Page 18 of Venus
I bite my lip, scroll back to her first message. The little part of my brain that does long division and knows how to file taxes? Gone. Torched. The only thought left?
This girl is gonna ruin me.
And I think I want her to. No, I take that back. I definitely want her to.
I type back, thumbs shaking just slightly:
Me: Whenever you want, I’ll be there. Not just for the fire.
No photo this time. Just honesty.
Then I slide the phone back in my pocket and head toward the chaos of lunch, knowing that no matter what happens next, I’m not walking away from this fire.
Not unless she tells me to.
And I know I’m in too deep when that thought already devastates me.
Chapter 10 | Venus
The city skyline slips past the car window like we’re fast-forwarding time, glass and metal flickering in the sunlight. Callie hums along to some girly-pop song I don’t know, and I try not to think too hard about why I agreed to this little getaway.
That‘why’is a six-foot-tall blond.
I need retail therapy. Girl time. Whatever distraction I can find today.
We’re in the next city over. It’s bigger, louder, and thankfully lacking in firefighters who’ve seen me naked.
Callie whips the wheel into a parking garage, and the sunlight cuts stripes across her face through the concrete slats. She parks, turns the engine off, and looks at me over her chic sunglasses.
“You’ve been suspiciously chipper lately,” she says like she’s been waiting until I’m trapped miles away from home to interrogate me.
I frown. “Huh?”
“You’ve been humming,” she adds. “And smiling. And, this is the most damning evidence of all: you’ve been washing your hair.”
I unbuckle my seatbelt with a roll of my eyes. “You’re reaching.”
She follows me out of the car with a smirk. “And don’t think I haven’t noticed how the shower drain has been clogged with your leg hair. We’ve been living together for three years, V, and you don’t shave your legs for no reason.”
Okay, she has a point.
We step out into the crisp morning air, crossing toward a row of boutique shops and overpriced coffee shops filled with granola moms. I link my arm through hers out of habit, our boots clacking against the pavement in time with a street musician’s bluesy guitar.
“I’m not trying to pry,” Callie says, even though we both know she absolutely is. “I just want to know what’s got you walking around like you’re in a tampon commercial.”
I scoff. “That’s offensive. I don’t even use tampons.”
“It’s a metaphor, babe,” she counters. “So…it’s the firefighter, right?”
My stomach flips. I play it cool. “Carter? I mean, he’s great, but–”
She stops mid-step. “Oh my God, you just called him Carter. You used his actual name. Not Vulcan. Not Vulva. You’regone.”
I unhook my arm from hers and keep walking, irritation creeping into my cheeks. “It’s not like that.”
“V.”
I pause in front of a boutique with a window full of bedazzled cowboy hats and glittery boots. “It’s casual,” I say, repeating the mantra I’ve been clinging to for weeks. “It’s fun. He’s just…easy to be around.”
