“Oh my God, seriously?” Birdie giggled. “If that isn’t irony, I don’t know what is.”
“It’s not funny,” I grumbled.
“It kind of is, actually. Considering how hard you pushed it on me.”
“Are you still going?” I asked.
“Yeah.”
“Well, I guess we can both complain about it now.”
Birdie cleared her throat. “How is he treating you?”
I paused, not really knowing how to answer that. “Good. He has a bunch of rules that I hate, but otherwise, it’s not that bad.”
“Ace told me he’s a really good guy,” Birdie said quietly. “I wondered if it was true.”
“When did he tell you that?”
Another pause. “I asked him that night you made me leave with him.”
“Oh.”
“He hasn’t touched you, has he?” Birdie pressed.
A shiver moved through me as I recalled the feeling of Lucian’s body pressed up against mine. His fingers in my hair, his arm around my waist, and his beating heart so close to mine I could feel it. These weren’t the type of things she meant, and I couldn’t bring myself to admit that I’d allowed him to cuddle me every night.
“No, Birdie. He hasn’t.”
“That’s good,” she said. “’Cause you know I’ll kill him if he does.”
“That isn’t funny,” I whispered.
She was quiet then, and we both shook off the bad memories in our own way.
“I should go,” she mumbled. “I have to study.”
“Okay.”
“I love you, Gyps.”
“Love you too, B.”
“PASTA?”
Gypsy looked up from the plate I served her with confusion in her eyes. I didn’t have to guess what she was thinking. She was wondering what strings were attached. I suspected she would always wonder that, unless by some miracle I managed to establish legitimate trust with her.
“You earned it,” I told her.
“How?” she asked.
“You followed all the rules today, didn’t you?”
She offered me a bored expression because she didn’t want to admit that she had. I wasn’t naïve enough to believe that I’d tamed her. This was just the calm before the next storm, but we could both enjoy it while it lasted.
Gypsy dug into her pasta, and I watched her while I ate. I could already tell she was getting nervous. Tomorrow would be her first day in class, and I was certain she would invent some sort of imaginary plague so she didn’t have to go. But I was mentally prepared for whatever she might throw at me. I wanted her to face her fears, and I wouldn’t allow her to be conquered by them.
“You’re staring,” she mumbled.