Written in the Stars(5)

All she wanted to do was pee, but Darcy was right there, right in front of the restroom, blocking the hall, roasting her to this Annie person.

“What am I going to tell Brendon?” Darcy asked. “The truth, that we’re total opposites. And I’m putting my foot down. This was the last date he’s ever setting me up on.”

Elle pressed her lips together and swallowed past the lump in her throat.

On second thought, she could hold it.

*

The air in the apartment was sticky with humidity and honeysuckle sweet. Thin wisps of steam floated out from beneath the bathroom door, filling the hall as Stevie Nicks’s rasping voice flooded into the living room.

Elle flipped the lock and fell to her knees beside where Jon Bone Jovi hung from a double-knotted strand of monofilament tacked into the drywall. She crawled across the room, face-planting into the sofa with a groan. The blue afghan draped against the cushions smelled faintly like patchouli, and the little gold coins affixed to the fringes were cool against her cheek as she burrowed deeper, rubbing her nose into the well-loved fabric. Home sweet home.

The scent of honeysuckle grew stronger, more pungent as the whirl of the fan cut off, the bathroom door opened, steam spilling out like sweet smoke as the music cut off midverse.

Margot padded into the living room, leopard-print robe knotted around her waist and a towel wrapped around her head. Her footsteps faltered, her dark brown eyes turning into saucers behind her thick, black-rimmed glasses. Her mouth opened before she paused, sucking her bottom lip between her teeth. “How’d it go?”

“You know the public restrooms down by the market?” Elle kicked her shoes across the room, wincing when they left a dusty brown smudge against the baseboard by the breakfast nook slash Oh My Stars headquarters. Whoops.

“The one with doors so short you’re forced to make awkward eye contact with the person in the next stall over?” Margot crossed the room and crouched beside her.

Elle nodded. “I lost my underwear inside.”

Margot’s jet-black brows rocketed to her hairline, disappearing into her turby-towel. “Explain, because my mind is going to some funky, debauched places.”

“Gross, no. I had to pee.” Her underwear—those impractical but pretty boy shorts—had been an unfortunate casualty, touching the grimy floor when she had squatted. “My underwear slipped and landed in a puddle of”—she wrinkled her nose—“something sticky.”

There would be no coming back from that, the memory of them falling past her ankles onto the tile impossible to scrub away.

Margot’s face screwed up, twisting in disgust. “The pair you just bought? The ones with the little bows on the side?”

“Yeah.”

“Those were cute.”

“Just not meant to be, I guess.” Elle sniffed hard and buried her toes in the thick shag pile of the carpet. “They chafed like a bitch, anyway.”

Margot’s mouth opened only to shut, her lips tucking between her teeth. She cleared her throat. “I’m getting the sense your date didn’t go well?”

A weak, watery laugh spilled from between Elle’s lips, but she wasn’t going to cry. No way, no how. Darcy Lowell did not deserve her tears. “What possibly gave you that idea?”

Without saying anything, Margot grabbed her hand and laced their fingers together, squeezing until the ache in Elle’s joints surpassed the pressure in her chest.

“I’ve never met someone so gorgeous and yet so condescending in my life.” Elle swallowed before her voice did something pathetic like crack. “Worst part was, I could’ve sworn we had . . . something. I felt a spark, you know?” She sighed, shoulders slumping. “Not that it matters. I didn’t stand a chance, no matter the chemistry.”

There were opposites and then there were opposites. Darcy didn’t believe in astrology or soul mates and—what was it she had called her? A mess? Pretty, too, but a mess nonetheless. And fun. She couldn’t forget that part.

This is fun, but . . .

You’re so fun, Elle, but . . .

I had fun with you, but . . .

If Elle had a dollar for every time someone had used the word fun to reject her, she’d—no, it’d still suck no matter how many dollars she had.

Not that there was anything inherently wrong with being fun—Elle wanted to be fun. But to be reduced to a good time was something else.

Couldn’t she be fun and more? Couldn’t a relationship? For that matter, shouldn’t it?

Margot clicked her tongue against her teeth. “Fuck her, then. It’s her loss, babe.”

“You always say that.”

“I always mean it.”

Elle snorted. Sure. There were only so many times Margot could use that excuse before it lost its charm. Tonight, it rang hollow.

“You know what you need?” Margot grunted softly as she rolled to her knees and stood, plucking green carpet lint off her bare skin. “Tequila.”

Margot made the best margaritas, tangy tequila-y perfection with a cheery rainbow salted rim. As much as Elle wanted to say yes, she couldn’t. “I have to get up early. Breakfast with my mom tomorrow, remember?”

Waking up at the butt-crack of dawn and hauling herself over to the Eastside for their monthly mother-daughter breakfast was difficult enough without the added hangover.