Chapter 25 Flirting Might Actually Kill Me
FLIRTING MIGHT ACTUALLY KILL ME
ALICE
The thing about not having a sex drive for two years is that when it finally comes back, it hits you like a semi-truck that’s lost control on the freeway.
The seconds leading up to the collision make you jittery: when you know you’re in the truck’s blind spot and you have no time to decide what to do.
You see it coming. You can’t stop it. Boom.
Right now, I’m paralyzed in the blind spot. The blinker is on; it’s the same color as the golden-hour sun reflecting in Jessa’s eyes as she winks at me over the grill.
Do I speed up or slow down? Do I even want to avoid a collision with them?
“Bring this over to the table,” she says, handing me a plate of food.
I nod as I grip the warm ceramic.
“Good girl,” Jessa murmurs.
It’s not fair, how she throws around those two words so casually. My ears heat, and her devious smirk flashes. She knows what she’s doing—and it’s clear she relishes seeing me squirm as I pivot on my heel.
The potent scent of grilled hotdogs and burnt cheeseburger edges waft up as I place the dish down on the picnic table, then proceed to slap buns on empty paper plates as everyone calls out their orders.
All the while I’m lusting my ever-loving mind out.
When did our dynamic change, exactly? It’s more than the usual flirty quip that we throw back and forth.
Jessa’s hand curls around my waist every time she squeezes past me, nails scraping over the strip of exposed skin between my tank top and shorts.
Harley plasters himself against me from ankle to shoulder every time we sit; his thumb finds my knee and runs back and forth mindlessly, sometimes even daring to trail up my thigh.
And they both give me these looks.
Darkened, hazy eyes. Damning smirks and sweet smiles.
Dangerous, unspoken questions flutter in the air between us.
Is this new, or has it always been like this, and I’m only now noticing it? Or am I hyper aware of their every move because Steph and Erica are watching?
Erica waggles her eyebrows at me as I drop a hot dog bun on her plate. I know that eyebrow waggle. It’s her ‘mischief is about to ensue’ waggle.
I’m so fucked.
“So,” Erica drawls, lips puckering around the straw to her drink.
Harley had transformed from librarian to bartender upon our arrival, whipping us all up cocktails from the makeshift bar in their kitchen.
Her mouth pops off the straw, and a refreshing click of her tongue sounds. “How did you all get together?”
I shoot her a glare as I settle on the wooden bench. She’s a habitual shit stirrer, and I’m not stupid enough to miss her choice of words. It wasn’t ‘how did you guys meet’. It was ‘how did you get together’.
She thinks we’re fucking.
“Jessa and I have been friends since we were kids,” Harley answers without skipping a beat, completely unfazed as he scoops a dollop of potato salad onto his plate. “But we only became a couple a few years ago.”
“And you have another friend who lives with you? You all bought a house together?” Erica asks. “That’s a big commitment.”
“He’s not with us, if that’s what you’re asking.” Harley’s cheeks go pink at the mention of Ori. “He’s family though. That’s why we all live together.”
Erica hums, taking her time gulping down her mix of fruit juice and liquor. “So, how does Alice fit in with all this? She’s not just some unicorn for you, right?”
“Erica,” I warn in a low murmur. “Stop interrogating them.”
“These are important questions,” she argues. “You’re painting them. You haven’t even painted us.” She turns to Steph, pleading. “We only want to make sure they’re serious.”
Steph throws her hands up in the air as if to say: it’s out of my wheelhouse.
“It’s alright,” Jessa says, back from the grill. She reaches over my shoulder, between me and Harley, depositing the final side on the table: five ears of roasted corn on the cob. “I don’t mind being interrogated if it means we get their approval at the end of the conversation. Right, Harley?”
Harley hums his agreement as his teeth sink into the one veggie burger Jessa grilled.
Jessa drops into the empty spot to my left, her smooth thigh pressing into mine. I tug at the fabric of my shirt in an attempt to reduce the flush I know is creeping over my chest. I can’t even shift away to give myself some breathing room, otherwise I’d smush into Harley.
“I’ll be honest with you both. We want to be with Alice in whatever capacity she’ll let us,” Jessa continues.
She busies her hands, but instead of serving herself, she grabs my plate and starts serving me.
“We’re aware of Ryan and how important honoring his memory is.
We’d never take advantage of someone’s grief.
And we’re certainly not going to pretend we can replace him. ”
Jessa punctuates her words by dropping a full plate in front of me. Her hand finds my knee and squeezes once.
Comfort; protection; love, it offers.
“It’s not what you’re thinking, Erica,” I blurt out. “We’re not fucking,”
Steph coughs, choking on whatever food she shoved into her mouth.
“Yet,” Jessa teases confidently, then leans down to whisper in the shell of my ear, “Eat.”
Erica whistles in shock, but there’s respect in the gentle purse of her lips. She waggles a finger at Jessa. “I like her.”
I groan, the sound muffled as my palms scrub over my embarrassingly rosy face. “You guys don’t need to have this conversation. You’re not my parents.”
“No, but we promised Ryan we’d take care of you,” Steph says, finally making her voice heard in this conversation.
“What?” My hands fall from my face, gaze pinging between my oldest friends. Steph shrugs, awkwardly tucking her long hair behind her ears. Erica’s bright brown eyes sparkle with heartfelt mischief in turn.
“I promised him I’d pull a ‘I’ve got a shotgun and a shovel and no one’s gonna miss ya’ protective dad moment if something ever happened to him and you dated someone again,” Erica says, then snorts. “Sorry. Someones.”
Erica smirks, but it’s Steph who meets me with a somber smile.
“I don’t think he wanted us to tell you that he made us promise that, but yeah. He did. It was way back in flight school though, after that one crash. You remember right?” Steph says, and I nod.
It’s hard to forget the fear I felt in the days after, wondering if his helicopter would malfunction like his peer’s had. It was the first time the danger of his job became real.
“He loved you,” Steph says.
“I know.”
“But he also knew his job had risks.”
“I know,” I repeat, though my voice cracks.
The table goes quiet at that. The mood doesn’t sour as much as it sobers up, our livers processing the liquor in our cocktails at lightning speed. Everyone’s attention is on me, and I hate it. Four sets of eyes, boring eight holes through my skin and to my messy soul.
“Do you?” Jessa asks, breaking the tension. “Have a shotgun and a shovel?”
Erica huffs a sad laugh. “No, but I’m sure I could find someone to do our dirty work for us if you ever hurt our girl.”
“I fully expect you to string me up like a rabbit if that ever happens,” Harley says.
My eyes widen on him. “Harley,” I whisper, but his hand finds my knee again, squeezing a reminder of his intention as Jessa had.
“We won’t hurt her. That’s a promise,” Harley adds.
“Seconded,” Jessa says.
The fire crackles low, tossing glowing embers into the night sky. They’re shooting stars that find themselves trapped and desperate to rejoin their friends; they make a valiant effort, reaching higher than I could ever, but still don’t make it up to space.
We’re all lingering in the satisfied afterglow of dessert; melted chocolate and marshmallows sandwiched between crisp graham crackers settle in our stomachs. It’s quiet, but not uncomfortably so.
Jessa, Harley, and I each take up individual chairs around the fire pit while Erica and Steph are cuddled together on the cushioned two-seater. Smoke unfurls from their lips as they exchange a joint between their manicured fingers.
They offer it to Jessa next, who takes a hit. As she lets the smoke flow out of her mouth, she stands. “I’m going to get more firewood from the shed.”
“Thank you, esteemed fire-keeper,” Erica drawls, shooting a salute Jessa’s way.
Jessa passes the joint to Harley before disappearing around the other side of the house. Harley pulls it to his lips, but it’s almost dead, having made a few circles around the group already.
Our fingers graze when he hands it to me to finish off. I shiver, even though I’m warm from the fire and the drugs. His attention flicks from our hands to my face, and I’m lost in the way the embers reflect in his glasses.
I tuck the joint between my lips and suck. His head tilts, and the reflection clears, revealing heated eyes behind the panes of glass. The natural light source brings out his otherworldly coloring—fiery eyes and lunar white hair. It’s a wonder, how I ever assumed he was human in the first place.
I shiver again, under his intense gaze. My lips pop off the dead joint, and I swallow down the last of the bitter smoke.
“Are you cold?” Harley whispers, leaning over the arm of his chair. “Do you want to go inside and get a sweatshirt?”
I shrug, flicking the bud into the fire. “Can it be one of your cardigans?”
Harley nods, and his tongue darts out to lick his lips. Palpable desire fills the air between us, and I hope the way I shift in my seat doesn’t look too much like I’m squirming with need.
Harley glances over at Steph and Erica, who are now making out across the fire.
“C’mon,” he says, pulling me out of my chair and leading me into the house.
Their house is a newer build than my grandma’s, but it was designed with old charm in mind. Fresh paint in dark colors. Detailed molding. Hardwood floors.