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“Murder with the Cobalt fam,” Donnelly says through a mouthful of cheesecake. “Those who slay together, stay together.”
With an equally morose expression, Donnelly stuffs his cheesecake in a plastic bag and waves goodbye to Farrow and Oscar before he leaves the bar altogether.
Fuck Beckett for this fr
His eyes redden. “Yeah.” His Adam’s apple bobs. “I just wish I could have all of you. Moffy, Farrow, you, and Banks. I know it’s selfish.”
Awww Xander
“Want what to happen?” he asks us. “Nothing,” I say. “Absolutely nothing to happen. It was a figure of speech.” Donnelly frowns. “Really? ‘Cause I thought you were talking about sex.” He walks off ever so casually like he didn’t just explode a miniature bomb at my feet.
In the darkened corner of the pub, Luna Hale is dirty-dancing with Donnelly. The kind of sloppy dancing you’d see at closing times from trashed guys and girls. But her and him—they’re completely sober. He cups her ass with two hands, holding her like I’m holding Jane, only she bounces on his lap to the beat of the music, and he sings the blaring song with Luna.
“Any of you know how to sew?” He raises a sweater, and I recognize the orange and green stitching as Luna’s handiwork. One she knitted for him in exchange for a tattoo design. “I pulled out a thread and now there’s a hole.” He seems laidback about the whole ordeal.
“Are you sure you don’t want us to snowshoe?” Donnelly wonders with a frown. “Positive,” Luna nods. “Don’t sacrifice your life for a tampon.” “More like your comfort, you know?” Donnelly shrugs.
