Page 85 of Playing Dirty
"We haven't even told each other we love each other yet, so I think that might be a bit of a stretch," I say.
Sabrina looks over, her expression going bright with excitement. "Wait, does that mean youarefeeling in love with him?"
"What? No, of course not," I flush instantly, the heat radiating down my neck. "That would be insane to feel that so quickly. Wouldn't it?"
Isabelle shrugs, watching me. "I mean you guys have known each other for a few months now, even if you haven't been dating that long. It's not that crazy. Especially with thechemistryyou guys have."
"When did you know, with Alex?" I ask, mostly to get the spotlight off me.
"Well, I was convinced I hated him at first, but I think I was into him well before I admitted it. And the love came pretty damn fast. When you know, you know."
Sabrina taps her chin. "Hated him first, fell fast. Hmmm, sounds like someone else I know. What was the wise voice, akame, you had in your ear saying the lady doth protest too much to his—ow!"
I pinch her side, and she yelps.
"Hey," Sabrina says, laughing and squirming out of reach. "I'm just thrilled you and Cillian finally worked it out, and I've earned the right to gloat just a little."
I roll my eyes, though I can't quite suppress a smile. "Fine, gloat away. You were right, as usual."
She laughs. "Oh, also just a heads-up: Aunt Mary decided she's joining us for Dad's retirement dinner tonight.”
I blink, the peaceful mood evaporating instantly. "No she isn't."
"Um," she says, checking her screen. "Yes, she is. She messaged me a few minutes ago asking about the dress code and the timing."
"So typical," I say, the frustration bubbling up unbidden. "She completely ignored the invitations I sent a month ago, and the follow-up text asking for RSVPs so I could coordinate the seating chart,andthe automated reminder after that. And now she goes and bypasses me entirely to text you!"
Sabrina winces at my tone, and Isabelle gives a sympathetic little grimace. But how hard is it to stick to a plan? To answer one text out of three? To not spring things at the last minute on the person actually holding the entire evening together?
"I'm sure it wasn't malicious," Sabrina says in a soothing tone. "It's annoying, I know. Tell you what, I'll call the restaurantand see if they can squeeze in one more chair at the end, that way you don't have to deal with it."
"No, I can do it. I've already got everything arranged with the manager there." I wave her off. "And no offense, but the last time you handled party logistics, the caterer delivered forty tacos to the wrong address instead of Mom's."
"Hey, that was one time, and the app defaulted to my address," she protests. "Also we ate them, so nothing was technically wasted."
I laugh despite myself. "No, it's fine, really. I can do it. It's a two-minute call."
"Are you sure?" Sabrina asks, watching me closely.
"It's alright, really. Sorry I snapped. It just gets under my skin.” I take a deep breath. “Okay, rant officially over. Let's get back to our nice day."
Sabrina nudges my shoulder with hers, Isabelle links her arm through my free one, and we walk on while I quietly slidecall the restaurantonto the top of my mental to-do list, where there is always, always room for one more.
23
Margot
"So Miriam was perched on a patio chair, giving this full-throated, dramatic reading of the demon possession scene right as the new mail carrier rounds the side gate." I stop to catch my breath, laughing. "The poor man bolted. Diane found the deliveries abandoned at the foot of the drive later that evening. He never delivered there again."
Cillian laughs, head tipped back against the couch cushions, his arm winding around my waist to pull me closer against his side. He got back tonight, and dinner turned into a movie, which turned into me catching him up on all the local gossip—including the legend of Fright Club, which is apparently the peak of Solstice Ridge entertainment to him.
"I've no doubt that poor postman is scarred for life," he says, his Irish lilt thick with amusement. "Poor lad's probably requested a new route entirely."
I snort. "Yeah, well, I shared his trauma at that meeting. I nearly sprinted down the drive right behind him when Miriam started wailing."
"Oh, Ace, you poor soul." He laughs, reaching up to wipe a stray tear from his eye. "I need an invitation, though. I'm a sucker for a good horror novel. I'll even bring the lemon squares."
"Sabrina says the same thing; she lives for the jump scares." I shake my head. "I'm too much of a scaredy-cat, so I'm going to start my own rival club. Romance. Or any genre where the big twist is people finding happiness. My brain makes enough horror out of the daily mundane, so I really don't need the extra help in that department."
