Page 77 of Playing Dirty
"It's working," she whispers.
And then she pulls me in and kisses me, and the rest of the world finally falls away as I carry her toward the bed.
20
Margot
"He'll be pulling into the driveway any second now," Sabrina says, leaning against the kitchen doorframe with the popcorn bowl tucked under one arm.
"I'm aware. The sauce needs at least another ten minutes anyway." I give the pot a slow stir, watching the steam curl up off the tomatoes, and reach for the pasta.
"Better hope it finishes before the power goes and our stupid electric stove quits on us," Sabrina says from behind me. "God, it just won't let up. I mean, I love a cozy rainy day as much as anyone, but rain? In Napa? InMay? It's unheard of. I'm telling you, it's a bad omen."
I glance toward the window, past the crowded collection of cacti on the sill. The rain is descending in heavy, grey curtains against the side of the cottage, a persistent and uncharacteristic downpour for late spring.
"It isn't an omen, Sabrina, it's just a... very weird low-pressure system."
The drum of the storm against the roof intensifies right asthe words leave my mouth, hard enough that even I glance up at the ceiling and have to admit there's something a little unnerving about the way it keeps building.
"Famous last words," she continues, moving to my side. "I already got hit with my share of it, so you're bound to be next. I left campus today in sandals and the most microscopic denim shorts imaginable and got absolutely biblical-drenched. Ruined my shoesandI dropped my burrito straight into a puddle."
"Hmm. Yes. That is tragic." I turn back to the stove, ignoring the omen hysterics. "Hopefully Cillian is careful on the roads."
Her eyes go wide with sudden, theatrical alarm.
"Yes, let's pray the omen doesn’t claim him!" She gestures with a dramatic flourish before tilting her head, her expression turning thoughtful. "But don’t worry too much. Since he’s from Ireland, I bet he’s comfortable in the rain, unlike us fragile, fair-weather Californians. Besides, the man is like richrich, right? Doesn't he drive a fancy car? I’m assuming it’s something very high-end."
I pause, trying to recall a single specific detail about his car, and find my mind a total blank. Something expensive, almost certainly. I personally couldn't care less about cars other than them being safe and functional. Sabrina, however, has a soft spot for the classics and drives a tiny, and temperamental, vintage convertible that she dotes on like a newborn despite its bi-weekly mechanical failures.
"I honestly couldn't tell you. But I will say his apartment is very nice. Huge, modern, views of the whole city." I shrug. "I prefer a bit more of a cozy grandmother style myself."
She shakes her head. “A penthouse millionaire, and this is what you're doing with it. Fine. If you won't secure the benefits, I think it's only fair they trickle down to me. Ask him to buy me a moped.”
"You're insane," I laugh and taste the sauce, and I'm reachingfor the salt when a knock echoes through the house. Sabrina straightens instantly, alert as a meerkat.
"Don't you dare interrogate him on the doorstep and freak him out. Wait for me to—" I warn, waving the wooden spoon at her.
"I'll get it!" she sings out, already racing toward the entryway with an impish look over her shoulder.
I set the spoon down, wipe my hands on the dish towel, and follow the voices already drifting in from the hallway.
Sabrina clicks the door shut as Cillian clears the threshold, holding a bottle of wine and chuckling at whatever quip she's already managed to deliver. His dark hair is damp from the rain, a fine mist clinging to the shoulders of his jacket from the short sprint from the car.
"The feature presentation isLegally Blonde," Sabrina informs him with the gravity of a customs official. "It's the ultimate comfort film in this house, and I consider Elle Woods to be my spiritual guide, my role model, and, should it ever come to it, my attorney."
"I've no complaints about that," he says, aiming a dimpled grin her way.
"Good, because unfortunately for you, visitors don't get a vote on movie nights until their tenth appearance." She looks at him regretfully, as though she has no say whatsoever in a rule she personally created.
"Is this a new rule?" he asks, looking amused, glancing at me with a quick wink as I approach the entryway to watch the show.
"No. To be honest, I had to implement it against Margot's last boyfriend, when he tried to get us to watch theDirty Dancingremake," she says gravely.
"The remake?" His eyes go wide. "And he was allowed to remain in the house?"
He tsks and smiles, shaking his head at me in mockdisappointment, and I throw my hands up like I wasn't even there for it.
"I know," Sabrina says gravely. "It was a dark chapter for this household."
