Harley thought that acquainting both her lovers would be like merging the year's two major holidays. Maybe it is – for them. They're excited like schoolchildren, discussing scientific classifications, splicing, and whatnot, and she's left on the outside, frustrated as fuck. She could be prancing around in bra, panties, and garter belts, and they'd take no notice, immersed in their element. The lack of attention wedges sharply beneath her breastbone.
Could it be jealousy?
She skulks around the greenhouse where they extract new toxins, the gray drizzle reflecting her mood. Or so she thinks, not noticing how she's grinning hopelessly, love-lost.