Page 67 of Darling Venom
“I don’t care what he is. He can write the hell out of a book. If I had to boycott assholes out of my artistic menu, I’d be starved for movies, books, and songs.”
I knew she knew I hated my sperm donor, so I concluded she did this for the same reason well-fed cats preyed on mice.
Blood sport.
“I don’t talk to him.”
The cab blinded us again. The driver was impatient.
I didn’t budge.
She smiled sweetly at me. “Looks like you’re about to.”
I glared at her with quiet hatred. I was going to have to face the idiot anyway, since he was coming to live with me.
“Fine.”
Fuck.
She ran to the cab, yanking the passenger door open. Before she got in, she stopped, turning her head in my direction.
“I don’t have your number!” she shouted through the rain.
“We’re not exchanging phone numbers. You know the rules.”
I felt like a tree, planted in place, alive but unmoving.
Do I know the rules? Are there even rules?
Yes. In fact, there is one—don’t fuck your dead brother’s best friend, who is twelve years your junior.
A solid plan.
She was broken.
I was destroyed.
This had disaster written all over it.
“Fine, jerk. I have your address. Friday at six?”
Didn’t she just say she’s never been in Kellan’s room?
“Friday at six,” I confirmed.
I turned around and walked back to the smoothie bar to collect my duffel bag, jacket, and sanity. The rain still pounded on me, but with no damsel to save from pneumonia, I was in no hurry.
Did you fuck him?
I let the question spin in my head like a coin.
I’d said no, and that was the truth.
My truth, anyway.
But there were some things I should’ve mentioned.
I had kissed Kellan. Kellan had kissed me back. And in another life, an alternate universe where I hadn’t lost my parents and Kellan hadn’t been devoured by his ghosts, maybe we could have been more.
