I really am an idiot.
I take a drag on my cigarette and look back towards the fence. I try not to smile, but it unfolds across my face anyway.
“It's hard to think about that kind of thing with you wearing pink crotchless panties and all.”
“Hilarious,” she says as she scoots a little closer, puts her arm up against mine. The casual contact sends goose bumps springing up on my arms as I continue to smoke my cigarette and pretend I really am as big and bad as I'd like to think. Heh. I'm a motherfucking certified grade A dumb shit. “Are you trying to avoid the subject, Mr. McBride?”
“Are we talking about babies or herpes?” I ask with a grin as her face pales and she takes a step back. Those green eyes look me up and down with a flick of lashes as Lyric narrows her gaze and lifts up a finger to point at my chest.
“You better be joking about both items on that list.” She pokes me in the pec, and I reach up to capture her wrist in my fingers. I can't seem to stop touching her. It's bloody constant. “Royal.”
“I'm clean, love,” I tell her as I toss my cigarette in the barbecue and turn to take Lyric in my arms. We're both barefoot, our toes touching as I look down at her face while she scrutinizes me, tries to put me in one of her little boxes, file me away with a label and force everything to be all neat and tidy.
Well, she's got a big wake-up call coming because life isn't neat at all. It's fucking messy and twisted and confusing. It's hypocritical, and it never ends right, and it makes no sense. There are plot holes and villains who don't get theirs, good people that suffer and wrongs that never add up to rights.
“You can't know that for sure without a full STI panel,” she begins, and I cut her off with another kiss, one that quite literally curls those perfect little toes of hers. She still smells like wildflowers and honey, but there's this other scent on her skin now, something familiar that takes me a moment to recognize.
Me.
She smells like me.
I breathe her in and then stand up straight, digging another fag from of my pocket. It's easier to think when I'm smoking.
“I guess not, but I don't make a habit of shagging without rubbers, love.” I pause as I light up and she runs some fingers through her hair. “And babies … well, I can't really do anything about that now, can I?”
“You're not taking this very seriously,” she tells me, pulling at the hem of her borrowed t-shirt. It does nothing for her. I can still see that perfect ass cupped in pink lace, her cheeks peeking out from beneath the black fabric. I clench my smoke in tight fingers. “Considering we met a week ago,” she mumbles under her breath.
“See, you're all caught up in that. A week. Who cares how long it's been? You like me or not, Pint-Size? Stop trying to map everything out.”
“You're a real dickhead, you know that?” she says, but there's no heat to it. I watch as she tilts her face back and looks up at the stars. It's a clear night for once, no sign of fog rolling in off the bay. I study the pale curve of Lyric's throat, the way her fingers lift up and brush lightly across her skin. “Why would Mile Wide want to kill Brent? Isn't offing an FBI agent a pretty terrible idea?”
“Well,” I start, but I'm not sure how far to go with this. Every man is different, but club business is club business. Still, in a man's home, he can tell his wife whatever the fuck he wants. Some guys like to keep everything to themselves and others feel the need to vent to their old ladies. Lyric … I have no clue how to handle this. It's all new territory for me, too. “I don't know. That's what I'm aiming to find out.”
“I'm still pissed about Sully,” she tells me, but she sounds a little relieved, too, like she realizes he could've ended up like FBI Douche. “But I understand why you did it.” A pause, a glance. “Did you … I smelled blood on your shirt that night you stopped by my place …”
“It was his,” I tell her. I'm not about to lie to this woman. I might not tell her everything, but I won't pull the wool over her eyes either. “I beat your brother with a hammer.” Lyric cringes and shakes her head like she doesn't want to hear what I have to say anymore.
“Holy crap, Royal.” She pauses again, and I watch as she swallows hard, gearing up to ask me another question. “Did you … really … did you kill your old VP?”
There's a long stretch of silence, the sound of the waves not so distant behind us, crashing against the rocks, foaming and frothing and licking at shore.
“He didn't give me a choice,” I tell her, and that's God's honest truth right there. The boys found Landon before I did, brought me in. I tried to talk to him, and he tried to shoot me. That was it. And Rebecca was in on all of it. Now, two of my prospects are dead and she's missing. Fan-fucking-tastic. “Landon was my best mate,” I say as I let my cigarette turn to ash on the wind. “If I could've saved him, I would've.” I glance over at Lyric, trying to read her facial expression. It's tight and locked up, not ready to be opened.