Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
Josie
The sun has been up for hours by the time we wave goodbye to the odd strangers. They take the embalming solution and their message from that sexy hitchhiker with them. Something about salvaging some taxidermy horses in a burning town? I don’t know. I zoned out.
King and I didn’t end up setting boundaries or anything last night, and that’s kind of bugging me. He’s lost any concern.
And that fucking worries me.
It may seem like a huge leap, but it’s not. Those conditions he wanted to set were never about safeguarding my heart. They were always about protecting himself. He couldn’t see that, and I didn’t either. Not until I saw how he started to behave once he felt secure in his own safety net.
He’s acting like he did five years ago.
Despite facing away from me pretty much every other night before, he held me most of last night. He was standoffish before, but now? The touches come easily for him. Now he’s ten feet tall and bulletproof, and my schemes are the damn bullets.
Whatever it is he thinks he’s figured out, however he believes he has this bet won, he’s got it all wrong.
As soon as the alarm bells started ringing, I checked my defenses.
I’m standing tall too, and I’ve found zero chinks in my armor.
If he wants to use his cock as a battering ram until my defenses weaken, he’s welcome to try. He’ll get zero complaints from me.
My lips rise in a smirk.
Fucking bring it, King.
“What’s got you looking lopsided?” King asks.
The smirk drops. “Now I remember why I fell for you,” I say, sarcasm lacing every word. “It was the romance.”
“Josie!” someone calls behind me.
I turn and see Cat and Eve, purses in hand. Gary stands off to the side. He gives me a wave and points to the girls, and I smile and give him a nod.
Eve waves me over. “Come on! We’re having brunch before we hit the road for the day!”
“Mimosas!” Cat squeals with a jiggle of her chest.
I take a step forward, half-expecting King to reach out and stop me in my tracks. But he doesn’t. My feet falter, and I turn to look at him.
“Go on,” he says, smooth as ever. “We haven’t hashed out terms, but we both agreed to the exclusivity clause until this is out of our systems. I trust you. Go on.”
Damn him. Damn, damn, damn him!
Defenses fucking breached, and he knows it. Is this all part of his Captain Cocksure plan?
I’m always up front with my partners about my sexual hunger. It’s kind of important for them to know they may walk in on me masturbating at any given moment; that’s preferred, actually. But that brand of honesty usually doesn’t go over well for one of us.
Most men believe one of two falsehoods when they hear the words sex addict, and sometimes they believe both.
Either my constant state of arousal equals sex on tap for them, or it means sex on tap for the entire neighborhood.
I’m either their fuck doll or the local come dumpster.
Either way, one of us can’t trust the other.
King has been the one exception.
When I requested he always gain consent before sex, he agreed.
When he walked in on me ramming a silicon tentacle into myself while on all fours, he didn’t bat an eye. He pulled up a fucking chair and finished on the floor.
When I wanted to go dancing one night, he gave me his credit card and said to be smart. He didn’t demand I stay home because he didn’t feel like going out. He facilitated my good time.
He trusted me.
But trust is a dangerous thing. It’s a pipe bomb sending shrapnel through my armor, and damn, there’s that breach of my defenses. Again. Because experiencing something as fragile as trust is the steppingstone to love.
I hesitate a moment too long, and King raises his hands toward the girls.
“She’ll be right with you,” he says. He pulls me closer and settles me in front of him. “What’s wrong?”
As if he doesn’t know.
I clear my throat before I accidentally tip my hand. “I feel bad leaving you alone. You’re the oldest guy here, after all. Who can you relate to?”
He rolls his eyes, turns me around, and pats my ass. “Go on. I need to get to the bottom of Ice Pick’s problem, so I’ll be well and truly occupied. And I’ll have you know that Jim and Grim are both older than me.”
I straighten my spine and head toward the girls.
At least he hasn’t forgotten about Ice Pick’s mystery, I guess.
I’m ashamed to admit I started to. It’s just hard to imagine any of these people doing that to their friend.
Poor Ice Pick probably gets laid once every decade, and someone swooped in to fuck it all up. I tried to cheer him up last night.
King still doesn’t know the body shots were staged, just to cheer up Ice Pick and get a rise out of King. And it accomplished both.
I giggle as I near the girls, and when they ask why, I just shake my head. “Oh, nothing. Just remembering how we got King with the body shots last night.”
“Yeah, and then he got all of us when he swooped down and slurped it up himself,” Cat says. “We’ve never seen this side of him.”
Gary moves in front of us, and we begin following him down the gravel driveway.
“The sexual stuff?” I ask.
“No, not just that. We know he’s a dog,” Eve says. “With looks like that, it’s a given. But we’ve never really seen him act this . . . It’s just weird. The five-o’clock shadow is new, too.”
“And the t-shirts and shorts,” Cat whispers. “I didn’t know he had calves like that.”
“And especially what he did in the arena.” Eve fans her face. “That was the definition of a man in love.”
I tilt my ear toward them, just to make sure I’m hearing correctly. “He did something romantic in the arena?”
Eve and Cat share a look between them.
Cat purses her lips, then says, “He didn’t tell you? I thought for sure he’d brag about it the moment he got you alone. Some girls will do crazy shit in bed after what he did last night. I find it hard to believe he didn’t cash in his golden ticket.”
“Well, what did he do?” I ask, growing impatient. “I saw that he was up against a pistol, but it was just a fake.”
Eve pats my hand. “Right, but when King’s Cattle stopped running and aimed that pistol, nobody knew that. We all thought it was real.”
“I heard all of you gasp.” I nod. “Someone screamed, I think.”
“That was me,” Gary says.
I swallow around the lump in my throat as I recall the fear burning through me when I thought I’d just heard King take a bullet behind me. “Well, I’m just glad the gun wasn’t real. I still can’t believe he aimed it at King.”
“He didn’t,” Eve says. “That’s the romantic part.”
“The guy aimed the gun at you,” Cat whispers, as if it’s too terrifying to speak aloud.
And yeah, it kind of fucking is.
“He aimed at me? Why?” I try to swallow again, but my mouth has gone dry. “I could have fucking died?”
“No clue,” Cat says, “but he looked between both of you and picked you.”
Suicidal ideation is a tricky mistress. In all the times I fantasized my own death, I never wanted it as badly as I want to keep living after being told I almost died.
Eve gives me a pointed look. “And that’s when the romance happened. He didn’t even think about it. King bolted into position, putting himself between you and that bullet. He has all of us questioning if he might actually be in love this time.”
“It was pretty touching,” Gary says.
I’m glad the girls are on either side of me right now, because my legs wobble and give out. I crumple like a rag doll. My knees nearly grind against the rocky trail, but the girls hold me up.
“Damn, girl,” Cat says. “You’re the definition of weak in the knees. You might want to sit down.”
I take a deep breath and shake off the queasy feeling. “No, I’m okay. It’s just the shock of learning I almost took a bullet last night. That’s all.”
Something tells me the girls don’t buy it, but they’re kind enough to drop it. We’ve reached the end of the driveway, anyhow.
A long black limo sits in the exit’s gravel mouth.
We climb into the back, where the other ladies have been waiting for us.
Grim also sits among the women, probably to help his partner feel comfortable.
He and Maudlin Rose have a beautifully symbiotic relationship.
Really fucking weird . . . but really fucking beautiful.
And still so familiar. I just can’t place why.
Gary slides open the partition separating the front and back. “You guys don’t mind if I listen in on the girl talk, do you? I never had sisters, but I used to fantasize I did.”
A few of the girls grimace, and I wince. Poor Gary. Bad choice of words, bud.
“I don’t mind if it stays open,” I say. “Anyone object?”
Heads shake all around the car.
“We’re good, Gare Bear,” Eve says. She reaches through the window and gives his shoulder a squeeze. “You just pretend you’re the little brother listening in, and don’t tell our secrets or we’ll kick your ass. Got it?”
His eyes bulge. “Got it.”
Grim peers out the window. “I am getting too old for this.”
“So do you plan to suck King’s soul out now that you know what he did last night?” Cat asks.
“She didn’t know?” Kindra looks at me.
Frankie scoffs. “I’m shocked he didn’t brag about it himself.”
“That’s what we said.” Eve laughs. “He didn’t, though. We had the honor of telling her ourselves.”
Half the girls start fanning themselves, and I want to crawl into a hole and disappear. I love the spotlight when I choose to stand beneath it, but it’s far less comfortable when someone else holds it there. Right now, they’re all shining a light on something I’m no longer certain I want to see.
Because maybe King isn’t acting cocky because he’s come up with some plan to win the bet. Maybe he’s already accepted his loss . . . and I don’t know how to feel about that. King . . . in love with me? I certainly can’t process it right now.
I’ve got to change the direction of the conversation, and fast.
“I doubt he’d do it again,” I say. “Where are we going for lunch?”
“We could always test him,” Frankie offers.
Quinn nods. “Heck yeah. The body-shots prank went off well with everyone’s help. We just have to catch lightning in a bottle again.”
So much for changing the subject.
The other girls are quick to agree, including Rose, and with Gary already sworn to little-brother secrecy, they begin to form a plan. By the time we reach the cottage restaurant, they’ve nailed down the details. All without any help from me.
Gary will get a prop gun from Jim, which he’ll transfer to Blayne.
Even they’ve picked up on the fact that King feels threatened by Blayne, so he’s the best one to play the part of the shooter.
Meanwhile, Eve will explain things to Ice Pick, and the girls will tell their partners.
Bringing everyone into the loop except King ensures no one else tries to play hero.
And what am I meant to do? Why, be the target of more gun violence, of course.
I’m not sure how to feel about any of this, but I go along to get along.
As long as it’s a prop gun and no one will get hurt, it’s not a big deal.
Besides . . . maybe this will help me see how King really feels.
For myself, this time. If he tries to save me again, I’ll know I’ve won. And if he doesn’t . . .
Well, then I’ll know to tighten my fucking defenses because he’s up to something.
We file into the restaurant Jim rented for our excursion. Mimosa’s flow, and after less than thirty minutes and far too much alcohol, we hurry back to the car. We’re all too excited to eat.
I’m tipsy as hell by the time we roll up at the farmhouse, but that’s probably for the best. What I’m about to do will take some liquid courage.
It was a hell of a lot easier when I didn’t know someone had a gun aimed at me.
This time, I’ll see it coming. Even knowing it’s fake isn’t enough to calm my nerves.
We shuffle up the gravel drive, doing our best to sober a touch as we pick over the craggy terrain. This would have been a lot easier three mimosas ago. Then again, now that we’re starting to sober, I’m sensing that everyone’s changed their minds.
Quinn pulls her hair away from her shoulders. “All that alcohol is making me a touch warm. I might have to cool off before we do this.”
“Oh, shit,” Kindra says. I look behind me as she doubles over, holding her stomach. “I know better than to drink booze on an empty stomach.”
I hurry to her side and rub her back. “Fellow IBS girly here. The moment we get back to base camp, load up on water to dilute the sugar and acid in your gut.”
“Thanks,” she says through gritted teeth. She clenches her eyes shut, then opens one to look at me. “Should I trust it?”
“Trust what?” Quinn asks.
I shake my head. I already know. “I would trust it about as much as I trust Casey Anthony to babysit my future children. Unless you want to wind up in a shitty situation, clench and breathe.”
“Oh,” everyone says.
“Oh my god, shut up,” Kindra whispers as she shuffles forward in that hunched position. “Everybody shits!”
A sound squeaks out of her rear, and we all fight the urge to laugh.
Kindra straightens. “Crisis averted. It was just a touch of gas.”
“At least it doesn’t smell,” Frankie says, and we lose the fight.
But when Gary says he’s off to talk to Jim, the laughter fades. The girls glance at me. It feels like everyone is giving me a chance to call it off and take it back, but I don’t.
I won’t.
I can’t.
Because a part of me wants to see it for myself. Does King actually care? Or has something shifted so horribly that I’m at risk of losing more than a stupid bet?
Before this misfit caravan takes off again, I’ll have my answer.