Reaper's Fire
Page 12
Speaking of Talia, I’d already heard far more than I wanted to from her since he’d moved in.
Specifically, I heard her screaming during sex. Screaming about how good he was, screaming how much she wanted him, screaming instructions with a sense of sexual entitlement I pretended to despise but secretly made me feel jealous.
Fucking bitch.
Gah. I forced myself away from the window, looking around the faded living room of my family home. I’d been born upstairs in the same bedroom I slept in now. Somehow, despite the fact that I had a college degree, thriving business, and one failed marriage behind me, I’d landed right where I started.
Of course, I loved the building in my own weird way. Grandpa had built it back in 1922, and he’d built it to last. Unfortunately, even good construction needs maintenance, and after Mom died eight months back, I’d realized that Dad could barely manage getting to the kitchen without getting lost. He’d obviously been letting things slide for several years now, but I’d been too busy living my life in Seattle to notice. The place was in worse shape than I’d ever seen it.
That’s why I couldn’t evict Cooper for having a girlfriend who wasn’t me. Well, that and the law and the general sense of decency and fair play my parents raised me with, but I swear—if it weren’t for all that, he’d be out on his ass. I took another deep swig of the wine, hoping Carrie didn’t fuck around on her way over.
Jerk.
Sexy, beautiful jerk . . .
Grabbing my glass of wine, I peered through the window so I could see him better.
“Tricia?” my dad called, his voice wavering. “Is that you in the living room? Did they deliver my package?”
“It’s me, Dad,” I replied, tearing my eyes away from Cooper. “And it’s Tinker, remember?”
I watched as my big, strong father—my childhood hero—stared at me, confusion written all over his face.
“I’m waiting for the parts,” he said slowly. “Want to rebuild the carburetor on Tricia’s T-bird, but I don’t have the parts I need. Did you take them?”
“Dad, Mom isn’t with us anymore,” I reminded him softly. “And you sold the T-bird years ago.”
He stared at me blankly.
“I guess I forgot,” he finally admitted. “Sometimes I do that . . .”
No shit.
“Don’t worry about it,” I said, walking over to give him a hug. “Hey, my friend Carrie is coming over in a little while. We’re going to have some girl time—just a heads-up, okay?”
He patted my back absently, then kissed the side of my head.
“That sounds nice. You kids have fun, but not too much TV, okay? Rots your brains.”
Smiling, I squeezed him tight, because despite his failing memory, he was still my daddy. Somewhere deep down inside, his love for me burned bright, even if he couldn’t quite express it the normal way any longer.
The lawn mower roared as Cooper pushed it across the yard, working his way carefully around Mom’s rosebushes. I caught another glimpse of him through the window and pulled away from Dad quickly—no way I wanted to be hugging my father while I perved on the guy outside.
Too creepy, even for a creeper like myself.
• • •
“Do you still have that open apartment?” Carrie asked half an hour later, leaning back to prop her feet up on the porch railing. I refilled my glass of wine, settling deeper into the same swing we’d played on during a thousand childhood sleepovers. It needed a coat of paint.
“Yeah, but I’ve got someone interested. Why do you ask?”
“Because I’m thinking of moving in,” she said seriously. I raised my brows.
“You own a house,” I reminded her gently.
“But I don’t have him,” she said, eyes darting toward Cooper, who was using the Weedwacker to edge the sidewalks. He caught me looking, giving a knowing quirk of his lips. An hour earlier this would’ve embarrassed the hell out of me, but Carrie and I’d nearly put the second bottle to bed. Reality had fuzzed out nicely.
“Well, we’ll see how it plays out,” I reminded her, not wanting to jinx it. “Just because he does a good job today doesn’t mean he’ll be trustworthy in the long run. He hangs out with the motorcycle club, you know. Not only that, he’s dating Talia Jackson. I’m not his type.”
The words fell between us, and Carrie gave an exaggerated shiver.
“That girl is such a heinous little bitch.”
“Thanks for pointing that out. I hadn’t noticed. Hell, I’d planned on inviting her over for drinks with us next Sunday.”
She smacked me, and the whole swing swayed.
“Careful! You nearly knocked over my wine,” I accused.
“I brought over three bottles,” she pointed out. “The only reason you aren’t sitting here drinking water is me, so be nice.”
We glared at each other, and for a good thirty seconds I managed to hold my angry face. Carrie broke first, and then we were both giggling, just like in high school.
“Cheers,” she said, lifting her glass.
“Cheers,” I replied. “I missed this. When I was living in Seattle, I mean. I had lots of friends there, but no one like you.”
Carrie threw her arm over my shoulder, giving me a hug. Then she reached down and lifted the bottle, emptying the last few drops into my glass.
“I’m glad you’re home,” she said. “I know things haven’t gone like you planned, but I still think you belong here in Hallies Falls.”
I rolled my eyes.
Whatever.
Then I chugged the rest of my glass, because it really wasn’t very good wine—not like what Brandon and I used to drink together. Cooper passed in front of us, flashing me a quick smile.
“I’m in heat,” Carrie moaned.
“You’re married.”
“Oh, get over yourself—it’s not like he’s real.”
I frowned at her, confused. “Of course he’s real. He just pushed the lawn mower right by us.”
Carrie rolled her eyes.
“No, I mean nothing will happen with him,” she said. “I’m married, and you aren’t his type. That makes him safe fantasy material.”
“I could be his type,” I insisted.
“You’re beautiful,” she said. “You’ve got that sexy, curvy body and retro style from hell, which kicks ass. But if Cooper’s into Talia Jackson, he’s not gonna be into you. Even without the age thing, this guy likes girls without curves. Talia’s like a wire hanger with breasts. Really little ones. She’s a tacky street racer and you’re a classic muscle car. Just two different things, you know?”
Specifically, I heard her screaming during sex. Screaming about how good he was, screaming how much she wanted him, screaming instructions with a sense of sexual entitlement I pretended to despise but secretly made me feel jealous.
Fucking bitch.
Gah. I forced myself away from the window, looking around the faded living room of my family home. I’d been born upstairs in the same bedroom I slept in now. Somehow, despite the fact that I had a college degree, thriving business, and one failed marriage behind me, I’d landed right where I started.
Of course, I loved the building in my own weird way. Grandpa had built it back in 1922, and he’d built it to last. Unfortunately, even good construction needs maintenance, and after Mom died eight months back, I’d realized that Dad could barely manage getting to the kitchen without getting lost. He’d obviously been letting things slide for several years now, but I’d been too busy living my life in Seattle to notice. The place was in worse shape than I’d ever seen it.
That’s why I couldn’t evict Cooper for having a girlfriend who wasn’t me. Well, that and the law and the general sense of decency and fair play my parents raised me with, but I swear—if it weren’t for all that, he’d be out on his ass. I took another deep swig of the wine, hoping Carrie didn’t fuck around on her way over.
Jerk.
Sexy, beautiful jerk . . .
Grabbing my glass of wine, I peered through the window so I could see him better.
“Tricia?” my dad called, his voice wavering. “Is that you in the living room? Did they deliver my package?”
“It’s me, Dad,” I replied, tearing my eyes away from Cooper. “And it’s Tinker, remember?”
I watched as my big, strong father—my childhood hero—stared at me, confusion written all over his face.
“I’m waiting for the parts,” he said slowly. “Want to rebuild the carburetor on Tricia’s T-bird, but I don’t have the parts I need. Did you take them?”
“Dad, Mom isn’t with us anymore,” I reminded him softly. “And you sold the T-bird years ago.”
He stared at me blankly.
“I guess I forgot,” he finally admitted. “Sometimes I do that . . .”
No shit.
“Don’t worry about it,” I said, walking over to give him a hug. “Hey, my friend Carrie is coming over in a little while. We’re going to have some girl time—just a heads-up, okay?”
He patted my back absently, then kissed the side of my head.
“That sounds nice. You kids have fun, but not too much TV, okay? Rots your brains.”
Smiling, I squeezed him tight, because despite his failing memory, he was still my daddy. Somewhere deep down inside, his love for me burned bright, even if he couldn’t quite express it the normal way any longer.
The lawn mower roared as Cooper pushed it across the yard, working his way carefully around Mom’s rosebushes. I caught another glimpse of him through the window and pulled away from Dad quickly—no way I wanted to be hugging my father while I perved on the guy outside.
Too creepy, even for a creeper like myself.
• • •
“Do you still have that open apartment?” Carrie asked half an hour later, leaning back to prop her feet up on the porch railing. I refilled my glass of wine, settling deeper into the same swing we’d played on during a thousand childhood sleepovers. It needed a coat of paint.
“Yeah, but I’ve got someone interested. Why do you ask?”
“Because I’m thinking of moving in,” she said seriously. I raised my brows.
“You own a house,” I reminded her gently.
“But I don’t have him,” she said, eyes darting toward Cooper, who was using the Weedwacker to edge the sidewalks. He caught me looking, giving a knowing quirk of his lips. An hour earlier this would’ve embarrassed the hell out of me, but Carrie and I’d nearly put the second bottle to bed. Reality had fuzzed out nicely.
“Well, we’ll see how it plays out,” I reminded her, not wanting to jinx it. “Just because he does a good job today doesn’t mean he’ll be trustworthy in the long run. He hangs out with the motorcycle club, you know. Not only that, he’s dating Talia Jackson. I’m not his type.”
The words fell between us, and Carrie gave an exaggerated shiver.
“That girl is such a heinous little bitch.”
“Thanks for pointing that out. I hadn’t noticed. Hell, I’d planned on inviting her over for drinks with us next Sunday.”
She smacked me, and the whole swing swayed.
“Careful! You nearly knocked over my wine,” I accused.
“I brought over three bottles,” she pointed out. “The only reason you aren’t sitting here drinking water is me, so be nice.”
We glared at each other, and for a good thirty seconds I managed to hold my angry face. Carrie broke first, and then we were both giggling, just like in high school.
“Cheers,” she said, lifting her glass.
“Cheers,” I replied. “I missed this. When I was living in Seattle, I mean. I had lots of friends there, but no one like you.”
Carrie threw her arm over my shoulder, giving me a hug. Then she reached down and lifted the bottle, emptying the last few drops into my glass.
“I’m glad you’re home,” she said. “I know things haven’t gone like you planned, but I still think you belong here in Hallies Falls.”
I rolled my eyes.
Whatever.
Then I chugged the rest of my glass, because it really wasn’t very good wine—not like what Brandon and I used to drink together. Cooper passed in front of us, flashing me a quick smile.
“I’m in heat,” Carrie moaned.
“You’re married.”
“Oh, get over yourself—it’s not like he’s real.”
I frowned at her, confused. “Of course he’s real. He just pushed the lawn mower right by us.”
Carrie rolled her eyes.
“No, I mean nothing will happen with him,” she said. “I’m married, and you aren’t his type. That makes him safe fantasy material.”
“I could be his type,” I insisted.
“You’re beautiful,” she said. “You’ve got that sexy, curvy body and retro style from hell, which kicks ass. But if Cooper’s into Talia Jackson, he’s not gonna be into you. Even without the age thing, this guy likes girls without curves. Talia’s like a wire hanger with breasts. Really little ones. She’s a tacky street racer and you’re a classic muscle car. Just two different things, you know?”
