hope he likes it. He might think it’s lame. For some reason, Jeffra’s cackle fills my brain and heats my face. Jeffra is the worst.
She’s been the worst since I was little.
I prepare myself for a polite smile. I suspect he’ll toss it in the trash later. Maybe I deserve that, especially if I’m the reason he gets fired. My gut sours.
Donnelly is in reach of the desk drawer. He stretches out a long arm and snatches the orange sweater. A green alien peace sign is stitched in the middle.
He skims the design, lips rising. “Sick. Did you make this?”
“Yeah, I knitted it.” Like all things I touch, it’s not the best. Not the greatest. My talents flatline at a certain point.
Donnelly immediately pulls the sweater over his head, not even questioning whether he’d want to wear the thing. The fabric stops a couple inches above his belly-button. His lips keep lifting like it truly is the coolest form of payment—and I don’t know why I thought he’d be like Jeffra.
He’s never laughed at me.
He leans further back on the beanbag. “Fits perfect.”
I’d say so too. I’m smiling, but I really need to focus on smoothing things over with my cousin. “Alright, so me and him—we’re here for the tattoo design.”
“I believe you, but that doesn’t really explain what I saw.”
Riiiight. She’s fixated on the part where Donnelly was between my legs. Understood. “We were in my room going over the design, and I asked him if he could show me what good head feels like.”
She narrows her eyes as though she’s contemplating the complexities of this whole ordeal, and while it is kinda complex, I need the Queen of Curiosity to be less curious. The fate of Paul Donnelly rests in her hands.
Please.
Oh, great, she’s steepling her fingers to her lips. She’s thinking extra hard now. I can’t breathe.
“More facts,” Jane rationalizes. “You and you.” She points from me to Donnelly. “Hooked up just because you wanted to see what good head felt like?”
It’s the same fact, but I think she’s digesting it all.
“I knew you’d get me,” I say into a nod. “I just can’t really tell the good sex from the bad ones. They all feel pretty good to me, so I came up with a scientific study. Have a baseline that everything is compared to.”