by Lucy Smoke
“I’m going to go talk things out with Lawrence,” she says. “Thanks for the hot cocoa and the advice.”
I blink at her, thinking, what advice?
Before I can ask, though, Beverly steps into the kitchen looking like Athletic Runway Barbie. Her make-up is done to perfection despite the fact that she’s wearing workout clothes meant for sweating her ass off, and perhaps that’s her plan, but not in the way her glittering sneakers would have people believe. Her white-blonde hair is tied up in a high ponytail with enormous shades covering the upper portion of her face. She’s wearing a tight tank top and spandex shorts that could probably pass for decent on someone else, but somehow, on her, seem painted on. Those sneakers of hers have obviously never seen the light of day or the darkness of dirt beneath their soles. I have to wonder, where is she going?
Trish steps away from me and looks her over in much the same fashion as I am. What she sees seems to amuse her.
“I’m off for a morning run,” Beverly pipes up swiping her keys from the counter. I hadn’t even noticed them laying there, but considering how cluttered our place still is, that’s not much of a surprise. What is a surprise, is that Beverly is going for a run this early in the morning despite having obviously been drunk the night before.
Trish smirks and then covers a laugh when she glances at my confused expression with a cough and a hand over her mouth. Beverly shoots her a disgusted look as though merely being in the same room as someone who coughs would infect her. Without a backwards look, she heads for the door and doesn’t bother with a goodbye or anything else.
“You know she’s not really going for a run, don’t you?” Trish snickers.
I glance at her. “What do you mean?” I ask. “She was wearing running clothes.” Really small running clothes, but knowing Beverly, it’s like everything she owns is small. The cut offs, the tube dresses, the midriff tops. Her closet is probably half of mine just because her clothes show so much more skin.
“She’s probably going to go bang that guy she was talking to when I came in last night.”
“Which one?” I remember the girl – Ally – and her brother… the one with the pain-filled eyes. I know he didn’t take but maybe one look her way when they met. There’s no way he would be ready to fuck his neighbor, but then again, I don’t know him. Perhaps, he is.
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