Just like my dad to have an exit as dramatic as his entrance.
“Oh my God,” Lily says with wide eyes, not crawling out yet. I look down at her splotchy red face. She’s way more embarrassed than me.
“Don’t worry about it,” I tell her. “We’ve both seen him come home after a one-night stand before.” If a woman wasn’t leaving with smudged makeup in the morning, then he was coming inside the house at 10 a.m.—fully clothed in his suit from the previous night.
No shame.
Ever.
My father doesn’t work that late unless he’s getting laid.
She doesn’t say anything.
I roll my chair back and dip my head down to meet her gaze. “Come out.”
She’s immobile. I think I may have to pull her out. Which, oddly, wouldn’t be the first time I’ve had to retrieve my girlfriend from under a desk.
I go to raise my jeans up to my waist, and this stirs her from her hiding place. “No, I’ll finish you,” she tells me, crawling towards my lap.
My stomach suddenly sinks. I know I have to reject her. She’s too anxious—and sex shouldn’t be used to demolish those hard-hitting feelings. She has to deal. When she places her palms on my knees, I say, “No, not this time, Lil.” I scoop her hands and tuck them back to her chest. Then I pull up my jeans, zipped and buttoned to solidify my choice.
Still on her knees, her shoulders sag. She looks lost. I lift her onto my lap, and she places a leg on either side of the chair, straddling me. Christ. I don’t want to keep rejecting her, but I also selfishly don’t want to move my girlfriend.
Instead of bringing up sex, she surprisingly veers into another direction. “About Superheroes & Scones…” she trails off, not able to find the words. She places her hand on my chest, no happier than she was on the ground.
The store has been a safe place for Lily away from the house, and we both know if it opens, that safe place ends.
“We can wait,” I offer. Her despondent gaze is really fucking scaring me. “I can convince—”
“No,” she interrupts, but my muscles keep tightening. “He’s right. We should open it soon.” I know she doesn’t believe that. “I’ll hire a general manager and just keep in contact through phone and texts, so I know what’s going on…”
“Lily,” I say her name but I can’t say anything else. My lungs constrict, and when I look at her, all I see is a girl trapped in her own world.
Hell, she’s trapped in her own fucking body. She just needs time, but no one seems to be giving it to her.
She actually turns her head to look at the space underneath the desk, like she’s contemplating returning. Don’t you fucking dare crawl back there, Lil.
Slowly, she climbs off my lap. “I’m going to go count the inventory,” she says in this really soft voice, all her humor gone. My biggest fear barrels into me. Losing her.
“No you’re not,” I snap. “You’re going to stay here and help me with this pile of shit.” I wave at my desk, motioning to the comics. She considers this like it’s a suggestion. It’s not. I don’t trust her to be alone right now.
“Please, Lil,” I add. “I’m getting bogged down here. I need your help. You can do the inventory another day.” That does the trick.
She walks back to the desk and picks up a thick manuscript.
It’s terrifying how the both of us can ride highs and lows so quickly. She slumps down on the chair and opens a comic, her lips slightly downturned. But I’d take a Lily at a low over no Lily at all.
That’s the truth.
{ 4 }
0 years : 01 month
September
LOREN HALE
We opened Superheroes & Scones last week.
Three hours before we unlocked the doors, we had to rope off the sidewalk to contain the lines and lines of people outside. The crowds haven’t died down since. The shittiest thing: We barely sell any comics. People buy a cup of coffee and sit their asses in a booth, waiting to spot Lily or me.
We’re the products on display.
Lily spent the last two weeks holed up at the Princeton house, hiding from the reenergized media. I invited her to lunch, and she threw out some excuse about studying. But I know she’s binge-watching a TV show.
Right now, I ignore Ryke and Connor, the latter of which accepts our drinks from a waitress. She wears a multicolored Sombrero. Apparently it was some kid’s twelfth birthday, so they sang in Spanish to him and shook maracas. The boy looked pretty happy.