I peeked over the edge of the couch, my eyes narrowed. “Yeah, but you’re immortal. It really has much more weight when you’re full of blood and can actually die from being pummeled by a car.”
“Potato, potah-to. Do we have anymore O neg?” Proof positive that even at a hundred and thirteen, a sixteen-year-old never changes.
I stepped into the shower and scrubbed every inch of myself until my skin hurt, trying in earnest to get rid of the feelings of parking lot and imminent death. When I was nice and pink and warm, I slipped into my bathrobe and padded into my bedroom, ChaCha trotting happily on my tail.
I yanked open my top drawer and frowned, poking around at what should have been a sea of silk and lace. Or, more accurately, cotton and elastic stretched to the hilt.
Either I was woefully behind on laundry duty or there was a panty prowler afoot.
“Um, Neens?”
Nina came floating into my bedroom trailed by a cloud of pale pink silk and marabou. She was also wearing kitten heels, and her eyes were made up with thick swaths of black liner that winged at the sides, fringed with the most enviably long eyelashes I’d even seen—boxed or otherwise. The heavily lined lashes and lids only served to make the flat red color on her lips even more dramatic. She blinked at me and gingerly patted her hair—a spectacular waterfall of glossy waves the size of juice cans.
“Did you just do that while I was in the tub?”
Nina flicked an imaginary hair from her eye. “Maybe.”
“Wow. And here I thought you were directing a commercial, not starring in the Whatever Happened to Baby Jane biop.”
Nina crossed her arms in front of her chest, a rainstorm of marabou feathers showering her wrists and my carpet. “You have no vision.”
“I have no underwear, either.”
She cocked a slightly interested—if overtly confused—brow. “What are you talking about?”
I gestured to my knicker-free drawer. “I did laundry two days ago. Suddenly, I have nothing. Have you seen my underpants?”
“I try not to keep too tight an eye on your undergarments, Soph. That’s just disgusting.”
I yanked the pants I was planning to wear from where they lay on my desk chair and waggled them in front of her. “Not as disgusting as going commando in a poly-blend. Do you know what happened to my underwear?”
I could tell by the slight flash in Nina’s eyes and the delicate way she pinched her upper lip that there was something she wasn’t telling me.
“Nina?”
She went from tugging her lip to tapping her sleekly manicured index finger against her nose. “I may have had a few people over. Investors, mainly, for the shoot. If you really want high quality, you can’t just shoot the thing on an iPhone. I know they say you can but—”
An annoying heat stirred in my belly—while a cool breeze wafted through my bare legs. “Did you sell my underwear for financial backing? Who would do that? Who would buy that?!”
“Don’t be ridiculous! I wouldn’t sell your underwear because you’re right, who would buy it? Perhaps you’ve just misplaced it.” Nina looked at the blank spot on her wrist and tapped it. “I’m going to be late. I have to dress. You should, too. We can get to the bottom of this later. Here.” She picked through the meager remains of my lingerie drawer and handed me what appeared to be a sequined Chinese jump rope. “Panties. Now quit being such a baby.”
I yanked on the underwear, assuming each string was going in the correct direction, then dressed quickly and did an “are you kidding me with this butt floss?” duck walk toward the bathroom, rubbing my scalp with a towel.
“Aren’t you a vision of soppy wet loveliness?”
Will’s fat, grinning face reflected back in my mirror, and I almost hauled off and bludgeoned him with my hair dryer.
“How did you get in here?”
“I’m not a vampire, love. No one has to invite me in.”
I rolled my eyes and clicked on my hair dryer.
“You ready to head over to Alyssa’s?”
I yanked the cord from the wall and began wrapping it around my still-warm dryer. “You obviously didn’t hear what happened to me just a few short hours ago. Hand me that comb.”
Will grabbed the comb, edged me aside and ran it through his own hair. I snatched it out of his hand and used my hip to shove him aside.
“I almost died!”
Will didn’t show the proper amount of horror or concern. Instead, he cocked a sandy eyebrow and asked, “Again?”
I crossed my arms in front of my chest. “Just because it happens fairly often doesn’t make it any less dramatic.”
He slid an arm out and pulled me to him, pressing his lips against the top of my head. “I’m sorry, love. It is serious.”
I shoved him off one more time. “Yeah, and as my Guardian, you should have been there. Or, at the very least, I should not have so many almost-murdering-me incidents, now should I?”