Drink Deep - Chloe Neill [84]
She stood up and pooched out her belly. Her tiny it’s-really-just-skin belly.
“Really?” I asked her, my voice dry as toast.
“It’s just—I never used to be this girl. I was Lindsey, Cadogan House guard and all-around hot shit. I was on the cover of the Chicago Voice Weekly for Christ’s sake. I knew I looked good. And now I’m worrying about how my hair looks? And whether these jeans look fan-fucking-tastic.”
“They really do.”
“They should. They cost two hundred bucks.”
“For jeans?”
“They’re butt-lifting.” To prove the point, she turned and gave me a pinup-worthy pose.
But I wasn’t impressed. “They’re jeans. They’re made of the same butt-lifting denim as the rest of the jeans in the world.”
“If they were Pumas, you wouldn’t be complaining about the price.”
She had a point. “Continue,” I magnanimously offered.
“The point is, I didn’t used to worry about this stuff. I cared, but I didn’t worry about it. I didn’t worry about what this boy would think of me because I didn’t care what this boy thought of me, you know? And now . . .” She shook her head as if disgusted with herself.
“Now you think about other people instead of yourself?”
The narrowing of her eyes was the last thing I saw before the pillow smacked me in the face.
“Ow,” I instinctively said, putting a hand on my cheek. “Even if I did deserve that, ow.”
“You take my point?”
“I take your point. But maybe it’s not a bad thing. I mean, it’s not so much that you’re becoming über-neurotic or anything. You like Luc, and you want him to like you back. You want to be validated.”
“I guess.”
“So focus on the Luc part, instead of the Lindsey part. I mean, he’s probably doing the same thing. Wondering if his boots are shined up enough or whatever cowboy-vampire types worry about.”
“Chaps. As we have discussed, they frequently worry about chaps.”
I pressed my fingers over my eyes. “You know, I moved out of Mallory’s house just so I could avoid conversations like this.”
“No, you moved out of Mallory’s house so you could avoid seeing Catcher in boxer briefs. Which, frankly, is crazy. That boy is hella delicious.”
“I saw him naked more than I saw him in boxer briefs. And pretty or not, sometimes I just want to sit down with my leftover Chinese without his naked ass strolling through my kitchen.”
Lindsey chortled and sat down again. “So really it’s a hygiene issue.”
“It really is.”
We were quiet for a moment.
“Is he worth it?” I finally asked.
“What do you mean?”
I remembered the night I’d gone to Ethan, finally sure he was willing to accept me for who I was and that I could do the same for him. There’d been no doubt then, no fear. Just acceptance of the risk that I was taking and the confidence that he was worth it.
That we would have been worth it.
It had taken time for me to get there, and for Ethan to be ready for a relationship. Maybe if we’d gotten there earlier we’d have had more time together—but there was no point in ruing that now. He was gone except in my dreams, and those were becoming too traumatic to want to relive.
“I think,” I finally said, “you reach a point where you’re willing to take that chance. Where you know you might still get hurt in the long run, but you decide it’s worth it.”
“And if I never get there?”
“Then you’re honest with him. But don’t let fear make the decision. Make the decision based on who he is and who you are when you’re with him. On who he helps you to be.”
She nodded, a tear slipping from her eye. I had the sudden sense the decision would come easier—and faster—than she might have imagined.
“You’ll be fine,” I pronounced, then gave her a sideways hug. “He loves you, and you love him, and someday, if we’re lucky, things will get back to normal around here.”
She crossed one leg over another. “What would that be like, even?”
“You tell me. I assume it’s what life was like before Celina outed the Houses.”
“Ah, yes. The halcyon days of . . . God, those days were pretty dull, now that I think of it.”
“Damned if you do, damned if you don’t.