Page 71 of Dream Chaser
Iz’s muffled scream of embarrassment and fury is everything.
And me? I’m lying in her bed, pillow over my face, trying to process the fact that this woman, who has rocked my world three times now, spent her early twenties dating enough red flags to sew together a uniform for the entire Chiefs’ O line.
And all I can think is,I am going tokillBarry.
There’s a beat of silence after another parrot-poetry insult and then Iz.
“First of all, ninety-nine percent of what you just said was a flat-out lie.”
CJ says, “That parrot guy?—”
“Don’t. Youdo notget to explain the bird narrative again.”
Matthew snorts. “But he?—”
“No! Shut it! The only thing you’re allowed to say right now is ‘sorry, Izzy, for being a trio of grown-ass men with the emotional maturity of a beanbag.’”
Remington has brass balls because he calmly asks, “So … we’re not meeting the guy?”
“No! Becausewhoevermay or may not be in my room is none of your damn business. If you try to make it your business, Iswearto God I will find every single one of your adolescent photos—the braces, the acne, the awkward half-staches—and I will personally fire up theBlue Valley Pressand run a commemorative ‘Look At These Bitch Babies’ edition in full color!”
CJ mock gasps, “You wouldn’t!”
“Oh, Iwould.I still have Remington’s My Little Pony lunchbox photos, and don’t think I won’t lead with that.”
Remington grumbles, “You said you deleted those.”
“Ilied!Because, unlike you three, I amstrategic!”
That a girl, Iz, I laugh to myself.
“Oh, and since we’re airing grievances—while we’re here—Istillthink one of you started the ‘Izzy’s gay’ rumor at BV High.”
“The what?” Matthew asks.
“I didn’t date anyone in high school because of that. Not because I wasn’t interested, but because I had to spend two years defending myself fromwell-meaningcheerleaders and their poetry slam … playlists. Do you know how many fucking words rhyme with Iz, Izzy, and Ross!”
None of them says a word, and she continues.
“Which, in turn, led to my collegeFreshman Fuck Feast, which was as fun as it was tragic, andguess whose fault that spiral was?”
CJ mumbles, “Poetry slam playlists are dangerous.”
“Totally unsafe,” Matthew says quietly.
They’re all quiet now for a beat, and then Remington clears his throat and asks, “So … still want a donut?”
“I’m taking all the jelly-filled, and leave the coffee.”
Then a door slams, and I hear her stalk back toward the bedroom. I sit up.
She looks me over and chucks a damn jelly donut at me.
I catch it and ask, “You good?”
She wipes powdered sugar off her lips. “Better now.”
I pat the bed. “Bring it in, Ross.”
