Page 28

After years as partners, sharing hotel rooms and communal showers, dressing in front of each other meant literally nothing. Except this time, she dressed in front of me after spending some nights together in a different sort of situation.

Her movements slowed as if she considered it just the same. I watched her slide into each piece of clothing that hugged the delicate curves of her body with enviable closeness. Despite my attention, her calmer presentation didn't give away anything or tell me whether or not she felt differently right then.

"What do you think made you upset?" I asked, keeping my tone soft.

"I, um, the neighbors upstairs were fighting, and it reminded me of something," she said, unattached to the memory at that point it seemed.

"Of what?"

"My chaotic household growing up—I need to call Maya." The compulsion seemed to grab at her again, and I knew more than just a reminder of something occurred. "It was so much easier when she lived here."

"It's early. Give the youngin some time to adjust to daylight," I said, smirking with it. "You've always said your house was crazy when you were a kid. Is that why you're worried about Maya?"

"A little bit," she said, fastening her bra behind her back.

"Probably a lot. What did it remind you of specifically?"

"Just a normal day." She glanced at me while tugging on her pants followed by socks. "My mother overdosing on the sofa, me cleaning up dirty needles, my father calling me a slut while screaming in my face. Trying to explain what slut meant to an eight-year-old Maya."

"Slut?" I frowned at the label. "You were what, thirteen when Maya was eight?"

"Yeah." She slipped into her heels then donned her blouse. "About that."

"How is a thirteen-year-old a slut?"

"That was his favorite word for me after he found out I wasn't a virgin anymore," she told me, buttoning up then tucking in her shirt.

"How old were you when you lost your virginity?"

"Young. Twelve." She shrugged, then ran her fingers through her tangled hair. "What about you?"

"About sixteen. Was your first time with a boy?"

"Yeah. You?"

"Nah. Girl." I chuckled at the thought of it. "Who was nineteen."

She let out a fake gasp. "That cradle-robbing pedophile."

"If we apply that logic to right now, I'm the pedophile and you're the cradle I robbed the other night," I teased, laughing along with it more openly. "Yikes."

"I didn't think of it like that," she said, laughing along with me. "If you were sixteen, I would've been eleven. Ew."

"Yup." I grinned, leaning back on my hands while I watched her fuss with her hair. "You're a little nugget of a thing."

"Uh huh." She thwapped me with the hairbrush when she walked past to grab her purse. "Those rules only apply to people under twenty."

"You're under thirty. Still counts." I grinned at her and she narrowed her eyes at me.

"Not for much longer."

"Nope. What do you want to do for your birthday this year?"

"Not sure. Maybe head to Wildrose with Maya and some of the Mermaid girls," she said, now staring at her face in the mirror. "I need makeup."

"You don't need makeup to shoot criminals in the dick."

"Do so. If said criminals shoot me first, I want to die looking pretty."