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instead of coming up with something brilliant for my project, I’m wondering if I should jump into the conversation with my tinfoil-hat theory. It surprises me that Simon is silent on the topic; usually if someone is wearing tinfoil alongside me, it’s him.
“I brought you a coffee. Cinnamon dolce latte.” He offers it to me like an olive branch. My eyebrows shoot up, and my traitorous hand sneaks out to take the cup. Caffeine is my body’s drug of choice, and it seems he’s found my weakness. And remembered my order.
“That’s crazy.” “Is it?” Matteo’s eyes have a light of certainty in them, and it dawns on me how intimidating it would be to be interrogated by him. He comes off as this L.L.Bean catalog cover model, but there’s this depth of conviction in him that is gripping at moments. Muggle waters run deep apparently. I squint at him. Maybe I’ll upgrade him to Squib.
“MG?” He’s peering into the car again, concern wrinkling his forehead. “Are you getting out?” I love and hate how familiar my name sounds on his lips, as if we’ve known each other for years and it’s normal for me to be interrogated on my lunch hour for funsies.
Look at me, weak-kneed from laundry detergent fumes. I definitely have been dating the wrong people if clean clothes are a turn-on.
Lawrence doesn’t look put out like Ryan does. He looks gleeful. “Girl, that man is Atlanta, Georgia, in Ju-ly, and he can come and build me a tower anytime.”
Lawrence slips his shoes on, and I note the letter “L” written in sparkles on the black leather. That bitch has been bedazzling without me.
Her perkiness goes beyond normal irritation and into the realm of . . . infectious.
I punch my affirmative reply and straighten my shoulders. I’m Janeway. Captain of my own destiny. I have things to do, friends to save, and gold lamé hot pants to finish before the show tonight. That thought lifts my doom and gloom a smidgen. Sometimes glitter and men in drag are exactly what a girl needs to be set right again.
Facts are Matteo’s part of the investigation. Comic stories are mine.
“Well, my drag mama would be proud. And, girl, you’re never anything less than fabulous. You just wear it different sometimes.”
Forget Captain Janeway. Trekkies unite and all due respect, but she has to play by Starfleet’s rules. I shove aside the niggling thought that I should play by the rules. I need to be a rulebreaker. A vigilante hero of my very own. I am the Han frickin’ Solo of my destiny now.
