No. No interest there at all. Just because he’s gorgeous and he walks around like sex on legs, daring everyone in the world hit him or fuck him or possibly both doesn’t mean she has to have any interest in doing either one. She’s neutral. She’s Switzerland.

Yeah, Switzerland.

She started painting with complementary colors when she was in art school, bright, garish colors that etched themselves on the insides of her eyelids when she stared at them for too long. Her teacher used to grumble, and her older sister used to joke about headaches, but she'd never cared, afterimages clinging to her irises like vivid ghosts. She'd stare at them with her eyes closed, try to memorize their inverse colors, but the patterns never held, never pressed themselves into her mind the way reality had.

They raise their glasses together with smirks as Johnny tells the Devil to come on back if he ever wants to try again, and then clink together with a single nod on, “I done told you once you son of a bitch, I’m the best there’s ever been”. They toss the shots back smooth, lick salt from the flesh of their hands, and look more satisfied than anybody’s got a right to be.