4. Scottie Elise Reed
Scottie Elise Reed
The neon sign for Ink she just collapses onto the other end of the sectional, her legs dangling over the armrest, instantly asleep. Dean crawls into the leather recliner, still wearing the pink glittery cowboy hat and the blue lipstick, curling into a neat ball.
My knees give out. I drop heavily onto the soft wool rug, my body sinking into the floor like it’s made of quicksand.
As I pull a stray edge of the knit blanket over my shoulders, Cash stirs in his sleep.
Without opening his eyes, his massive hand reaches out, his fingers catching the edge of my jacket and tugging me an inch closer.
Even drunk, apparently, he knows exactly where I am.
“Needy bastard,” I whisper.
His fingers tighten once around the fabric, like he’s answering me in his sleep. I snort at the action, closing my eyes, the room finally stopping its long, dizzying spin.
Just as the darkness begins to take over my brain, a faint, muffled sound drifts through the open window from somewhere deep in the backyard.
Bllleeaeheh.
I blink in the dark, my half-asleep brain processing the distinct, high-pitched bleat of a farm animal.
A goat? I think faintly. Why is there a goat? Did we adopt a goat?
I let out a slow, heavy breath.
It doesn’t matter.
I close my eyes and let myself sink into the dark.