Sex Says(108)
“Goodbye, Lola.”
“Bye, JoJo!”
“For fuck—”
I ended the call before he could finish his cursing tirade.
God, I love riling him up.
As I slid my phone back into my pocket, I put my game face on. It was time to continue my education toward becoming an expert reader of palms—aka it was time to learn more tricks that would help me get what I wanted.
What? A girl had to get creative when her main squeeze was the most talented bullshitter in the history of bullshitters.
“Honey, I’m home!” I shouted as I strode through the door of our apartment. I kicked it shut with the heel of my Converse and left my purse and messenger bag on the bench in the entryway.
Reed and I had moved in to our humble new abode about three weeks after he’d swept me off my feet with the creepiest puppets I’d ever seen, and we’d been living here in our little world of weird and eccentric for the past three months.
It was a one-bedroom apartment located a few blocks from Golden Gate Park, and it was heaven. Between our Sunday morning ritual of feeding the squirrels with our marionettes and our nearly nightly dance parties in the living room, I’d never been happier. And bonus—good with money Reed Luca paid the bulk of the rent.
“Hey!” I called from the center of the living room. “Where are you?”
“In the bedroom!” Reed’s voice echoed down the hall.
I found him lying on our bed, listening to Jeff Buckley and reading The Rum Diary by Hunter S. Thompson.
An amused grin crested my lips. “Are you fucking with me right now?”
He quirked a brow, his eyes moving slowly, druggedly away from the pages of his book to meet mine. He made a show of glancing down at his crotch and then back to me. “Unless my dick has achieved the power of teleportation into your pants, I don’t think I’m fucking with you. Pretty sure I’d be aware of something like that.”
“Not actual fucking,” I corrected with a shake of my head and slipped off my shoes. The smartass knew exactly what I meant. “I mean the music, the book…” I crawled onto the bed until I was straddling his hips and sitting on top of him. I snatched the book out of his hands and held it in the air. “The Rum Diary? Jeff Buckley? I mean, how existential are you trying to be?”
He flashed that notorious cocky smirk of his. “I’m just being me, Roller Skates.”
“You’re weird,” I muttered and tossed his book on the nightstand.
“I’m weird?” he asked on a laugh, his hands flexing into the tops of my thighs. “This coming from the girl wearing neon yellow jean shorts and a T-shirt that says Mother of Cats. You don’t own any cats.”
“But I want to own a cat.”
He just grinned at my rebuttal.
“What?” I questioned. “I do want to be a mother of cats. You just don’t let us have any cats.” I shot an accusing finger up to point right in his face. “You’re the reason this shirt isn’t the truth.”
No shame, he laughed at that and tapped my ass with this hand. “Existential weirdos and cats aside, how’d class with Judy the palm reader go?”
“Give me your palm, and I’ll show you,” I said and held out my hands.
The line of one of his eyebrows curved up with disbelief. “Two classes in and you can already read ’em?”
“I’m a quick study.”
Before he could question me further, I grabbed his left palm and started tracing the lines with my index finger. “Hmmm…Well, this looks promising.”
“Promising?” he asked suspiciously. “Am I about to be the owner of a cat?”
I ignored the smartass and continued the charade. “See this line right here?” I asked as I traced the indentation that led from his thumb to the center of his palm. I couldn’t really tell you what the fuck it meant, but like I said, I wasn’t really trying to become an expert. I just needed the diploma so Reed would think my readings held some validity.
“Yep. I see it.”
“Well, it says you have some vices you should stop doing posthaste.”
“Vices?” he asked. “I don’t think I have any vices.”
Bastard. He was so much better at bullshitting than I was. But I wasn’t the type to give up.
“It’s showing it’s a vice that revolves around an oral fixation.”
“What?” He feigned surprise. “The only oral fixation I know of revolves around your addictive little cunt. I’m supposed to stop licking you? That sounds a tad drastic, but I guess if it’s urgent—”
“Wait,” I cut him off. I mean, the point of fake palm reading wasn’t to stop Reed from going down on me. The man had a wicked tongue, and I refused to give that up. “It’s also showing it revolves around smoke. And requires a lighter. Oh?” I acted shocked. “Do you think it’s talking about smoking?”