Heh.
The country club for breakfast.
My small spark of hope flares out in an instant, but I do the dutiful daughter thing, showering and fixing the green and black hair she hates. I even put on a small amount of makeup—mostly just some copper shadow and a touch of lip gloss—but it’s the effort that counts, right?
Wearing nothing but a bra and panties, I slip on the diamond tennis bracelet Tess got me and then stare at the collection of clothes spread out across the floor. A couple more of my boxes arrived yesterday although my furniture is still at least a week out. Freight is sslllloowww.
Anyway, what Tess considers nice, and what I consider nice, are surely different things.
I decide on a black jumper with a long-sleeved white shirt underneath, some black and red kitten heels with very subtle werewolf faces on the toes, and a black denim jacket. Since I really am trying here, I remove most of the pins on the lapels before heading downstairs.
Parrish is in the kitchen, but Tess is nowhere to be seen.
He looks up and spots me there, taking in my outfit with a single, sweeping glance. I notice that he presses his butter knife against the bread so hard that when he goes to spread the mustard on it, it sort of breaks into pieces.
“Is Tess around?” I ask as he watches me, shoving the remainder of the ruined bread into the trash compactor and then grabbing the half-gallon of milk instead. A different teenage face stares back at me with the same headline: MISSING CHILD. Way to rub it in universe, thanks. Yeah, I remember who I am alright.
My worries seem small though in comparison to that missing boy’s. There is still a serial killer haunting the Seattle metro area. Shit, that dude is likely dead, just like the others. There are a lot of them, too, enough to get multiple agencies involved in the investigation.
Twelve teens dead; no clues of any worth.
I know more than I want to, thanks to Parrish and Chasm and their obsession with that Emerald City Murder Podcast. Gross.
Parrish shakes his head in a tacit response to my question, lifting the milk to his lips. My eyes find his throat as he swallows, watching the muscles contract with each gulp. My jaw tightens in response, and I tear my gaze away, glad to see that the sofa is empty and Kimber is nowhere to be seen. I can stand up for myself, but it gets tiring after a while, especially since, even after a month and a half, she won’t lay off.
“We’re having breakfast at the club,” I say, because it feels suddenly awkward in here. There’s just something about being alone with Parrish that makes me uneasy. And not uneasy in the way it should. Uneasy in a ‘butterflies in the belly and sweaty palms’ sort of a way. Nothing’s happened between us since the last time we kissed, but I noticed that as soon as Parrish was aware that Chasm was tutoring me, he started leaving his door open so he could spy on us.
“Always fun,” he replies succinctly, frowning as he sets the milk down on the counter and drags his arm across his full, pouty mouth. His pants are far too low on his hips, and as per usual, he isn’t wearing a shirt. It’s like he expects the rest of us to feel privileged for being allowed to see his art. Maybe he should sell tickets?
I roll my eyes, and he narrows his in response.
“Parrish,” Tess says when she appears from the direction of the pool area. “I’m getting tired of telling you to use a glass. And to put on a shirt. You have teenage sisters in the home, and they shouldn’t have to look at your nipples all day, every day.”
Parrish’s gold-flecked eyes light on my face, as if in challenge, but he just grabs a wadded up black t-shirt from the counter and yanks it over his head. It strains across the muscles in his upper chest as he tugs it into place, leaving it to gather just above his belly button, so I can see a tantalizing bit of skin between the tee and his pants.
“Whatever,” is his response as he takes the milk and moves past me toward the staircase. A shiver takes over me, but since Tess is standing right there, staring at me with that intensity that makes me so damn uncomfortable, I don’t react—even though Parrish smells like clovers and clean linen.
My hands fist in the legs of my jumper as Tess looks me over.
Me and my hideous nose, right?
My mouth twitches, but I refuse to let it turn down into a frown. Sometimes, people hurt others without meaning to. If I don’t tell Tess how I feel, she won’t know or understand. I resolve to do just that during breakfast.
