Reaper's Fall
“Maybe I just want to have fun,” I told her, resentment building. “Have you considered that? I’ve busted ass for years, trying to hold my dad together and my life and school and everything else. Maybe it’s my turn to have some fucking fun, so you should back off.”
Jess stared at me, stunned.
“Mel . . .”
“No,” I continued. I was on a roll. Maybe we should sort this shit out once and for all. “I love you and I appreciate the fact that you’re worried about me. You did your duty as a friend. I’m awarding you a gold star and a cookie, but now it’s time for you to walk out of here and let me make my own decisions.”
Jess stood slowly, still looking unhappy. “All right, then. I’ll leave you to it. But Mel?”
“Yeah?”
“When it all falls apart around you and you’re scared shitless? I want you to remember one thing.”
“What’s that?” I asked, narrowing my eyes.
“Remember that I’ll always be here for you, because I love you,” she said quietly, her voice breaking. “Just like you’ve always been here for me.”
“Shit, Jessica . . .” I said, eyes filling with tears. I stepped toward her as she stepped toward me and then we were hugging and I couldn’t quite remember why I’d been so pissed. We stood like that—holding each other—for long seconds. Finally she broke the silence.
“Mel?”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t think for one minute you’re off the hook for face painting.”
I pushed away, trying to glare at her but I started laughing instead, and then she started laughing and everything was okay.
• • •
Ten minutes later, I came racing down the stairs, my wet hair pulled into a loose bun on top of my head. I’d managed to clean up again, get dressed, brush my teeth, and even slapped on some lip gloss.
I hit the dining room, discovering the remains of our painting marathon the night before. Shit. I’d forgotten I needed to go buy paint. Jessica was going to kill me.
“Looking for these?” she asked, a shopping bag dangling from one hand.
“Face paints?” I asked hopefully. She nodded.
“Painter went out and bought them this morning.”
“See, he’s not that bad!”
She cocked a brow at me. “Seriously? He can buy you off with fifteen bucks of paint?”
“Don’t be a bitch.”
“But I do it so well,” she said, a reluctant smile coming across her face. “It was thoughtful. I can admit that. He left a note, too.”
“Let me see,” I said. She dug out a piece of folded paper, handing it over.
“I’ll save you some time. He said he’s sorry he had to bail on volunteering, but that he didn’t want to leave you hanging after he used up all the paint. He’ll be in touch as soon as he can.”
I opened the note, and sure enough—she’d quoted it almost perfectly. Suddenly I had an ugly thought.
“Jess?”
“Yeah?”
“You know how you’ve had the same phone code since high school, and I know that code?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Do you know my phone code?”
She stared at me, raising a brow.
“Of course.”
“I would never read your email or text messages. Just so you know.”
“Glad to hear it.”
“Jess?”
She blinked at me innocently. Like Bambi. “Yeah?”
“Is it even remotely possible that you don’t read my messages?”
My best friend gave me a beautiful, loving smile.
“Anything’s possible, Mellie. Now get your ass in gear—those kids get pissy if they have to wait too long for the carnival to start.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
PAINTER
Five hours later I pulled up to the shithole of a hotel Gage and I had been staying in the past week, wondering how long I’d be stuck here . . . I was ready to be home again already. Mel had done a number on me, no question. Never gave a damn before where the club sent me or worried how long it would take.
When I turned into the gravel parking lot—yeah, the hotel was that classy—I saw the cherry red Mustang convertible we’d seen in town last weekend parked next to Gage’s truck. Well, wasn’t that just interesting . . . the scandalous Ms. Tinker Garrett was leaning back against it, laughing at something Gage had just said. He was standing just a little too close to her.
Dirty fucker.
I bit back a grin, pulling my bike up next to them.
“Hey there,” I said. “Aren’t you going to introduce me, Coop?”
“You got here earlier than I expected,” he said, eyes narrowing just a little, although his voice was friendly enough. “This is Tinker—looks like I’ll be renting from her. I need a place and she’s got one, so it works out perfect. Tinker, this is Levi, a good friend of mine.”
She turned toward me, smiling brightly. God, she really was a pinup girl. All shiny hair, innocent face, and a body that wouldn’t quit. Up close I could see she was older than I’d realized—probably in her mid-thirties. Shooting Gage a speculative look, I had to bite back a smirk.
He had a thing for her, big-time.
Wasn’t that just unfortunate as hell, given the fact that he’d spent the last week chasing Marsh’s little sister, Talia. She had a bangin’ body, but no softness. No, that girl was a first-class bitch. Wouldn’t be a bit surprised if she had a pussy full of teeth. Sharp teeth.