Page 15 of I Dreamt That You Loved Me

A visceral reminder that Gabriel belonged to my best friend. The girl who ran out in a snowstorm to get me chicken soup when I had a bad cold last winter. The girl who was like the sister I’d never had.

I stood to go.

“I don’t think you’d be selling out,” he said. “You’d be feeding your creative soul, notsellingit. Stick to your convictions and create something that’s meaningful to you.”

And burn, burn, burn…

I spun on my heel and headed to my room, throwing a belatedgood nightover my shoulder.

As the door snapped shut behind me, I heard Annika ask, “Who’s selling their soul?”

My soul wasn’t for sale, but my heart couldn’t be trusted.

I needed to stay away from Gabriel Francis.

CHAPTER FIVE

“It’s Friday night.I’m going clubbing,” Xavier said. He was talking to me but glaring at the woman exiting the store. “Was it really necessary to paw through every fucking T-shirt?” he huffed, refolding the Marie Antoinette T-shirts on the display table.

“Eat cake!” he yelled at the door as he rearranged the pastel clutch bags shaped like bonbons and meringues on a gilded cake stand. “And while you’re at it you can kiss my Latino ass.”

“You never even leave the house until eleven,” I said, steering the conversation back to the subject at hand. Annika’s dance performance tonight. “Come with me and you can go clubbing afterwards.”

Xavier spun around and put his hands on his hips, giving me the death stare. “It’s like you don’t even know me. It’s going to take me three hours to get ready. And that’safterI’ve decided what to wear.”

My gaze swept over his black mesh shirt and leather pants. He wore thick silver chains around his neck, six-inch platform boots, and meticulously applied eyeliner.

His black hair was spiked with gel, the tips peroxided, not a single strand out of place.

Xavi was always dressed like he was ready to go clubbing so I didn’t know what he was talking about.

“Please,” I pleaded, hands folded in prayer as the bell over the door rang.

“We’re closed,” Xavier snarled, tapping the non-existent watch on his wrist before turning to look at Angel Gabriel.

Joking. He wasn’t an angel. More like a mischievous choirboy.

“But for you we’ll make an exception.” Xavi batted his lashes.

Gabriel laughed and asked him how he was doing, which led to a five-minute monologue from Xavier on the trials and tribulations of working in retail and ended with a rant about his boyfriend’s nefarious ways.

“He’s so clingy. I’ve had it up to here.” He sliced a finger across his neck.

Gabriel nodded. “Sometimes you just need to do your own thing. You need some space to breathe.”

“See? Gabriel gets me.” Xavier sent me a scathing look, which was entirely unwarranted since I’d told him the very same thing this afternoon when he was doing my makeup.

“You don’t need me. You’re already in good hands.” He swept his arm toward Gabriel.

They met a couple of weeks ago when I dragged Xavi to the Horseshoe Bar so I wouldn’t have to three-wheel it.

That’s the night I met Hank, a history buff who wore tweed jackets with elbow patches.

Tonight wassupposedto be our third date, but he called last night to cancel. “Full disclosure,” he’d said, “I don’t really trust beautiful women. I’m not even sure why you’re interested in me.”

Then he told me a story about the popular girl in high school who asked him to the prom, only to humiliate him in front of all the jocks and cheerleaders. I’d argued that I was neither apopular girl nor a cheerleader, but he’d muttered sorry and hung up.

Another one bites the dust.