Page 42 of The Next Lie

She leans back in her chair, tilting her head. “So. Penis piercings.”

I choke on my drink. She's so loud.

Shiloh’s menu lowers by one inch. Ever does not move, which means he is absolutely listening. Sonny taps the cover of the book on the table. “I’m just saying, after four men in one series, it starts to feel less like personal expression and more like an HOA requirement.”

I press my fingers to my temples. “Please stop.”

“No. I have questions. Is there paperwork? A meeting? Do they bring snacks and discuss who is going with which piercing?”

“Obviously they bring snacks.” I roll my eyes.

“Do you think they compare? You know, like after a tattoo? Redness, swelling, pain scale?”

I snicker. “No.”

“Yes, they absolutely compare.”

Shiloh makes a sound into his glass. Ever looks at him, expression aghast. Shiloh coughs. Badly. Sonny’s eyes sparkle behind her sunglasses, which she is still wearing indoors.

“Reva,” she says.

“No.”

“I haven’t asked a question yet.” She leans forward and pulls her sunglasses down a smidge. “Have you encountered any suspicious jewelry?”

"No—" My brain, because it is a traitor and a whore for inconvenient detail, immediately flashes to the man at the bar in Noir Night. The one in the bathroom. I feel him sliding into me all over again, that unexpected bite of sensation.

My face apparently tells the whole story, because Sonny’s mouth falls open.

“Oh my God, you dirty bitch.”

“No!”

“Oh my God, you totally have.” Her mouth is open.

“I absolutely have not.”

“You made a face.”

“I have a face. It moves.”

“That was not normal movement. That was a memory.”

“Drink your margarita.”

She points at me. “Who?”

“No one.”

“Was it one of them?” She cuts her eyes toward Shiloh and Ever. Shiloh’s menu is all the way on the table. Ever is openly watching.

“No,” I say quickly. Too quickly. Sonny grins like the devil in lip gloss. “Interesting.”

“It was not interesting.”

“So there was an it.”

“I hate you.”