message to him, and also a reminder to you, to act!”
He put me in front of the mirror. I had been dubious at first, but he insisted the outfit would work and in the end, I had to admit, it didn’t look half bad.
We plopped on the bed.
“So he didn’t say when?” Dante asked, for the millionth time.
“No!”
“Okay, okay, sorry, just checking.”
We spent the rest of the evening chatting and waiting . . . and waiting and waiting for a knock at the door. Finally, as we took turns yawning and dozing off, we decided to throw in the towel at eleven o’clock.
“Dan, I’m such a total cliché,” I grumbled through a yawn. “I can’t believe I’m that girl, sitting around waiting for a guy to show up. I hate myself. I’m a girl I would make fun of right now.”
“Well, yeah. But this is a first-time offense. And look at the bright side—it’s definitely a step in the right direction. If you’re gonna be stuck waiting for some guy to show up, it might as well be a superhot one. I’m superjealous, if it’s any consolation. I can’t even get stood up these days. I need a crush object.” His voice lost a bit of its luster, his eyes cast down.
“You’ll get one, I promise. And in the meantime at least you don’t have to feel like an idiot like I do.”
“It happens. Your plans weren’t exactly written in stone. Maybe there’s an explanation. But next time it’s gonna be him waiting for you. ”
“I love you, Dante, you big fat liar.”
“I’m so not fat.” He kissed me on the forehead. “Night, Hav. Promise no sulking, okay? His loss.”
I sighed. “Thanks. Night. I owe you one.”
“I’ll cash in, don’t worry.”
I changed into the beat-up old aquamarine scrubs I used as pajamas and curled up in bed with the book Lance had loaned me, hoping to take my mind off the world’s most anticlimactic night. I skimmed through the chapter titles until I found the one he had mentioned about the passageways snaking beneath the buildings around this part of the city. There was supposedly at one time a whole network of them under the hotel and somewhere among them Capone had had a vault thought to be stocked with cash and assorted treasures. But only a few pages in and I already felt my eyelids tugging downward. I fought it as best I could but I knew it was a battle I would lose and eventually gave in to sleep.
But not for long.
7. Everything Sinful Is Glamorous
I awakened in the night. A thud, shattering the quiet, breaking me out of my dizzy slumber. The sound felt like it hit me in the head, echoing at my temple. I shot up in bed, soaked in a cold sweat, and my hand fumbled for the bedside lamp. Panting, with my throbbing head—wet hair matted against it—in my hands and my chest pounding, I tried to regain control. My eyes worked to adjust to the dim light but failed, a smoky haze coating the room.
I had dreamt that I was in my bed and heard a thump, and then the slow scratch of friction as something was being dragged down the hallway. A thump and then the dragging again. Over and over. And then a BANG-BANG-BANG rattling my door. In my dream I had gone to the door and opened it—something I couldn’t imagine doing in real life—but there had been nothing there, even though the thumps and the dragging sounds continued. Sitting up in bed, I thought I could still hear it. It had to be in my mind. My shoulders ached, and those two scars on my back felt like I had been branded with hot pokers. My cheek burned, like something had slashed at it. I felt something wet and sticky against my fingertips. Blood.
I ran into the bathroom and dabbed at the wound, cleaning it off. Underneath the ruddy smear, it wasn’t bad; just a slim gash no more than an inch or two across the fleshy apple of my right cheek. Once I rinsed the blood away, there was barely anything there. From the shape of it, I couldn’t tell exactly what had done it: maybe my nails? But they were so short. I pulled out the
He put me in front of the mirror. I had been dubious at first, but he insisted the outfit would work and in the end, I had to admit, it didn’t look half bad.
We plopped on the bed.
“So he didn’t say when?” Dante asked, for the millionth time.
“No!”
“Okay, okay, sorry, just checking.”
We spent the rest of the evening chatting and waiting . . . and waiting and waiting for a knock at the door. Finally, as we took turns yawning and dozing off, we decided to throw in the towel at eleven o’clock.
“Dan, I’m such a total cliché,” I grumbled through a yawn. “I can’t believe I’m that girl, sitting around waiting for a guy to show up. I hate myself. I’m a girl I would make fun of right now.”
“Well, yeah. But this is a first-time offense. And look at the bright side—it’s definitely a step in the right direction. If you’re gonna be stuck waiting for some guy to show up, it might as well be a superhot one. I’m superjealous, if it’s any consolation. I can’t even get stood up these days. I need a crush object.” His voice lost a bit of its luster, his eyes cast down.
“You’ll get one, I promise. And in the meantime at least you don’t have to feel like an idiot like I do.”
“It happens. Your plans weren’t exactly written in stone. Maybe there’s an explanation. But next time it’s gonna be him waiting for you. ”
“I love you, Dante, you big fat liar.”
“I’m so not fat.” He kissed me on the forehead. “Night, Hav. Promise no sulking, okay? His loss.”
I sighed. “Thanks. Night. I owe you one.”
“I’ll cash in, don’t worry.”
I changed into the beat-up old aquamarine scrubs I used as pajamas and curled up in bed with the book Lance had loaned me, hoping to take my mind off the world’s most anticlimactic night. I skimmed through the chapter titles until I found the one he had mentioned about the passageways snaking beneath the buildings around this part of the city. There was supposedly at one time a whole network of them under the hotel and somewhere among them Capone had had a vault thought to be stocked with cash and assorted treasures. But only a few pages in and I already felt my eyelids tugging downward. I fought it as best I could but I knew it was a battle I would lose and eventually gave in to sleep.
But not for long.
7. Everything Sinful Is Glamorous
I awakened in the night. A thud, shattering the quiet, breaking me out of my dizzy slumber. The sound felt like it hit me in the head, echoing at my temple. I shot up in bed, soaked in a cold sweat, and my hand fumbled for the bedside lamp. Panting, with my throbbing head—wet hair matted against it—in my hands and my chest pounding, I tried to regain control. My eyes worked to adjust to the dim light but failed, a smoky haze coating the room.
I had dreamt that I was in my bed and heard a thump, and then the slow scratch of friction as something was being dragged down the hallway. A thump and then the dragging again. Over and over. And then a BANG-BANG-BANG rattling my door. In my dream I had gone to the door and opened it—something I couldn’t imagine doing in real life—but there had been nothing there, even though the thumps and the dragging sounds continued. Sitting up in bed, I thought I could still hear it. It had to be in my mind. My shoulders ached, and those two scars on my back felt like I had been branded with hot pokers. My cheek burned, like something had slashed at it. I felt something wet and sticky against my fingertips. Blood.
I ran into the bathroom and dabbed at the wound, cleaning it off. Underneath the ruddy smear, it wasn’t bad; just a slim gash no more than an inch or two across the fleshy apple of my right cheek. Once I rinsed the blood away, there was barely anything there. From the shape of it, I couldn’t tell exactly what had done it: maybe my nails? But they were so short. I pulled out the
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