1.3 | the art of cupidity ✓ - Chapter 7: Chapter 7

SORA CALLS JONAH THE NEXT MORNING TO MAKE SURE HE ISN'T PANICKING FOR HIS VALENTINE'S DAY DATE AND OFFERS HIM WORDS OF ENCOURAGEMENT. But he still sounds too sleepy to process anything she's saying, and Sora has to occasionally speak extra-loud to keep his attention.
"She'll love it," she tells her friend. "Trust me—I'm a matchmaker, aren't I?"
Jonah grumbles into the phone and she sighs in disappointment. "Still don't trust me, I see," Sora scolds. "But anyways, have fun tonight."
The sound of his laugh through the line makes her smile. "I could say the same thing to you," he says. "Do I need you to give you The Talk—"
Sora squeals. "Bye."
The phone clicks off. And no, she thinks. I won't be needing The Talk for a while.
Valentine's Day only contains opposites: either single or taken; love or tears; smiles or frowns. There's no in between, and even the excuse of it's complicated oftentimes results in a week of moodiness and frustrated angst. Cupcakes in bakeries now sport buttermilk frosting the color of pink tulips and edible glitter, and Sora runs a fingertip along the glass as Los Angeles turns over a new, romantic leaf.
Excitement thrums through her body because for once, Sora won't be alone in her dorm. For once, she'll have somebody to spend it with—even if that somebody is a moody, terribly attractive sophomore named Rylin Carter who's probably more trouble than he's worth (he's not). There still isn't any label on them, but the two aren't particularly keen on relationships anyways, as she's too bold and he's too arrogant to admit it. So Sora doesn't buy a gift for him just yet and instead plans out her revenge on Sydney Bells's son-of-a-bitch ex-boyfriend who has a bad habit of falling into other people's beds where he doesn't belong.
She takes the slip of paper out of her pocket that has the restaurant name and reservation, and a frown finds its way across her lips as she realizes that Sydney's date is scheduled for three o'clock in the afternoon. And not only is that an awkward timing to celebrate on the day of love, but it's also quite suspicious, and so Sora brainstorms ideas on the best form of humiliation as the morning passes by.
Passing by Blue Bottle Coffee, she decides to pick up a quick caffeine fix and doesn't think twice about the price. I want an iced latte, Sora thinks. I deserve an iced latte.
When she enters, a curly-haired girl with piercing eyes works the register, and Sora, with a start, realizes that it's Eloise Park—Jonah's girlfriend. Jonah's lock screen. Jonah's everything. She can see why he's so infatuated with her; Eloise has a sort of hesitant, tentative glow around her, but she seems closed-off somehow, like she's afraid to open up to people just in case they don't see anything of interest.
It doesn't bother Sora in the slightest. "Hi," Eloise smiles at her, and she thinks that maybe a spark of recognition goes off in the other girl's irises. "What can I get you?"
"I'll have an iced vanilla latte," she orders. "No cream and no sugar." Even the way the two girls carry themselves is different: Sora herself is all fierce tenacity and unwilling composure, and Eloise is made of soft wildflowers and gentle touches. Not weaker in the slightest, but definitely—different. Different than what Jonah usually went for.
I hope it lasts, Sora wishes. I really hope you make Jonah happy.
Eloise laughs delicately. "It's on the house," she tells her. "It's great to finally meet you, Sora," she greets, and if Sora wasn't currently crushing on Rylin Carter, she'd definitely be falling for Eloise instead. Too bad the employee is in love with her old childhood friend, or else Sora might've charmed the pants off of her and taken her to her apartment overnight.
Sora thanks her profusely and blows a kiss her way as she leaves in a wake of sunshine-scented perfume and mystic mysteries. That's how she often leaves people after the first encounter: a bit dazed, confused, and amused—it must be the secret matchmaker in her, Sora concludes, and not the fact that she has no fear regarding social interactions.
The rest of the day is spent killing time at the thrift store with Claire, studying for her psychology exam towards the end of the month and thinking about how Rylin Carter's favorite hobby must be teasing her. The thought makes her choke on an ice cube (she loves to crunch ice), and Sora feels uncomfortably hot in her jeans and casual shirt as she remembers what the drunk version of her mumbled:
"Call me that," she pauses, "again."
He knows exactly what it means, but Rylin's still an asshole, so he won't say it until she begs. "Call you what?"
A whine. "You know what."
"I need you to ask nicely," he smirks, still playing the role of a smooth sadist.
Sora cracks open one eye and glares at him. "Baby," she finally breathes out. "Call me baby." The low murmur of her voice is enough for him to catch his breath, chest rising and falling at a rapid pace.
There it is. "You looked so pretty tonight, baby," Rylin tells her, and she makes a small sound. "But you look even prettier in my clothes."
"And in your—in your bed?"
He grins. "Especially in my bed."
Sora continues walking briskly and at a fast pace as if she's trying to brush past the worst moments of her life. Even if she thinks she's figured Rylin out, the next day he completely shatters her perception of him and everything starts from scratch all over again. It's utterly maddening, but this is Sora's area of expertise: people.
She knows the little things about him that no one else is aware of, like how he got his ears pierced on a dare (in her opinion, it's the best dare to ever exist), or how he's the closest to his adoptive siblings more than anyone else in the world. Rylin Carter hates the cold and finds flannels unflattering (he's not wrong); he likes to listen to alternative music and is ridiculously picky about the food he consumes.
And Sora really, really likes him. More than she's ever liked anybody—even if they argue all the time and she just wants to throw him out the window when he picks her up and looks like he just came back from fashion week in Paris. And when Rylin touches her waist or brushes his fingertips across her cheek, it feels like violet adrenaline racing in her bloodstream and a combination of a teenage innocence and romantic novels.
If she admired Jonah because he ran fast, Sora admires Rylin because he's raw. There's no secrets when it comes to them, and it's a relief: in her matchmaking business, devastating undiscovered facts between couples often originate from a lack of trust, but it's not the case with them. Sora's too open and emotional, anyways, and she knows it pisses Rylin off.
Pisses him off so much that he ends up leaning over and pressing his lips to her own just to shut her up.
Sora checks the clock on her phone just to see that it's nearly two o'clock in the afternoon. As a sly grin graces the edges of her lips, she goes over her plan one more time before he comes to pick her up.
She's going to make hell rain down upon Brian Clearson, and it isn't going to be pretty. Not one bit.
"He must really be invested in his side relationships," Rylin grumbles at the wheel, "or else he wouldn't have picked an Italian restaurant that's forty fucking minutes away from Los Angeles."
It's almost cute at how annoyed he is, and Sora isn't subtle as she checks out how good he looks today. Rylin isn't dressed in his usual black jeans and grey shirt today, but instead his legs are clad in a loose, breathable khaki-colored pair of pants and a thin turtleneck; his earrings are still in, though, and Sora wishes she could've dressed a bit nicer on her own part.
Unfortunately, the yoga pants and sweatshirt were the best she could do this morning.
Sora shakes her head. "You could've stayed in your apartment," she counters. "Remember that you volunteered to go, Ry."
He rolls his eyes but there's no real force in the action. "I couldn't let you go there alone," Rylin insists. "He might be psychotic." A pause. "And I know that you're secretly glad I'm here."
Not exactly a lie, because Sora's very, very glad he's here with her. And a little excited, if she's being honest.
She grins at him and presses a soft kiss to his beauty mark while blushing embarrassingly; it's strange how her persona completely changes whenever they're together, but it's a welcome transition—like the gap between summer and autumn. "Do you have everything I need?" Sora asks him, and she feels proud satisfaction surge through her when he nods.
"You're so fucking weird, Ice Queen," Rylin comments, jaw working as he chews a piece of mint gum. "Red lipstick, drugstore mascara, and a pregnancy test? What the hell?"
"You'll see," she hints, and toys with the radio for a few minutes until he slaps her hand away as a warning sign, and Sora takes the opportunity to hook their pinkies together and rest it on her cheek, biting his nail as a tease and laughing as his cold exterior melts.
Sora's going to enter the restaurant looking like a train wreck: the mascara will be smeared around her eyes like a retired raccoon, and she'll wipe the lipstick in remote areas across her face to create the impression of restlessness and swelling. And the pregnancy test—
Well, the pregnancy was an idea that just popped into her head this morning while she texted Rylin the list. She's never tried it before, but Sora had thought what could go wrong and typed it in anyways.
"Isn't it humiliating for you, though?" Rylin asks as he pops a second piece into his mouth.
Sora responds with a negative, explaining, "I don't really feel embarrassed." She takes a breath. "It's kind of fun, you know? Acting like you're heartbroken and figuring out the love of your life is cheating on you—I don't know. And plus, I'm getting paid, and this restaurant is nearly an hour away, so it's not like anybody I know will be there."
He hums and then tips his head back before laughing. Sora appreciates the way his arms look under the sunlight through the tinted windows: before today, she's never associated attractiveness with driving, but the slight imprint of Rylin's veins combined with his lean muscles turns her mouth drier than usual.
When they arrive at the restaurant, the parking lot is practically empty (given that it's three o'clock in the afternoon—an odd shift to dine-in). Sora takes out a mirror and slides the black mascara wand in horizontal motions under her eyes, taking one fingertip and smearing it so that it creates an impression of distressed tears. The Vaseline in her purse is used in wetting her cheeks as it creates two slick paths down both cheeks, swirling in the mascara's color to resemble an oil spill. And lastly, Rylin watches with barely-checked amusement as Sora dabs just enough crimson lipstick and applies it messily on the center of her bottom lip along with the corners of her mouth—just enough to scream desperate whore out at anybody who sees her.
"How do I look?" Sora asks him as she turns her body so that he can get a full view, and Rylin raises one eyebrow smoothly, signature smirk toying with the edges of his mouth.
He sighs. "You look like you've just had sex with someone for three days straight," Rylin says roughly, and Sora chokes on her next breath.
"Carter!"
The Korean boy throws her an annoyed look. "What?"
"You can't say things like that," Sora tells him as she hides a secret smile. "And don't pretend that you don't want me in your bed, either."
Rylin pulls her closer at those words and his breath remains the reincarnation of mint and rosemary as he stares at her. "How can you still look so fucking pretty," he drawls, one finger trailing the line of her jaw, "like this? With makeup smeared all over your face?" A moment passes, and Sora's heartbeat is flying out of her goddamn body. "And don't worry, baby," Rylin murmurs arrogantly. "If you were in my bed, you'd look even more wrecked."
Sora runs her hand up his neck. "You're a sadist, Rylin Carter," she tells him, tone weak and body all too responsive to his touches. "But I do need favor."
He presses a kiss to her neck, and she jolts in her seat. "Anything."
"Can you give me two hickeys?"
Rylin pulls back like he's been electrocuted, and she laughs at his priceless expression as he audibly swallows. "What the fuck, Sora Lee?"
She nods like her request is the most normal thing in the world—and for Sora the matchmaker, it just might be. "I need to make this convincing," she explains and points to her neck. "So just give me a hickey, please."
"I didn't know you liked being marked."
Sora sighs, and fire practically comes out of her mouth. "Rylin, I'm not joking—"
"Does that mean I can mark you whenever I want?"
"What?" Sora's nose crinkles. "No! Just give me a goddamn hickey, Rylin, or else I'm never bringing you with me. And I know you're secretly kinky—"
Her breath hitches as he bends his head and leans down, sucking on the skin until it turns a satisfactory shade of angry violet. And Rylin does it again, just a bit lower, the tops of his cheeks brushing against her chest; Sora can't think, can't breath, can't process. Miniature explosions of sensations are filling up her senses like a cloud of butterflies, and her legs don't seem to work as her toes curl. Oh, fuck.
"There," Rylin murmurs, and then just for the hell of it, kisses her mouth roughly once, then twice, before pulling away. "Happy?"
Sora nods, and he laughs. "Now you're quiet?"
"I hate you," she seethes.
Rylin holds up their entwined pinkies, as if showing them off to the world. "Yeah, I like you too, Ice Queen."
The two of them go over their plan one more time in the car before Rylin gets out first to get a table. He'll request to sit at a table just barely near Sydney's so that he has a careful eye on the potential exploding situation, and Sora, ten minutes later, will swagger inside and cause the biggest fucking break-up the world has ever seen.
It'll be fun, Sora thinks. Like drama club.
In the mirror, she looks like one of those cougar mothers on the trash reality shows Adeena likes to watch in her free time, and Sora takes a quick picture of herself before entering the classy exterior.
It's a two-story building, with both the downstairs and upstairs modeled the same way: rosewood flooring, crystal chandelier from the ceiling, and tablecloths made of white linen. She feels terribly out of place, but at least she's getting paid.
"Ma'am," a hostess greets, and immediately jerks back from seeing her dejected state. "Ma'am, is everything alright? Can I help you with anything?"
Sora smiles sweetly. "No, I'm fine, thank you. My friend is upstairs waiting for me." And even though she's probably full of pettiness, Sora's irritated at how she can't call Rylin her boyfriend. Not yet, at least.
The staff cast her inquiring looks and gossip among themselves as she climbs the stairs and immediately spots Rylin sitting there with his long legs spread out, looking so pretty and obedient. Oh, shit, Sora thinks. Am I a sadist, too?
A few tables behind them lies Sydney and Brian, and she feels an immense amount of pity for the redhead. Brian toys with his phone underneath the table and while she tries to keep the conversation flowing, he'll just hum and dismiss her before his phone lights up and the entire cycle repeats.
It's go time.
Sora stumbles over to their table, sends a sly wink at Sydney, and wills her tears to well up and fall over her cheeks.
"Brian!" Sora nearly shouts, hauling him up and out of his seat. The junior must have apparently been so shocked that his phone went tumbling down onto the floor, and Rylin being the cunning boy he is, throws his utensil to the ground and casually swipes both the fork and the device up before tucking them into his pocket.
She slaps him across the face—hard—and sobs as she sees the imprint of her hand rise on his cheek. "I can't—I can't believe you're cheating on me," Sora cries. "You bastard."
Brian brings a hand up and his mouth drops open. "What the fuck?" And then, "You're fucking crazy. Sydney, I swear I don't know her."
"You told me I was your everything," Sora convinces him, and she hopes that she's doing a good enough job. "You told me that I was the only one, and that we'd get married someday." Hiccup. "How could you do this to me? To us?"
Brian's about the same height as her, and Sora seethes with fake fury and wipes her tears. "I can't believe the nerve you have," she says, bottom lip wobbling. "And I'm pregnant," she reveals (she's not), and the feeling of watching him fumble around with his words is comical until he finally gets a loose grip on the situation.
"Look," Brian whispers in her ear, and grips her wrist tight enough to leave a bruise the next morning. Sora can feel Rylin's gaze lock onto where the cheater's nails dig in, but he lets her handle it. "Were you the girl I slept with back in the motel two months ago? Just get it removed, for fuck's sake—"
Sora doesn't usually let her emotions get the best of her when she's acting like this, but something strikes a nerve: his male dominance and alpha male status makes her want to gag, and so Sora slaps him again—harder.
It's not a game anymore.
"Look," she hisses, "you're a piece of shit, you know that, right? You have a girlfriend right here who's willing to listen to your lies, but you're pathetic." Sora pinches his forearm, and he yelps. "People like you are pathetic." And as she tosses the pregnancy test on the table, she leans to the side and rests a hand on Sydney's shoulder, who still looks shocked by the whole fiasco. "And no, I haven't slept with you, jackass, but Sydney's roommate did, so be a decent person and give her this for me, yeah?"
Sora stalks off slowly enough to hear Brian begging his girlfriend not to leave and out of the corner of her eyes, she sees Sydney pack up her things and leave through the back exit. Good, Sora thinks. He didn't deserve you in the first place.
Rylin meets her in the car and helps her take off her makeup with a cotton pad and a bit of coconut oil, and he's quiet as he reaches for her wrist and runs the tip of his nail in the indent that Brian left.
"You're crazy," he finally tells her, and presses a chaste kiss to her lips as if to console her. "Insane, really."
Sora grins at her. "I know you don't mind," she laughs, and he rolls his eyes.
"I have something for you," Rylin murmurs, voice unusually quiet as the silence settles between their two bodies, nervousness acting as an invisible red string connecting their two wrists.
The boy next to her pulls a piece of paper out of his pockets before handing it to her, and Sora takes it with furrowed eyebrows before unfolding it and reading the contents:
Matchmaking application
Name: Rylin Carter
Name of target: Sora Lee is not an Ice Queen
Grade: Sophomore
Location: Anywhere