Chapter 33
33
RUE
M idnight insisted we stay the night and then go down the stairs in the morning on a mattress, naked, for a grand entrance for a catered-in breakfast.
Malice and I declined.
“No riding on the mattress naked for you, huh?” Malice glances sidelong at me before returning his attention to the road. It’s two in the morning. I cover my yawn. I plan on sleeping Sunday away after I log onto Malice’s laptop and register for Dumas’s February event.
“Been there, done that,” I say, answering his question. “Can I borrow your laptop when we get home?”
“Are you planning on watching porn without me?”
I play-punch him on the shoulder. “You wish.”
“Wishing.”
I laugh. “Not happening.”
“Pretty please.”
“Okay, but only if you apply for a position at the bakery in McMillan with me.”
“Done.”
“Wait, seriously?”
“Yeah. We’re into baking. Hopefully, we’ll get the same shift so we can ‘commute’ together.”
Malice using air quotes is cute. I lean in and kiss his cheek.
“It’s a win-win, and I am all in for winning,” he says with a shit-eating grin.
I smile wide. Nice.
“Back to this ‘been there, done that.’ Explain.”
“Promise you won’t be mad?”
“Starting out with that sentence gets me curious, but cross my heart and hope to die, I won’t be pissed.”
Here goes. “Remember when Seven drove to Dumas, found Leigh at the party at Galley’s, and hauled her out of Zeke’s bedroom with her over his shoulder?”
“Yeah, he was pissed at her for partying with randy, older dudes.”
“Well, um, we stayed at Midnight’s. Did you know your cousin is a huge fan of the Princess Diaries movies?”
“No shit. Go on.”
“One scene sticks out for him, except he likes to put his own spin on it. It’s the one with the slumber party. The girls go down the stairs, riding on a mattress. Except”—I cover my eyes—“we go down on a mattress naked.”
“Come again? I didn’t hear you with the muttering you’re doing.”
That butt. He heard me loud and clear.
“I said we go down the stairs on a mattress butt naked.” I uncover my eyes.
“And that’s how you saw Red’s junk.”
“Yes.”
“How about your comment about a gun making more noise than a shot from a BB gun? Or that you don’t like shotguns because they do serious damage. Who are you talking guns with? Red? Isaac?”
I sigh. I shouldn’t tell Malice, but I’ll listen to Trace and Ever and share my life with Malice. Otherwise, how will he see me for me?
“Mason. He patrols the large low-income housing complex that separates Cambridge from Delridge. I started patrolling with him when I was fifteen, but it was after I learned how to shoot a BB gun from a distance, got used to wearing NVGs, and learned how to dodge pellets when he used me as the target for him and his military friends’ target practice.”
“Did they get you?”
“A few times.”
“When I get ahold of Mason and his boys—” He white-knuckle grips the steering wheel.
I bring his right hand to my lips and drop kisses below his pinky, where his skin is now healed from when he pounded on Mason’s door so hard that he bruised the skin.
“It didn’t hurt. I wore tactical gear, which slowed me down. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have been an easy target. It was Tyler’s idea.”
“Tyler participated ?”
“Yes.”
“That mother-effer. Is that the reason he calls you Nine Lives?”
Again, I say, “Yes.”
“Were you patrolling with Mason when I found you at his place?”
“Guilty.”
“How come this is the first I’m hearing about this? Where I go, you go, and vice versa, remember?”
“We stopped when my uncle left town. My reason for seeing him wasn’t to start patrolling again. I had questions that only a guy in his early thirties could answer.”
“What types of questions?”
“Did he have a high school sweetheart? If so, why aren’t they still together? If she was his first love, how did he get over her?”
I take a deep breath in and out. I bared my soul. Made myself vulnerable. Will Malice say god-awful mean words and reject me? I’m sure he knows I’m speaking about us.
“Did he? How?”
“Yes. It took him four years. He wished for her happiness. That’s how he got over her.” I tell Malice about my challenge for Mason. “He deserves to love again and be loved. He is such a good guy.”
“If your wish is for his happiness, I’m in. Tell Mason, game on. Fall deeply, madly in love, and he can have at it with my GT-R for a full fucking week.”
“Really?” I am flying high with happiness.
“Really.”
“Thank you.” I lean in to kiss his cheek. He turns his head. Our lips meet. His mouth is soft, and he smells good, like strawberries and coconut.
We make the kiss brief; he’s driving.
But his big, warm hand on my thigh, caressing up and down and lingering on the inside of my thigh, where the tattoo is, promises a night and day in bed tangled up in each other’s arms.