Wicked(43)

She waved her hand dismissively. "You want him. You can have him. You need to break that epic dry spell of yours, and boy that would be one hell of a way to break it." Letting go, she rocked back on her heels and clapped her hands together. "My little girl is going to get laid!" Shimmying her hips, she squealed. "Finally!"

Um.

Looking to the right, I saw a woman behind the counter staring at us. To my left was a man with a small boy, maybe around the age of five or six.

"How do you get laid?" the boy asked the man.

I sighed.

Completely oblivious, Val spun around and headed straight for the romance section. I trailed after her, almost wishing we were still talking about the ancients. "You know," she said, twirling down a tight aisle, her skirt billowed out around her, "I wasn't joking when I offered to end the dry spell for you. I'm equal opportunity."

Laughing, I stopped in the middle of the row and scanned the shelf by authors' last name. "I know."

She danced over to me and draped an arm around my shoulders. "Girls are so much more fun than boys."

"I don't even need to try that out to know that's true. Wait." I bumped her with my hip. "What happened last night with your hot date? That was a guy, right?"

"Oh yeah." Slipping away, she hummed under her breath as she perused the shelves. "He . . . something else." She peeked at me through thick lashes. "I'm surprised I can walk today."

"Thought girls were more fun," I replied dryly, finally finding the last name Crownover.

"Usually." She picked up a book. "But then there are some guys. Like Ren. They are more fun. So when you going to let—"

"Don't even finish that statement." Spying the book I was looking for, I snatched it up and cradled it close to my chest as I turned to Val. "Look, I'm . . . yeah okay, I'm attracted to him. Who wouldn't be? But I've only known him a few days."

"Babe." She skipped over to me. "Babe."

"What?" I shot her a look before starting for the front of the store.

"You do not need to know him, know him, to get some. You just need to drop those panties." She paused and her eyes glazed over like she was remembering something pretty steamy. "Actually, you don't need to drop them. He could just tug them aside, and that is really hot."

"Oh my God," I murmured, and then louder, "Can we not talk about this anymore?"

"Whatever. Prude."

I smiled. "Ho."

After we paid for our books, I was sure the employees were happy to see us make our way to the exit. Walking out together, I knew I'd made the right choice by confiding in her. Val needed to know what was out there so she could protect herself. I didn't know what I'd do if I lost her.

We ended up at the coffee shop next door and didn't make it any further than the chairs. She continued on about how I needed to be in a bed or against the wall or on a kitchen counter with Ren by the end of the week until she suddenly jerked straight up in her chair, startling me.

"Are you okay?" I asked, leaning toward her.

"Crap. The time." She jumped to her feet. "I've got to go."

I raised my brows. "Hot date number two?"

"Actually, yes." She grabbed her coffee. "How do I look? Delectable?"

"Hot as usual." I held my hand out. "But can I have my sunglasses back?"

"Oh." She laughed, reaching up and pulling them off her head. She handed them over and swooped down to kiss my cheek. "I'll text you later."

"I have a feeling you're going to be really busy later."

She giggled. "If I'm lucky."

Standing, I picked up my sweet tea and bag from the bookstore. "So do I get to meet hot guy who's going to make you walk funny by tomorrow sometime?"

Val stepped back, her skirt swaying around her legs as she smiled. "You'll get to meet him." Biting down on her lip, she winked. "Be careful, okay?"

I reached out, squeezing her hand. "You too."





Chapter Nine





On the way back to my apartment, I made a pit stop at Brighton and Merle's house, smack dab in the heart of the Garden District, not too far from my apartment. They lived in a true antebellum home, a gorgeous two-story with four large white pillars that supported the sprawling front porch and the balcony above. The shutters were painted a traditional black, but about a month ago, Merle got a wild hair up her rear and hired a contractor to paint the front door a pale blue. I'd thought the idea was odd, especially since the color was such a washed out shade; it was the exact color of fae eyes.

A wrought iron fence surrounded the property, and the gate squeaked like old bones rubbing together as I opened it. The sidewalk used to be cracked, resembling old plaster, but it had finally been repaired about a year ago. I stepped on the porch, wincing as the boards groaned.