Page 27 of The Spider Queen
“Jonah?” I asked.
She shook her head and looked at me. “Hunter.”
“Ignore him.”
Looking like she was about to argue, she wisely decided to stay out of it by silencing her phone. “Another beer?” she asked instead.
I nodded. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Of course.” She popped the top off a beer and then passed it to me.
“Do you have dreams—about men?”
She frowned and then grinned. “You mean like sex dreams? All the time!”
“Okay…but about men you’ve been with? Or strangers?”
“Both. Why?” She peered at me. “Oh my God! You’re having sex dreams! About Hunter?
“Forget I asked.”
“I don’t want to! This is so great!”
“How is this great?”
“You never ask me questions about sex.”
“This isn’t about sex,” I growled. “It’s about—oh never mind.”
Take me out of the closet.
I shot up from a sound sleep, a scream lodged in my throat. Scrambling from the bed, I didn’t realize I was tangled up in the sheets. I hit the floor with a resounding thud, banging my elbows and knees.
This had to end. I couldn’t handle it anymore.
I flipped on the light, looked under the bed for a tote, and went to the closet. Hand on the knob, I took a deep breath and then opened the door.
The spider in the cube rested on the floor. Nothing about it was any different.
“Why are you doing this to me?” I whispered.
Of course it didn’t answer. I grabbed the thing and placed it into the tote. I crept out of my room and looked down the hall. The door to Anita’s room was closed; I listened for a moment and heard nothing. Hopefully that meant she was asleep—alone—in her bed. The last thing I needed was for her to pop out, catch me in the act, and demand an explanation. We’d just gotten back to normal, and I didn’t want this to jeopardize our fragile truce.
I slipped my feet into a pair of red Vans and then headed out of the apartment. It was just past midnight and even though it was a weeknight, the streets were busy. Keeping my head down and the tote pulled close to my body, I meandered through the crowds of college kids hell-bent on a night of drinking and socializing.
The nondescript door of the bar and junk store was hard to find since I’d been paying more attention to Hunter the first night we met. But I eventually found it.
I knocked on the door. The slat opened, revealing a pair of dark eyes.
“Password,” I said.
The door opened, and I stepped into the bar. Not bothering to waste any time, I approached the bartender—the same one who’d been working the night I had taken the spider home. Setting the tote on the bar, I pushed it toward him.
“Here.”
He frowned. “What is it?”
“It’s the spider in the—”
