She was Thursday. Yesterday was Thursday. She was expecting a visit from Hawk.
She was Thursday.
That something in my stomach slid up my gullet, filled my mouth and it tasted of acid.
Chapter Fourteen
Filler
Fang idled at the curb while I did my walk of shame up to my house. It really wasn’t a walk of shame but no one seeing me in the daylight hours in a little black dress and fabulous shoes would know that.
Fang, I found to my fortune, was not a master communicator. This was good and bad because this meant I could slide into my head and stay there the whole way from Hawk’s lair. This was good because I needed to be in my head to sort my shit out and this was bad because I didn’t want to be in my head and because I couldn’t figure out how to sort my shit.
I opened the door and saw Meredith, Camille, Tracy and Mrs. Mayhew all sitting on my furniture and drinking coffee at the left side of my living room. The furniture had been uncovered, the floors had been swept, the mist of dust on all surfaces had disappeared. The renovation equipment had vanished. The right side of the living room was just as tidy but it was empty. A peek through the glass doors to my once empty den showing it was now storage for tools, tubes, cans and equipment. The walls still needed to be re-skimmed, the floors refinished, the fireplace mantels stripped and redone and the light fixtures replaced but at least it looked like a living room
Jeez. It was ten o’clock. Meredith had been busy.
I stared at them and I loved them. I loved them all. And I loved that Meredith made my living room look like a living room.
But I wanted cookie dough. Aloneness and cookie dough.
No, I needed aloneness and cookie dough.
Like, a lot.
“Hey,” I called.
“Have a good night?” Meredith beamed.
“Um…” I mumbled.
“That’s a pretty dress,” Mrs. Mayhew complimented.
“Thanks, Mrs. M,” I replied walking in thinking she was being so Mrs. M, saying I was wearing a pretty dress when I’d walked into my house in the clothes I’d worn the night before which everyone knew screamed slut!
“Heard you got a hot one on your hook,” she remarked, smiling at me huge.
Well, I thought so but I was worried I was on his hook.
“Um…” I mumbled again.
“You okay?” Cam asked, looking at me closely.
“Um…” I mumbled yet again.
All female eyes focused intently on me as it appeared I was incapable of speech.
Then Cam moved.
“Right,” she said smartly, jumping up from the couch. “Shower, yoga pants, let’s go!” she ordered and clapped her hands, coming to me, bustling me to the stairs and up them, right to my bathroom.
I turned at the bathroom door and looked at her. Cam was my height, all legs and booty, minor cle**age that wasn’t much to write home about but it didn’t matter because she was flat out, heart stopping gorgeous. Big almond eyes, full lips, fabulous cheekbones, elegant jaw, perfectly arched brows. She was the exotic, African American yin to Tracy’s girl next door yang. This used to give me a complex, seeing as my two best friends were akin to catwalk models let loose on society but I learned to control my feelings of inferiority through copious imbibing of cosmos and shopping for fantastic clothes I could don that would build my confidence whenever I went out with them.
“Cam,” I said.
“You’re freaked,” she replied reading me, as usual, like a book.
Not, of course, that I was being mysterious.