The Kill Club by Wendy Heard

Author:Wendy Heard
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: MIRA Books
Published: 2019-10-18T18:50:05+00:00

24

SOFIA

SOFIA LIES ON THE BED, head cradled in her left arm, her right fingers trailing along Jazz’s shoulder blades. She shivers lightly, unable to quell the chills that rake themselves up her breasts and arms. Her hair and the sheets are damp from the shower.

“You cold?” Jazz asks, raising her head from Sofia’s chest. She rubs Sofia’s arm gently. Jazz’s hands are always warm.

Sofia says, “I’m okay,” but then a whole-body shiver betrays her.

Jazz sits up and detangles the comforter from where it lies crumpled at their feet. She pulls it over them and snuggles underneath it beside Sofia. “You don’t have to be macho.”

Guilt boils inside Sofia’s throat. She swallows it down.

“What’s wrong?” Jazz asks.

“I’m worried about you. I don’t like sending you back out there.”

Jazz props herself onto an elbow and runs a hand through Sofia’s hair, combing it back from her forehead. Her eyeliner is smudged and smoky, black hair tangled around her shoulders. “I’ll be careful if you will. No crowded places. No parking garages. Do you promise?”

Sofia nods, but she feels sick. She traces the lines of the wings that are tattooed across Jazz’s chest. Over her left breast, just under the bottom feathers, the word Joaquin is written in loopy script. Jazz asks, “Do the tattoos bother you?”

“No,” Sofia says, surprised. “Why would they?”

“I feel like they might look trashy to you. You’re so clean and perfect.” She loops a tattooed middle finger under the thin gold chain Sofia wears around her neck.

“They look hot to me, if you want to know the truth.” Sofia touches the word Joaquin.

Jazz drops the chain and rests her hand on Sofia’s chest. Her face looks sad. Sofia pulls her closer and kisses her. Her lips are familiar now and bring back all kinds of images. “I feel like you’re about to say we need to go,” Sofia whispers.

Jazz groans. “I really, really hate to do this, but I have to get back to my friend’s house. I told him I’d be gone an hour, and that was, like, three hours ago.” Jazz pushes herself up so she’s hovering over Sofia, her hair falling down around Sofia’s face, making a little cave, and she kisses Sofia’s forehead.

Sofia raises her head. “Wait—are you in chaturanga?”

Jazz pushes herself all the way up—goes from chaturanga to a sitting position, just like it’s no big deal. “What’s chaturanga?” She starts pulling clothes out of the dresser.

“It’s a yoga pose. And I hate you.” Sofia gets up to retrieve her clothes from the bathroom.

Jazz presses her palms together at her chest and bows. “Namaste.”

“Oh my God. Where did you hear that?” Sofia returns with her clothes in hand and starts sifting through them while Jazz pulls on a fresh pair of jeans.

“Women say that to me at work. They Namaste me at the register.”

“No way. You’re lying.”

“Do you think I would make that up?”

Sofia shimmies into her leggings. “Do you work the cash register a lot? Is that your job?”

“We all do different stuff.

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