“You’re not angry?” Riley’s mouth hung open in obvious astonishment.
“I am, but I’m not going to play her game anymore. The spell is broken. I’m finished. She means nothing to me. Nothing. And as soon as we leave, she’ll know that.”
Riley draped an arm around her shoulders with a smile. “Well, shit, let’s blow this horror fest. Where to first?”
El put on the helmet and leather coat, laughing. “First, I want to change clothes, then . . . how about ice cream?”
“You read my mind.”
Riley swung her leg over and started the bike. The sound still sent a thrill through El. As she settled carefully into her place at Riley’s back, she caught sight of her mother’s stricken face.
And dropped the visor.
El opened the box and couldn’t suppress the shudder of accomplishment that went through her. It was like a dream, seeing all the copies nestled there in their wrapping, her name in print, the story of her life out in the world. First volley of what was sure to be a war, the cover was deceptively demure. She autographed a copy and tucked it into an envelope.
Stowing the books in her top rack, she donned her helmet and started up the new bike. It ran beautifully, cutting an aerodynamic green groove through traffic. She rode like she was flying, her heart tumbling in the breeze, her mind singing.
Back at their apartment, Riley was perched on a kitchen chair, a myriad of legal tomes and FBI manuals fortifying her in a disassembled discussion of search and seizure. El would have been bleary-eyed within the first paragraphs, but Riley was chewing jargon with a side of gummy bears and using highlighters in some kind of pop-art cryptography. She was a knight who belonged on that wall, fighting that fight, and El loved her even more for it.
Riley blew a kiss. “You have a good day?”
“Yup!” El set her helmet down and unzipped her boots. Within moments, she was in Riley’s lap, tangled in a love knot. The test prep was forgotten as they took a few moments for each other.
“How was the bike?”
“Amazing. I love the tune-up. Purrs now.”
Riley nodded “She’s a hellcat. If she don’t purr, we got problems.”
El couldn’t keep it secret anymore. The pressure within was too great. “My advance copies came.”
Riley’s grin was the mischievous challenge of old. “You do it? The thing?”
“Of course! Wrote a sweet little note and everything.”
The laugh evolved into a howl and a high five. “I saw another television commercial today. Almost fired a shot into the TV. Would’ve gotten me into trouble with the Academy, but might have been worth it.”
El curled up in Riley’s arms and closed her eyes. Since her father had announced his candidacy for president, El had stopped watching television. Her agent agreed it was best, and every day would email with campaign updates and platform promises. He was running on values yet again, misleading the world that his family was perfect and godly. According to the charming picture Mama had concocted, El was simply busy with college and not terribly political. She’d even hinted in her podcast that El had cognitive difficulties, spinning El’s silence and low profile into another unearned credential, another point of sympathy for her cult following of nationalists.
Riley caressed her spine and gently rocked her, somehow knowing it wasn’t all jubilation. “Hey . . . Look at me.”
Dutifully, she lifted her face. Ever the champion, Riley fixed her with a calm and centering stare. “They did this to themselves.”
“I know."
Curating the blog into book form—at last telling the world what she’d been through, who her parents truly were, and what they stood for—wasn’t about punishment, though it likely would damage them. Even though she had long ago resigned herself to the fact that her mother was a stranger to her, some part of her still hoped the woman would learn a lesson. It was that optimism that separated her from people like her parents. Mama Glasse could only care about herself.
“What did you put in the note?” Riley whispered.
“Thanks for all your help with content development. Good luck with the election. Sincerely, El Vanator.”
Riley’s chuckle lifted the hairs on the back of her neck and simultaneously soothed and invigorated her. She tipped forward and brought their mouths together. Riley’s tongue was sweet and seductive. El missed the metal stud through it, retired to the moments when they weren’t adulting. Riley’s hair had gone dark, though she sometimes still streaked it with paint. Most days, her tattoos were covered in business casual, but she was still ferocious and fashionably antifa.
“You are one hell of a chick, El.”
El nuzzled her, displacing a pen from behind her ear. “I’m a snowflake. Don’t fuck with me or I’ll bury your village.”
Dear Reader,
Thank you for reading Kristina Meister’s Love Under Glasse!
We know your time is precious and you have many, many entertainment options, so it means a lot that you’ve chosen to spend your time reading. We really hope you enjoyed it.
We’d be honored if you’d consider posting a review—good or bad—on sites like Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Kobo, Goodreads, Twitter, Facebook, Tumblr, and your blog or website. We’d also be honored if you told your friends and family about this book. Word of mouth is a book’s lifeblood!
For more information on upcoming releases, author interviews, blog tours, contests, giveaways, and more, please sign up for our weekly, spam-free newsletter and visit us around the web:
Newsletter: riptidepublishing.com/newsletter
Thank you so much for Reading the Rainbow!
Tritonya.com
A huge thank you to my agent, Laurie McLean; my chief beta reader, Jill Ford; my editor, May; and my many San Francisco Writers’ Conference cohorts who offered tremendous support and feedback.
Cinderella Boy
Kristina Meister is an author of fiction that blurs genre. There’s usually some myth, some mayhem, and some monsters. Kristina’s fond of creative swearing and has an obsession with folklore and pop culture, adding humor and complexity to her work. Her story Cinderella Boy was the first book selected for RuPaul’s Love Yourself Library.
She and her mad-scientist husband live in California with their poodles Khan and Lana, and their daughter Kira Stormageddon, where they hoard Nerf toys, books, and swords—in case of zombie apocalypse.
Follow her on Twitter @kristinameister and on Facebook at facebook.com/kristina.meister.
Enjoy more stories like Love Under Glasse at Tritonya.com!
Assassins: Discord
riptidepublishing.com/products/assassins-discord
Love Under Glasse Page 32