Page 12 of One Killer Night

She takes her drink as it’s offered.

“Why?”

I take mine as she shrugs, and it’s shy. Which, ironically, seems like it would be on brand for her. I don’t know what to say, so I hard pivot to another topic.

“So, how long has your sister been doing this?”

She takes a sip. “Her whole life, but she’s finally getting paid now.”

“Cool. What have you been doing your whole life?”

She touches the end of her hair so delicately I’m not sure she knows she’s doing it. But I can’t stop noticing.

“My whole life? How much time you got?”

All night. All week. Whatever works.

She smiles wistfully. “I’m a hopeful writer who’s working on working as a florist. I have an interview next week.”

That’s the best description of unemployment I’ve ever heard. She should definitely stick to writing.

I nod. “Basically, the next great American novelist feeling uninspired, relying on a little beauty in the meantime.”

“Something like that.” There’s another long pause as we both face forward. Even the awkward parts are making me smile. Maybe I’m grateful for the sheet after all.

Goldie’s voice carries up to me again. “What do you do? Other than haunt people and turn into a boy for first kisses in spooky mansions.”

I can’t help but chuckle because her television and movie references are set to expert mode.

“Graphic design. I mostly make a lot of boring corporate logos, but eventually, I’d love to create sneakers.”

I wait for her to make a joke about me being a forever twelve-year-old, like most people do.

But instead, her hand touches my shoulder. “No way. That’s so cool. I love it, and now I know who to ask for a custom pair on my birthday.”

She’s a cream-and-white leather Converse high-top with stars, flowers, and book quotes wound up the back.

“When’s your birthday?”

Goldie only smiles before rubbing her lips together, coating a sheen of wetness into a shine. I nod, understanding, lifting my drink.

“Guess I’ll have to stick around to find out.”

The coy look she gives me makes me blow out a gentle exhale.

I start to take a drink to cool off, but I hit fabric, blocked. I laugh, watching her eyes light up with humor.

We forgot a mouth hole.

As if she hears my thoughts, Goldie grabs a straw from the bar, then raises her hand to my face and gently tugs the sheet until one of my eyeholes is lined up with my mouth.

I feel the straw touch my lips, so I take a long sip.

“You weren’t supposed to cover your face,” she teases, so I give it back as good as I’m getting it.

“And you were supposed to be a dinosaur. Looks like we’re both liars.”

With a huff, she tugs my sheet all the way down, exposing me. “Bold choice with the flowers.”