Surviving Ice (Burying Water, #4)(22)

“Oh my God, Ivy. When did you sleep last?”

“It’s been a while,” I admit.

“Maybe you should think about coming home for a while.”

My mom said the exact same thing at the funeral. I hadn’t expected them to show up, to be honest, but they didn’t necessarily come to pay respects to Ned—they had no respects for him. But Jun and Ian were here, and they wanted to support them, and me, I guess. “Sisters was never my home.” It was just another place that I stayed for a while.

“Portland then, at least? It’s only a few hours away.”

I sigh. “I know you can’t survive without me, but I’m not moving back.”

Amber’s soft laughter carries through my bedroom, bringing with it much-needed life. “So . . . where to next?”

She has learned about my wayward tendencies by now, although it baffles her that I’m happier not having permanent roots, while she thrives on those roots. She’s clearly trying to relate to me by asking this question, but still, I’m tired of answering it. “I don’t know. I have friends in New York. I think I’ll go squat over there for a while. Pick up some work.”

“And what’s the plan for the house and the shop?”

“I was at the shop all day, cleaning it out so it can get painted. It’s going to take a while, though, seeing as I’m on my own.”

She sighs. “I tried to get a few days off so I could come down and help you, but I think I’ve already pissed my boss off with my crazy schedule and constant traveling.”

“Don’t worry. I get it.”

“What about Dakota? Can she help?”

I snort. “Honestly, I’ll be faster working on my own than with Dakota there to distract me with her musings about spirits and auras and the meaning of life.” We’d probably just end up smoking a joint and staring at the wall for the afternoon. “I’m managing on my own just fine. Though I had to get help loosening a seized bolt today, from this guy who came in for a tattoo.”

“That was nice of him to help. What’d you end up doing on him?”

“Nothing. I refused to do his tattoo,” I mutter.

“Ivy . . .” Amber’s got the whole motherly reproachful tone down pat already. Her future kids are screwed.

“I know.” The guilt over being a complete bitch to him still lingers. “And he was really hot, too.”

“Let me guess—J.Crew and Calvin Klein?”

“Levi’s and Hanes, actually.” Amber’s making fun of the fact that I wear tats and leather and shave the sides of my head, and yet I go after guys who look like they belong in a chain store catalog. She’s right and I can’t explain it.

“So Miss Picky actually found a guy she deems ‘really hot’ and she turned down the chance to tattoo him and then, I’m sure, sleep with him?” Amber mocks. “I think that’s a first.”

I smile. “It’s definitely a first.”

“What did he look like?”

“Kind of like your brother, actually.”

“Ugh. Gross. And where did he want his tattoo?”

“Doesn’t matter. I would have made him strip either way,” I admit with a smirk.

Amber laughs. “And then you’d have had your way with him and sent him packing.”

“What can I say? My affections are fierce but short-lived.”

“I still don’t know how we became friends.”

“Neither do I, honestly.” We are as opposite as opposite gets. Amber thrives on long-term commitment. I’m pretty sure that her little “Irish fling” was the most spontaneous, wild thing she’s ever done, and ever will do—and now they’re in a full-fledged, long-distance relationship. Meanwhile, the longest commitment I ever made was to a guy named Jet, when I was twenty-two and living in Portland. He was a professional rodeo guy. I don’t even like rodeo guys. But I dated him for three whole weeks, mainly because we didn’t do much talking during that time.

“We just haven’t found you the right guy yet.”

“Good luck finding me someone who holds my interest for more than a night or two.”

“He’s got to be out there. And when you find him, you’re going to call me and, for once, I’ll be the one who gets to tell you to stop talking about a guy so much.” I roll my eyes at the cheesy romantic notion. I don’t see that ever happening.

“Seriously, how long has it been since you’ve dated anyone?”

“Dated” is so the wrong word for any of my hookups and Amber knows that, but I don’t correct her. “Since last summer, in Dublin.”

“Oh my God. Wait, does that mean you haven’t slept with anyone since—”

“Yup.” I admit grudgingly. “The longest dry spell of my short life since high school.” As much as I was an outcast in high school, as soon as I got out, I never had trouble attracting guys. Apparently everyone wants to f*ck a badass Asian girl at least once.

Unfortunately for them, this badass Asian girl is not an easy score unless she wants to be.

“Maybe you should come back to Dublin then. I know he’d love to see you.”

I hum noncommittally. “Grinning Irishmen aren’t my type.” He actually did make me laugh, though I rarely let him see it.