Reaper's Fall
Page 16
“I didn’t ride home with Loni,” I hedged, still feeling raw and embarrassed about what’d happened. I didn’t like lying to Jessica, but I wasn’t ready to go there. Not yet. Especially since I knew she’d been to a party out at the Armory—not a family party—and she’d gotten further with Painter than I had.
Guess I was good enough when he was bored in jail and wanted letters. Now? Not so much. I looked over at Jess, wondering exactly what’d happened between them. She’d said that they’d “fucked around,” but what did that really mean? She said not to worry about it, that it wasn’t important . . . But Jessica was gorgeous. Stunning. And while she might be younger than me, she was decades older in terms of experience. No wonder Painter wasn’t interested in yours truly.
I wasn’t his type.
“So who gave you a ride?” she asked, frowning. “Em and Kit were drunk. Was it Hunter? Or did they send you with a prospect?”
I thought about lying . . . making up a name or something. Jess tended to have a short attention span, so she’d probably forget all about it unless I was stupid enough to tell her—
“Omigod, you got a ride home with Painter!” she accused suddenly. “I can see the guilt written all over your face. How the hell did that happen?”
Shit.
“Yes,” I admitted slowly. Might as well tell her the whole ugly story. “He’s not interested in me—just ignored me, like he did the day we moved. But then I met another guy and . . .”
“What?” she demanded. I closed my eyes, trying to think and then opened them again because the room was spinning like crazy. For an instant I thought I might puke. Thankfully it passed.
“So he dragged me off and told me I didn’t belong there,” I admitted. “We were arguing about it and he was all up in my face, and then he was holding my hair so I kissed him.”
Jess scowled.
“He’s not a good guy,” she said. “I mean, he’s done some good things, I’ll give him that. But these bikers are dangerous, Mel. I’ve told you all along—you have to stay away from him.”
This wasn’t the first time we’d had this talk—she’d been furious when she first learned we’d been writing to each other. Suddenly a dreadful thought occurred to me. I’d had it before, but I’d never asked her about it because it seemed wrong.
I wasn’t feeling so inhibited tonight, though.
“So, I have to know . . .” I started, wondering how to say it. Gee, Jessica, do you still want to have sex with my weird, nonfriend prison pen pal? Hmm. That didn’t sound right. What exactly was the most tactful way to ask your BFF if she hoped to bone the guy you’re secretly in love with but who has no interest in you because he sees you as a helpless child?
This hadn’t been covered in my English lit class.
“What?” she asked, shutting her laptop and leaning it against the side of the couch. “Let me guess—you’re trying really hard to figure out a nice way to ask me if I’m still lusting after Painter, because that’s the kind of girl I am? Always chasing guys?”
I coughed, feeling like a complete bitch for even thinking about it. But that was the problem—it’d been eating at me for a while, which was so not fair on so many levels, because Jess had changed her ways. Mostly. (It was the “mostly” part that caused the concern.)
“Maybe. I noticed he pulled you aside to talk to you for a few minutes during the move . . .”
“I can’t decide if that’s funny or insulting as hell.”
“Funny?” I asked weakly. Jessica leaned her head on my shoulder and sighed.
“One, I’ve taken a temporary vow of celibacy.”
“Yes, but you’ve never said for how long and even you have to admit you’re impulsive as hell,” I pointed out, figuring I might as well play it out now that we’d started the discussion. “For all I knew, the vow ended earlier today.”
“Good point,” she said, rolling her head to grin at me. Oh, thank God. She wasn’t too pissed. But she hadn’t answered my question yet, either. “No worries. I’d never touch Painter, Mel, assuming he was even interested—and he isn’t. He doesn’t give two shits about me. Not only that, you’re way more important to me than some asshole biker. And I’m really working on the whole impulse control thing. I know I’ve got a long way to go, but it’s actually going pretty well. Admit it—there’s been at least a twenty-five percent reduction in drama.”
I laughed, feeling almost giddy with relief. “Give yourself some credit—I’d say thirty. You’d be at forty if it wasn’t for the Tire Iron Incident.”
Jessica sighed.
“Yeah. That wasn’t my finest moment. Although you want to know a secret?” she asked, pulling back to offer me a wicked grin.
“What?”
“I know I told Reese and Loni that I was sorry, but I’d totally do it again. The asshole deserved it in a big way. I swear, I practically came when I finally broke through the windshield on that dickwad’s car. I’ll take vengeance over sex any day.”
She waggled her eyebrows at me again, and I gave her a fake stern look, channeling Reese.
“This isn’t a fuckin’ joke, Jess,” I said, mimicking his tone and words exactly. “Your ass would be in jail right now if that little fuck wasn’t so scared of the Reapers. Next time I’ll let them haul you away, too.”
Guess I was good enough when he was bored in jail and wanted letters. Now? Not so much. I looked over at Jess, wondering exactly what’d happened between them. She’d said that they’d “fucked around,” but what did that really mean? She said not to worry about it, that it wasn’t important . . . But Jessica was gorgeous. Stunning. And while she might be younger than me, she was decades older in terms of experience. No wonder Painter wasn’t interested in yours truly.
I wasn’t his type.
“So who gave you a ride?” she asked, frowning. “Em and Kit were drunk. Was it Hunter? Or did they send you with a prospect?”
I thought about lying . . . making up a name or something. Jess tended to have a short attention span, so she’d probably forget all about it unless I was stupid enough to tell her—
“Omigod, you got a ride home with Painter!” she accused suddenly. “I can see the guilt written all over your face. How the hell did that happen?”
Shit.
“Yes,” I admitted slowly. Might as well tell her the whole ugly story. “He’s not interested in me—just ignored me, like he did the day we moved. But then I met another guy and . . .”
“What?” she demanded. I closed my eyes, trying to think and then opened them again because the room was spinning like crazy. For an instant I thought I might puke. Thankfully it passed.
“So he dragged me off and told me I didn’t belong there,” I admitted. “We were arguing about it and he was all up in my face, and then he was holding my hair so I kissed him.”
Jess scowled.
“He’s not a good guy,” she said. “I mean, he’s done some good things, I’ll give him that. But these bikers are dangerous, Mel. I’ve told you all along—you have to stay away from him.”
This wasn’t the first time we’d had this talk—she’d been furious when she first learned we’d been writing to each other. Suddenly a dreadful thought occurred to me. I’d had it before, but I’d never asked her about it because it seemed wrong.
I wasn’t feeling so inhibited tonight, though.
“So, I have to know . . .” I started, wondering how to say it. Gee, Jessica, do you still want to have sex with my weird, nonfriend prison pen pal? Hmm. That didn’t sound right. What exactly was the most tactful way to ask your BFF if she hoped to bone the guy you’re secretly in love with but who has no interest in you because he sees you as a helpless child?
This hadn’t been covered in my English lit class.
“What?” she asked, shutting her laptop and leaning it against the side of the couch. “Let me guess—you’re trying really hard to figure out a nice way to ask me if I’m still lusting after Painter, because that’s the kind of girl I am? Always chasing guys?”
I coughed, feeling like a complete bitch for even thinking about it. But that was the problem—it’d been eating at me for a while, which was so not fair on so many levels, because Jess had changed her ways. Mostly. (It was the “mostly” part that caused the concern.)
“Maybe. I noticed he pulled you aside to talk to you for a few minutes during the move . . .”
“I can’t decide if that’s funny or insulting as hell.”
“Funny?” I asked weakly. Jessica leaned her head on my shoulder and sighed.
“One, I’ve taken a temporary vow of celibacy.”
“Yes, but you’ve never said for how long and even you have to admit you’re impulsive as hell,” I pointed out, figuring I might as well play it out now that we’d started the discussion. “For all I knew, the vow ended earlier today.”
“Good point,” she said, rolling her head to grin at me. Oh, thank God. She wasn’t too pissed. But she hadn’t answered my question yet, either. “No worries. I’d never touch Painter, Mel, assuming he was even interested—and he isn’t. He doesn’t give two shits about me. Not only that, you’re way more important to me than some asshole biker. And I’m really working on the whole impulse control thing. I know I’ve got a long way to go, but it’s actually going pretty well. Admit it—there’s been at least a twenty-five percent reduction in drama.”
I laughed, feeling almost giddy with relief. “Give yourself some credit—I’d say thirty. You’d be at forty if it wasn’t for the Tire Iron Incident.”
Jessica sighed.
“Yeah. That wasn’t my finest moment. Although you want to know a secret?” she asked, pulling back to offer me a wicked grin.
“What?”
“I know I told Reese and Loni that I was sorry, but I’d totally do it again. The asshole deserved it in a big way. I swear, I practically came when I finally broke through the windshield on that dickwad’s car. I’ll take vengeance over sex any day.”
She waggled her eyebrows at me again, and I gave her a fake stern look, channeling Reese.
“This isn’t a fuckin’ joke, Jess,” I said, mimicking his tone and words exactly. “Your ass would be in jail right now if that little fuck wasn’t so scared of the Reapers. Next time I’ll let them haul you away, too.”
