Page 55 of Forsaking Midnight
I look away and grab my water glass just to have something to do with my hands.
“Makes you almost believe in romance, doesn’t it, Benny?” Merrick says.
Benny snorts, his fingers drumming against the bar top. “Makes me believe in job security, I guess. She gets the good shifts, Art gets laid, everybody wins.”
Genevieve’s head snaps toward him. “Say that again, Benjamin. I dare you.”
He holds up his hands. “Just an observation, Gin. No need to get hostile.”
Art squeezes her fingers and murmurs something I can’t hear, and she softens like butter.
I don’t think Art’s said more than three words to me since he’s shown up here tonight, but that’s fine.
Everything’s fine.
“I need air,” I say, and before anyone can reply, I’m halfway out the back hallway.
The night breeze hits my lungs like a punch. I sink into one of the cheap white Adirondack chairs by a makeshift ashtray and tip my head back, staring at the sliver of sky visible between the buildings.
The door creaks.
“I said I’d be back.”
“Yeah, well, men are liars, so forgive me for not believing you.”
Genevieve.
She drops into the chair across from me, a bar rag clutched in her hand.
“Jules send you to check on me?”
“I’m not checking on you.” She crosses her arms. “I’m taking a break.”
“Sure.”
“You okay?”
“Fine.”
She hums and then kicks my boot with her shoe. “Liar.”
The distant sounds of the bar filter through the walls—muffled laughter, the clink of glasses.
“Your sister seems nice,” Genevieve says.
“She’s a pain in my ass.”
“She loves you.”
“I don’t want to talk about it.” I close my eyes, leaning my head back.
“Okay. So what do you want to talk about then?”
I crack open my lids and peer down at her. Under the stark light, her freckles are more pronounced, dotting her face like constellations.
“Why aren’t you cooking?” I ask.
She rings the bar rag tight. “I cook all the time.”
