She moves away from me, still frowning with concern. “Have you brought this up to them? Like this? Told them your worries and why you feel like you do? Have you told them how important it is for you that you know what you’re getting yourself into?”
My shoulders fall. “Well, not in so many words,” I admit. “I’ve told themsomestuff, though.”
Sera’s mouth quirks into a frown. “You’re not exactly easy to read about things like this,” she points out, her voice crisp as she goes back to the register and picks the box back up off the floor. “You should speak your mind. Don’t let them misunderstand, or take you for granted, Ari.” It’s clear she’s chastising me a little, and I let out a huff once more.
“All right,” I say, hands up in surrender. “Okay,okay,I get it. I’ll figure something out. I’ll talk to them or something.”
Or something, because I have no idea what in the world I’m going to say to them that won’t sound whiny, desperate, and attention-seeking. They aren’t going to care how I feel or about my future fears. Not when I’m not sure they even want me around in the long term.
Even though more than one of them has promised me otherwise. Though, it’s hard to believe their words sometimes when they’re…them and all. Hard to believe the Lost Boys will ever be out for anything other than themselves.
And if they wanted to, I’m sure they could find another Wendy Darling once they’re bored of me or if I do, in fact, choose to walk away from all of this.
The thought hurts more than it should, and I hate my heart for becoming too attached too quickly to a situation that doesn’t feel stable enough for my liking.
For the first time, I wish that Cyril would call me to deliver something for him. Milk and cookies, a bubblegum wrapper…I’m not picky, but the change in pace would be good. Especially now that it’s been two days since I’ve seen any of the Lost Boys, and I feel a bit like I’m addicted, and they’re the drug that keeps me going.
Which, of course, is another worrying thought in a string ofworrying thoughts.
However, the one bright side is that since getting the weird call a day and a half ago, I haven’t gotten any more of them. It leads me to wonder, again, if it’s Cyril playing some kind of prank on me or having someone else do it for him. I can’t help but wonder how much of the call is real and how much of it is a joke or a fabrication just to rattle me.
Would Cyril do that?
When my phone goes off, I take a moment to glance at it. I’m busy reading one of Sera’s newest shipments of romance novels, and this one,Returning To Evertonby Scarlett Philips, is one of the sweetest I’ve cracked open in a long time. Normally I want things much scarier than this, especially with thunder rumbling outside the shop, occasionally shaking the windows, and my normal need for blood and violence with my romance.
Horror and romance might not go together inmostpeople’s eyes, but I refuse to see the merit in that. What’s a little murder between lovers, right?
It’s obviously something I’m getting acquainted with during my time with the Lost Boys.
When my phone goes off again, signaling a second text, I put the book down on the counter and pick it up, flipping it over from its face-down position to show that I’ve been added to a group text.
By Ezra.
He’s the only one who’s sent anything in the group so far, and both parts of his text read like an overexcited puppy.
Come back to the cabin with us, please? We’re doing some sketchy shit tonight. Be part of our sketchy shit, please?
I snort and move to sit back in the chair, glad for the millionth time that Sera is so pro-comfort and liberal about the workplace. As long as there’s no one here and nothing needs to be put up, I can hang out here and read or do whatever I want, within reason.
And currently, that means I have all the time in the world to text him back.
What do you mean by sketchy shit? I ask, watching as the typing bubble pops up immediately after I’ve sent my message. I’m surprised he’s messaging me back so fast, as if he’s staring at his phone, waiting for my answer. I do a quick check, curious to see who else is in the group and see that it’s him, Arlo, and me.
Come on, Ari.He follows it up with a winky emoji.I can’t tell you that. But it’s not like sketchy shit bothers you.
Does he mean murder? It feels like he might mean murder. Which, he’s unfortunately right that my morals escape the building whenever he, or any of the Lost Boys, are going to maim or kill someone.
Charles deserved it; I remind myself. Because he had, he’d been a shitty human being and was probably going to hurt someone else if he continued to scamper around with Declan Roger. He deserved to die. Hadn’t he tried to kill Ezra right before the Lost Boys had done him in for good?
I don’t know why something in me is trying to feel sorry for him because it’s absolutely a losing battle between that small part of me that wants totryand the rest of me that doesn’t give a flying fuck.
Before I can answer, however, the doorbell hits the glass of the door, signaling the arrival of a customer, and I glance up with a greeting on my lips, ready to help whoever’s here.
The sight of Cyril, however, brings me up short. I stand and press my hands to the counter, brows knit together in surprise and confusion. It’s not that I doubt Cyril canread. It’s that I doubt book shops that look like this are his normal hangout.
The black-haired man looks at one of the end caps, taking his time before turning to give me a dark-eyed glance.
“Aren’t you going to tell me a good afternoon and ask me what I’m looking for?” He drawls after a moment of my silence.