Page 46 of Subscriber Wars

I grin. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of, sweetie. It was a hot day and those baggy pants you had on were not the best at wicking away the moisture.”

I can see the redness spread across her cheeks. I shouldn’t fuck with her like this, because she won’t hesitate to return the favor and share one of my embarrassing stories, but I can’t help myself. “All I’m saying is I knew I loved her when she wasn’t embarrassed to tell me she needed a hot shower and a big tub of Vaseline.”

I’ve grown a beard in the amount of time I wait for Vee tonotopen the door.

“Valentina!”

I bang on the door with my fist. “Do I need to call the crisis hotline?”

I might have struggled coughing up a shirt for her to wear, but it looks like she’s struggling to actually wear said shirt.

“I’ll be out in a minute!” she yells back.

“You said that half an hour ago. It’s going to be dark by the time you come out of there.”

Is it sad that I’ve sat here by the door, waiting? Why didn’t I watch TV or at least scroll through MyView? Maybe it’s because I didn’t think I would be waiting a million and eight years.

I raise my hand to bang on the door again when the lock flips.

I try the handle and it turns.

“I’m feeling like this might be a trap,” I say, easing the door open. “Those shitty horror movies you watch usually start with some idiot checking out a room.”

I shove the door all the way open and find Vee sitting on top of my counter amongst a plethora of makeup. “Did Cover Girl take a shit on my counter?” I can feel my eyes widening as I take in all the containers and tubes.

Vee makes a scoffing noise and rolls her eyes. “Do women really like that crass mouth of yours?”

A muscle in my cheek twitches. “They do, actually.” I push off the door frame and take a step forward, invading her space and forcing her legs apart. “As a matter of fact, the crasser I get—”

She slaps her hand over my mouth. “It was a rhetorical question. I did not mean for you to think I really cared.”

It’s cute when she tries to act unaffected, but the faint blush on her cheeks is not from the makeup.

Deciding not to push my luck, I change the subject, nodding to the two tubes of lipstick in her hand. “Can’t decide which color to wear with your outfit?”

I have an older sister; I know what a—insert sarcasm— ‘struggle’ this can be.

Vee looks down at her hands and then back at me. “Actually, I can’t decide what color would look best withyouroutfit.”

“Come again?” I take a step back, but her legs lock around my waist and pull me forward until my hips hit the counter. “I’m not following.” And if I’m being honest, I’m a little nervous with the way she’s chewing on her lip. “I don’t see how my outfit has anything to do with your choice of lipstick shades.”

Her gaze drifts to my chest.

“You’re making me nervous,” I ramble, checking for a camera she might have set up somewhere. “We have a truce,” I remind her.

That finally snaps her out of it. “You’re so paranoid.” She shakes her head like this surprises her.

“I can’t imagine why,” I add with a glare.

The girl who fucked me up so badly that I haven’t been able to date since ‘the incident’ lets out a long sigh. “It’s not a trick. Can you just trust me?”

I want to be a shit and say no. I don’t trust her. But deep down—very, very deep down—my gut tells me I can trust her. She might have tricked me for months, but she didn’t do anything with the information. She didn’t expose me like she could have. I exhale and roll my shoulders back, looking to the ceiling. I don’t want to make eye contact with her. “I trust you.” Sometimes. Occasionally. When I’ve had enough alcohol to make me forget everything. “I trust you more often than not.” There, that’s more truthful.

I lower my head and see her pained smile. “I deserve that.”

She does. I’m not even going to lie and say she doesn’t. But she only deserves it this one time. I’m man enough to give second chances.

“It’s the last time I’ll bring it up,” I promise. “I said we could start over and I meant it.”

---