Spin Cycle

SEVEN

 • VII - FLIPPED •

          ADDISON KNOCKS ON KIRA'S DOOR AT 9:01 PM, and the small 'soiree' – which, for the record, is more of a full-blown party – is already getting rowdy when Kira swings open the door.

          A wide smile forms on her face, the toothy one that Addison thinks is more endearing than it has any right to be. Kira dangles a red solo cup from one hand by her waist, and Addison notices a stain of salsa on the bottom of her cropped shirt. At least that's the excuse Addison makes when she finds her eyes lingering on the thin band of exposed skin between the bottom of Kira's shirt and the start of her leather pants.

          Leather pants of which she won't even begin to talk about, by the way, because they're not at all fair.

          "Addie, you made it!" Kira says, eyes shifting to Addison's high-waisted black jeans and worn, sleeveless band t-shirt; the one that shows off all the snaking tattoos along her arms. "You look good."

          "Ditto." Addison holds out what looks like a gigantic log of aluminum foil. "For you."

          They do an awkward exchange in the doorway as Addison passes the makeshift gift and Kira beckons her to hold her drink. Addison sniffs.

          "Bourbon —"

          "And lemonade, yeah. Try it."

          Addison takes a small sip, watching Kira unravel the mess of aluminum in front of her. Her lips pull up, brow furrowing in unison.

          "You brought garlic bread to a house party?"

          Addison rocks on her heels. "It sounded better in my head."

          Kira laughs, ricocheting like windchimes. A little tipsy, perhaps. "Oh my god. You are so weird."

          "In my defense, I had limited ingredients in my fridge—"

          "No, I love it." Kira tears off a piece from the end and pops it in her mouth, chewing as she says, "Is that parsley?"

          "Ah, good palate. It is."

          "French loaf?"

          "Mhm. Freshly baked by Heather yesterday."

         "God, tell me you didn't put real parm on this." Kira moans, and Addison absolutely does not imagine that sound in a different context. She hopes the dim lights hide her blush.

           "I did, yeah."

          "I think I love you," Kira says, wrapping the loaf back up. She moves away from the threshold of the doorway. "Come on in."

          Addison follows her inside, ignoring the way her heart thwacks at the ease of Kira's words. She doesn't mean it, not in that way, but it stills Addison, nonetheless.

        Kira's apartment wasn't built to house this many people, so it's stuffy and crowded and admittedly a little overwhelming. Kira reaches out and intertwines her fingers with Addison's as they slip through a group of guys splitting a dart, tugging her into the back of the apartment where a table has been transformed into a flip cup tournament.

          Kira holds onto Addison's hand even after they've arrived at their destination. As if she can feel Addison's unease through her skin and is saying wordlessly, it's okay, I've got you.