Baby Lips

Chapter 30

There were a few things in life that I really despised. One of them being: pruney fingers. And thanks to me volunteering to do the dishes after that more than awkward and painful to sit through dinner, my fingers looked like those of my grandmother.  

I shook out my hands and watched the droplets soar into the sink as I reached for a towel to dry my disgustingly pruney finger tips. I grimaced as I felt the texture against the back of my hand. So far this trip was nothing but almost hand jobs, awkward dinners, and pruney fingers. And I was starting to think that sitting on my couch drinking expensive wine by myself would be better than this.  

I tossed the thick cloth next to the sink and quickly turned around, gasping when I saw Gemma’s snake eyes on me as I did so. Her fingers wrapped around the stem of a wine glass and her other hand placed firmly on her hip.  

“Gemma,” I struggled to breath as if she was using some kind of voodoo to cut off my airways. “I didn’t know you were there.” 

“Oh Scarlett,” She giggled all too evilly as she replied. “I’m always here.” 

And as if I wasn’t terrified of Gemma Styles already, I most certainly was now. I laughed nervously pulling at the ends of my sweater around my wrists. I cleared my throat. 

“H-how are you doing?” I asked, hating myself for sounding like Piglet on drugs because of my horrible nervous stutter. 

“I’ve never been better.” She said setting her glass down and strolling slowly toward me. “And you?” 

“Great.” I replied with what I thought was a smile, but by the look on Gemma’s face that smile wasn’t too pleasant. 

“So I hear your birthday is soon.” I nodded. 

“Yeah, same day as Louis’.” I shrugged my shoulders as I spoke. 

I could tell we were both avoiding a topic of discussion. Mostly because I wanted to drop down to my knees yelling, “Why do you hate me!?” and kiss her feet and tell her I’d do anything just for her approval. And because the look on her face that never went away looked like she had something rich to say to me. 

But instead, we carried on with our awkward small talk as I wished for Harry or Anne or even Dusty the cat to come in the room to relieve this tension. 

“So when you’re not playing with your calculator, what do you do?” I laughed and shook my head at her attempt at humor. 

“I, um, I’m a dancer.” I said grabbing the dish towel from the side of the sink and folding it, needing to busy my hands. 

“Scarlett, you can just tell me you’re a stripper.” My eyes widened when Gemma spoke. She had a small smirk on her face, one strikingly similar to Harry’s, which led me to believe she was trying to joke around with me.  

And I didn’t know if I should laugh or cry. 

I laughed. 

“No, I’m a ballet dancer.” I said slapping my hand to my forehead. “I guess I should have cleared that up in the first place.” I continued to ramble. Gemma pushed out a laugh which was followed by an uncomfortable silence. I clicked my tongue several times and refolded that damn towel for the seventh time before Gemma and I both took a deep breath to speak at the same time. 

“You go.” I said. She sighed. 

“I know what you are thinking, Scarlett.” I raised an eye brow at her, she continued. “You’re thinking that I’m being, well, a bitch.” I couldn’t help but nod my head in agreement, she laughed as I did so. “Well, I’m going to be honest with you, because I like you-”