Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Parker

Cass was too comfortable.

It was just past midnight when we stepped out of Strawberry, and I hadn’t seen Cass for half an hour. I would have thought she’d be jittery as a squirrel hopped up on caffeine when we left for the night, but she just shoved her hands into the pockets of her long coat and strolled out into the wind that felt angrier than PMS on a Monday.

“You look satisfied,” I said, letting the door swing shut behind us and picking up my pace to match her. Amity Street was just a block down from Queen Street, cutting through a tree-lined brick alley with glass windows on brick shopfronts all dressed up for Christmas. The quick walk was half the reason I’d wanted a place on Amity Street, but in the freezing wind, it still felt like too long a trip.

“Yeah,” she said, watching her feet and taking long, slow steps. “It was fun.”

“I know I saw Pinky. Did you make out with her?”

She flushed, but she just shook her head, smiling. “No make-outs. We had a nice chat, though.”

That was suspicious. Maybe she didn’t make out with Pinky because she was harboring a crush on her and wanted to do the whole courtship thing. That seemed like Unicorn.

I glanced out of the corner of my eye, looking her over as we stepped onto the cobblestone path of Amity Street, strung up with Christmas lights across all the local shopfronts and a clean, brisk chill in the air, that toasty wintertime smell filling my nostrils. With her looking like she did, it would be a surprise if she couldn’t find anyone to make out with her.

She’d done her hair up in a braid, because of course. When I’d asked her if she was ready to go out, she’d said to give her one second and spent fifteen minutes in the bathroom, coming out with a full evening makeup look, an artfully messy fishtail braid over one shoulder, and a V-neck tee that, once again, looked uncomfortably hot. She’d apologized for the messy look, as if I wasn’t standing right there with zero makeup and a loose sweater and my striped socks that said FLAMING HOMOSEXUAL on the sides.

“You’re too comfortable right now,” I said.

“Going to trip me face-first into the snow or something to take care of that?”

“What happened?”

She shrugged. “We had a nice chat.”

“Don’t tell me you went full lesbian and decided you can’t bring her home because you’re in love with her and want to woo her with over-the-top gestures for one month before you move in with her instead.”

She shook her head, laughing. “Look, it’s nothing like that. We just chatted.”

Ugh, she was enjoying the way I was desperate to know. “You’re just leading her on,” I said, hunching my shoulders as I came up on our apartment.

She smiled wider, looking straight ahead as we walked. “She knows exactly where we stand. She said she would buy me a drink under different circumstances, but as it is, we’re just friends.”

“What different circumstances?”

She looked away. “Oh, uh… I mean… nothing much. Or, well, just—she, uh… looked at my Instagram, and she—it’s because I’m closeted and stuff.”

There was awkward, nervous baby-gay Cass. I relaxed, even though she was obviously lying. “Oh. Pinky’s one of those types.”

“Her name is Sasha.”

“Sure thing, Unicorn.”

She laughed. “Can you call anyone by their actual name?”

“Do you want me to try, Cassandra?”

She gave me a sidelong smile as we stopped in front of the little family restaurant below our apartment. “Wrong. Try again.”

“What?”

“Cassidy.” She paused. “Don’t call me that, though. It’s weird.”

“Huh. Explains why you’re gay.”

She stopped in front of me, turning to face me. “What, because Cassidy is so much gayer than Cassandra?”

“Significantly.”

She rolled her eyes, smiling. “You’re going to start calling me Cassidy just because you know I don’t like it, aren’t you?”

“Nah. Not my vibe. Maybe more like… Sidious.”

She put her hands up. “Am I a happy rainbow unicorn, or am I an evil emperor?”

“Eh… little bit of column A, little bit of column B. Let’s go inside before my nose freezes off.”

And just like I’d been hoping, I got to crash in my nice, warm bed with about ten thousand pillows and wonder what actually stopped Pinky from going after Cass. With the way she pulled it out of her ass, no way it was actually because she was in the closet.

Was it because of something on her Insta? That was just like Unicorn to meet a girl at a lesbian bar and immediately start on about her Instagram. I picked up my coat from where I flung it on the floor, and I slipped my phone from my pocket.

I wasn’t one of those girls to have Instagram on her quick-access bar, so I had to open the website through the browser and dismiss the popup bar when it told me to get the app. A second later, I searched Cassidy Peterson, and when I got nothing that looked like her, I tried Cassie.

And that was when I found out she had half a million followers.

I stared at it for a minute waiting for my brain to process the information, like trying to hang up a shirt when you forgot the hanger, just swinging it back and forth under the rod waiting for it to hook.

It had to be a different Cassie. I clicked through to her page. The photo definitely looked like her.

Port Andrea lifestyle gal, her bio said. Here to watch every Parson sunrise! If you know, you know. #drean #lifestyle

She even had hashtags. She was even the kind of person to use ‘Drean instead of Andrean. And she was followed by half a million other people who did too.

Jesus Christ, she was an Instagram influencer. I was living with an Instagram influencer. And she’d never told me that when she was moving in?

Her latest post was a picture of herself in her bedroom, where she currently was ten feet from me. Home sweet home at my new place! You guys, I’ve got the most amazing view of downtown from here. I am IN LOVE. #newplace #beautiful #loveithereinportandrea

I rubbed my forehead. Nobody was using the hashtag #loveithereinportandrea. It made my eyes bleed just trying to read it. Sure enough, the thing was exploding with likes even now, the number changing while I watched.

I scrolled through the comments with a frantic feeling like I was reading the manifesto of a killer coming after me. Looks so good! Love you Cassie! one person said. Your wall art!!! another replied. Is that Amity Street outside? I live just a block down from Amity Street! Want to get coffee together sometime?? Lol!! another said, with two exclamation points after lol-ing, because I guess one just wasn’t enough to convey that “just kidding if you say no but totally serious if you say yes” lol energy.

Scrolling back through her posts felt like a bad fever dream. No wonder her clothes were so nice—she was getting Andrean fashion brands sending her new clothes by the truckload in exchange for endorsements. There she was, posing in all of them, and repeatedly, repeatedly looking infuriatingly hot.

It was even worse when the comments agreed with that frustrating part of me, hundreds of people chiming in to tell her how gorgeous and sexy she looked in this piece or that piece. Only Cass could have hundreds of girls lining up to tell her how sexy she was and still have to stay in the closet about her own sexuality.

And worst of all?

Judging by the posts, she got up at five every morning, and she was sickeningly proud of it. I’d never seen so many silhouetted selfies in front of morning windows. I’d never even seen the morning that many times in my life.

I put the phone back in my jacket pocket and bunched the jacket back up on the floor, as if putting it right back the way I found it would turn back time to before all of this. Before I stumbled on it with the same sense of horror as running into a still-warm body in the woods.

This lease period was going to be long. I wondered if Thena had some space on her sofa. I was short. I could sleep on a sofa.

I threw myself into work, getting up and hunching over my laptop at my desk, and I minimized the taskbar and avoided my phone so I’d lose track of time. Managing orders and looking through product photos kept me busy, and I did well enough at losing track of time until music blared from the next room.

And of course it was some obnoxious pop song I’d heard a million times in cafés. Some Andrean artist I couldn’t be bothered to know the name of, because of course. Sure enough, checking my taskbar said it was five in the morning, and sure enough, Cassie was up.

And sure enough, I heard her from the next room singing to herself. Quietly, thank god, but singing? If I woke up at five, I wouldn’t be singing, I’d be mumbling a string of profanities so long I could garrote someone with it.

It wasn’t long before I heard the shower running. I tried to focus on work, but the thoughts burning inside my head made it too hard to think. I didn’t want to write an email telling my clients to go fuck themselves with a hammer, but that was all I could think about right now, so I just got up when I heard the shower shut off, and I waited outside the bathroom door.

It took her another fifteen minutes to get out of the shower. I was about ready to pull my hair out by the time I finally heard the lock turn.

What I was not expecting, though, was for her to open the door and be standing there in nothing but a towel. It turned my brain to static for a second, because, well… yeah, she had legs.

“Oh, god,” she said, a hand to her chest, eyes wide. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t think you’d be up right now. You scared the life out of me. Good morning, Parker! That’s so cool you’re a morning person too. I guess it makes sense, when you work with cafés and stuff all the—”

“You took fifteen minutes after the shower, and you didn’t even put clothes on?”

She put her hands up. “I have a skincare ritual!”

“I cannot believe I willingly added someone who calls it a skincare ritual to the lease. What is it, a series of summoning rites for arcane spirits to exfoliate your face?”

She dropped her arms by her sides. “I would if I could. Seriously, exfoliating is such a pain. And I swear, every time I figure out a good way to do it, three months later, my skin’s changed and it doesn’t work anymore.”

“Okay, I don’t actually care about your skincare. And for the record, I am not a morning person. I have not slept.”

Her eyes went wide. “Oh, no. I’m so sorry. I didn’t make too much noise or something, did I? I’m really sorry I forgot to turn down my alarm after I left the studio.”

“I usually go to sleep around two to four, so I only stayed up a little bit later than usual to ask you, and I say this in the least kind possible way, what the fuck?”

She blinked. “You’re, uh, you’re going to need a more informative question than that.”

Ugh, it was distracting when she was only wearing a towel. I’d always had a weakness for wet hair on bare shoulders. And tall, dirty-blondes. But I wasn’t going to tell her sorry, can you put on some clothes before I yell at you because you’re hot and it’s distracting. I opted to scowl instead.

“And you didn’t think to mention once in the process of moving in that you’re an Instagram influencer with half a million followers.”

She stared. “You… didn’t know?”

I was going to rip all my hair out, wait until it grew back, and rip it out again. I rubbed my temples. “How was I going to know if you didn’t tell me?”

“I told you I post stuff on Insta all the time.”

“Cass, there is a big, big difference between I like posting stuff on Insta and I have half a million followers and get paid to endorse products on Instagram.”

She put her hands on her hips, and between that and the getup, it was, uh… distracting. “You could have done, like, the most basic of Google searches or anything on my name at all. It’s the current year, and you added someone to your lease without looking them up anywhere on social?”

“I’d never had to before, but consider this my lesson learned to never, ever, ever do that again.” I sighed, turning away, mostly so I didn’t have to keep fighting the urge to check her out. “What the fuck, Cass? Are we going to be battling away your fans at the door?”

She laughed. “No way. They’re totally respectful. I’ve posted pictures of my street before and even had my address leaked, and I’ve never had a problem.”

“You got your address leaked? To half a million people? And you didn’t tell me that when you were moving in with me?”

She paused. “It was only a quarter million then.”

“Wow. Truly, a weight is lifted from my shoulders.” I sighed so hard it felt like I was deflating like a sad balloon after a birthday party was long over. “I cannot believe this.”

“It’s nothing that special.”

“Who in the world willingly gets up at five in the morning?”

She laughed. “Now I’m not even sure what you’re mad about.”

“You. This. Everything. I’m mad because I’m mad.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Oh, that was an inflection in your voice. You’re thinking about where you’re going to bury me, aren’t you?”

Dammit. This was no time for her to make me laugh. I suppressed it. “Okay, in the wake of certain information coming to light, I think we need some new household rules. You are not going to post any pictures or video of me.”

“Of course,” she said, putting a hand to her chest, furrowing her brow. “I wouldn’t dream of it. Privacy is important.”

“Yeah, so important you have to keep your five hundred thousand followers private from your roommate.”

“It’s five hundred forty thousand.”

“That makes it worse, Unicorn.” I groaned, rubbing my forehead with both hands. “And you are not getting my address leaked to five-hundred-forty-thousand people obsessed with you.”

“They’re not obsessed. They just like my photos.”

“Unicorn,” I deadpanned. “I looked at your page. They are obsessed. Congratulations on being gay, because judging by your comments, you have at least fifty thousand straight-girl followers who would fuck you in an instant.”

She went red, sucking in her bottom lip in that way I’d noticed she did whenever she thought about kissing, banging, or dating girls. “Uh… I don’t know about that.”

“Statistically, it’s probably one thousand at the very least.”

She shook her head. “Okay, point is—agreed. I take full responsibility if I get doxed or anything. If it starts causing problems, I’ll pay for everything for us to move.”

“For me to move. You can stay.”

She pursed her lips. “Well… okay. All right. What else?”

“Keep it down at five in the morning.”

She nodded. “Sure thing. I’ll keep it hush while I’m recording my morning-miracle routine.”

“I am going to be sick from hearing you call it a morning-miracle routine. In my mind, I am already throwing up.”

She laughed. “I’ve got some essential oils that will help.”

“You do not.”

“I’m kidding. I’m not one of those white girls.” She shifted, leaning against the bathroom door. “Um… is that all? I’d like to go put some clothes on if we’re going to talk longer.”

“Don’t want to take a picture for all those fifty thousand straight girls you’d be able to fuck at a moment’s notice?”

She put a finger to her chin. “Do you think people would like a morning photo like this? I don’t want to look like I’m thirst-trapping, but this is just my morning thing, you know?”

Great. It was her morning thing. Which meant I’d have to deal with finding Cass half-naked all the time. Or maybe I wouldn’t, because apparently it was at five in the morning so I’d never see it.

“Judging by your comments, you’ve already gotten plenty of people thirsty. Nothing more to be done. I’m going to sleep. Enjoy your morning kombucha.”

She laughed as I turned back to my room. “I told you, I don’t drink kombucha! Good night, Parker. Merry Christmas Eve.”

“Merry get eaten by a hippo,” I mumbled, closing the door.

“Hippos are herbivores,” I heard her say through the door, but I was very busy ignoring her, crawling into bed, flinging my glasses onto the side table, and burying my face under a pillow.

I forgot to set rules on her posting our Christmas celebrations.

God, I was fucked six ways from Sunday. And not in the good way.