by A. C. Bextor
I lie anyway. “Yep, I’m good.”
Leglas rests his hands on either side of my chair, his eyes scanning my expression—searching. “Blue Eyes, you sure you’re good?”
Maybe it’s the wine, or the vodka. Maybe it’s the fact that I haven’t slept the last two nights because I’ve been doing it alone. Maybe because Leglas, my heart’s protector, is standing in front of me, heart open, and always willing to pull me in for a hug.
Leglas’s nostrils flare. Extending his arms, settling his hands to my pits, he yanks my ass from my chair and rests my cheek to his chest.
“You’ll be all right,” he comments tightly. “He’ll figure his shit out.”
Pulling my head back and craning my neck to look at him, I take in Leglas’s stony expression. “My man is an ass.”
Staring down at me intently, he runs his thumb down my nose and his lips twitch.
“He hurt you,” he figures.
My guess is that it was Vante who shared. I told Vante everything, as I always do. I decide here and now that their newly found kinship must be destroyed.
“I’ll be okay,” I assure.
Leglas cocks one dark brow, spearing me with incredulous determination. He shakes his head slowly—too slowly. I bury my concern for Gypsy and say no more.
Leglas does.
“Want me to snap his fuckin’ neck?” he offers on a harsh whisper.
“No. Not yet,” I refute. “But thank you, anyway.”
Leglas again searches my expression. Apparently disappointed in my answer, he steps back and demands, “Girls, get your shit together. Be out to the truck in five.”
Leglas kisses the crown of my head, doing this fast and hard. He grabs my hand and pulls me toward the door.
I look back, finding Wren’s mouth open. Klara’s smirking, Sunny’s scowling, and Mia’s busy cleaning.
We’re around the corner before I realize I hadn’t even gotten the chance to thank them all for friend therapy.
Damn.
“Fuck, but you two are sad and tragic,” Leglas starts in before I’m able to get close. “Not ever fuckin’ happy just bein’ happy.”
“Excuse me?”
“You’re more of an idiot than I gave you credit for,” he goes on to name call, holding his beer, glowering as I pull out the stool next to his. “And you gotta know, I’ve already given a lot of credit where it’s due.”
Fucking perfect.
The last thing I needed after walking around like the asshole I am, is to be dealt more loathing from fuck head himself.
Leglas had been sitting at the bar still in his cut, faded jeans, and boots. When I came down the stairs for a drink, he eyed me with suspicion. So much of it, he reeked of judgment.
The nasty son of a bitch has always been observant, and of course, today his talent for reading others is no less a pain in my ass.
“What the fuck are you talkin’ about?” I smart back, determined not to let him get one over on me.
“You’ve finally fuckin’ got her where you want her, and here you sit, not knowing what the fuck to do with her.”
Leglas’s mark hits true. I don’t share this with him, of course. Even if I didn’t hate him as much as I do, I wouldn’t because he’s enjoying every goddamn day of my misery.
I signal for Max to grab me a beer and he nods, heading straight for the cooler.
“Why the hell are you out here in the middle of the afternoon, anyway?” I query. “You got nothin’ else to do?”
“You mean, since you stole my woman and treated her like a goddamn slut?” he jabs with sarcasm. “Nope. Got no plans.”
Christ, nothing between a man and a woman is ever kept between them. Not here. Not ever.
“I should slice your throat for punishin’ her the way you did,” he threatens, genuinely unaffected by his warning. “You should’ve been proud of her for bein’ that brave in the first place.”
“What the fuck are you talking about, brave?”
“Don’t be stupid, Gypsy,” he sneers. You made her feel like what she did wasn’t worth the bravery it took to do it.”
“What she did wasn’t brave,” I declare. “It was stupid, and it could’ve gotten her killed.”
“Maybe so, but bravery can be blind to stupid.”
“She made a decision that could’ve hurt every person who loves her. Therefore, again, Leglas—stupid.”
“Oh, yeah?” he chides. “What you did to her in return wasn’t only stupid, it was vicious,” he bites back. Leaning over and thumping his finger to my temple, he goes on. “Had Cricket’s heart in my bed for months. During which, I got to know every fuckin’ piece of it. Rather than guard what she’s given you, you’re pissin’ it away.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” I deny.
Leglas shakes his head. “Like I said, you’re a fuckin’ idiot.”
I hate that he’s right. What I did was inexcusable. I fucked her as if she deserved being treated like a whore. My blood was boiling to the point of pain and I lashed out, marking her in the process of shielding my own in guilt for not seeing what she was about to do.
“What else is on your mind?” Leglas invites, suddenly taking an interest in my life.
Many things, I’d like to tell him, but settle with, “Cricket loves the club.”
“Yeah, we all do. What’s that got to do with the smell of shit?”
Charming as ever.
“How long have you known me?” I press.
“Too fuckin’ long to care.”
“Then you know I’ve done my share. What’s ever been asked of me, I gave with all I had.”
“True that,” he returns. “But, at the same time, you’ve always been lookin’ for reasons to get the fuck outta dodge. Joining the Army and taking off, number one.”
“I hold nothing against this life,” I tell him, meaning every word. “Saint’s is a family. I appreciate every opportunity given, through good and bad.”
“Yeah, and…?”
“I want more.”
Leglas nods, turning in place to face the mirror behind the bar. I do the same, wondering how the fuck he and I ever reached common ground. Fucked-up ground, that being a woman between us. Maybe he’s found peace because he knows somewhere deep, I’m leaving, and I have every intention of taking Cricket with me.
“You’re draggin’ her ass back to Texas, aren’t you?”
As though a conversation with Leglas isn’t punishment enough for my crime, him reading my thoughts is worse.
Nodding, I put my half empty beer on the bar. Leglas spins in his stool, looking out to the room while resting his elbows against the ledge and exhales. The material of his T-shirt stretches beneath his chest. Looking back, it’s a wonder I’m breathing without machines as many times as I’ve provoked the single-minded son of a bitch.
“Eventually. She’ll dig her heels in on this, so it’ll take some coaxing. You plannin’ to try and stop me from takin’ her?”
“Hell no,” he reverberates, lifting his bottle to his lips. Before taking another drink, he pauses. “But not because I think you deserve more outta your sorry life, but because she sure as fuck does.”
I agree. Now if she would understand this point my life would be full and plenty.
Stubborn woman.
A hit I hadn’t seen coming swings my way when Leglas boldly questions, “What makes you think you get her to Texas, away from every person she loves, that you’ll take care of her?”
“What the fuck kind of question is that?”
“A legit one,” Leglas claims. “And one I have a right to know the answer to.”
“You have a right to know the answer?”
“Everyone here does,” he returns, passively. “Just because she’s Mom, Pop, and Elevent’s girl, doesn’t mean the rest of us don’t give a shit.”
Deciding his question isn’t asked with malice, I answer, “I’ve loved Cricket most of her life.”
“Funny
way of showin’ it,” he mumbles.
“Everything I’ve ever done, every decision I made, was made for her best interest.”
Leglas chuckles at my return, bold and hearty. The dick.
“You believe this, then you’re an idiot and a fool,” he gets out, coming to focus on the television across the room.
“You don’t believe me, and I don’t give a shit.”
“Why do you think you can handle her now when you’ve done nothing but run from her for years?” An odd question coming from Leglas. The man, as far as I know, is incapable of caring about someone else more than himself.
“You gotta ask?”
Facing to the room, he reiterates, “Just did.”
“Cricket’s Cricket,” I start. “I’ve always loved her. She’s funny without knowing she’s being funny. She’s loveable even when she’s impossible.”
Leglas agrees. “She is all that.”
Broaching another subject, being as he and I are sitting in the same room sharing a beer, and for once not ready to choke each other to death, I decide I want to know.
“Why’d you keep her? When you knew all that time she wanted me?”
“Honestly?”
“Yeah, I’m curious.”
He studies his bottle of beer, spinning it in his hand. “Because if I didn’t, I knew someone else would. And maybe that someone wouldn’t have been as careful as I was.”
“You’re serious?”
“Completely. I’m not a guy who’d survive in prison,” he says. “But if any man hurt so much as a hair on her fucking head while you were off figurin’ out your fuckin’ shit, that’s where I’d have ended up.” Then he shrugs. “Easier to take her to my bed so no one else would try to fuck her in theirs.”
A mix of emotions stir in my gut. The best being he did what I couldn’t at the time. The worst being the visual image of Cricket anywhere near his bed.
“Well, you don’t need to protect her anymore.” My intending meaning comes in a harsh whisper.
“Puffing your chest at me for no reason again, fuckwad,” he name calls. “What she and I had was what she and I needed—at the time.”
“And now it’s done,” I assert, not in question, but in fact.
“You finally pull your head from your ass?” he fires back.
“Fuck you.”
Concluding his point, he offers, “Yeah, kid. It’s done.”
Kid. Fuck him.
“My head from my ass,” I repeat, testing the boundaries again. “Is that why you’ve always hated me?”
Leglas laughs, and I narrow my eyes, wondering what the ever-loving hell is going on. Leglas doesn’t laugh unless it’s toward something cruel and sinister. At that point, it’s not good times to be had. It’s more like rats scurrying from the sinking ship.
“Christ, Gypsy, I don’t hate you,” he shares. “You’ll never be my best friend solely because I’ve fucked your woman, repeatedly.”
And there it goes again, all the respect I’d leaned toward giving him. Fuck that. He’s still an ass.
Settling, he lightly insists, “I don’t hate you.”
Standing, I push my beer back to the bar. “Well, I still fuckin’ hate you.”
Leglas stares off, running his hand through his long hair, then down his face and beard. At closer inspection, I note he not only appears as though he could use a hot shower, but some sleep. And possibly a therapist. Then again, if he were to get one of those, he’d probably fuck her, too.
Christ, the man is a piece of work.
“You headed upstairs to settle shit between you two?”
“Yeah. I’m gonna try.”
“Glad you pulled your head out of your ass, Gypsy,” he tells me. “Now, go pull Cricket from hers.”
I lift my chin, turning to walk away, still wondering what the fuck is up with him. But then, in the same breath, thinking it’s probably better I don’t know.
As I toe the door open, I find Cricket’s room is dim. Her shower is running and the smell of lavender soap spills into her room.
Taking off my shirt, cut, and jeans, I make my way to the door. The haze of the fog and heat of the steam envelops the small area.
“Showering!” Cricket bids from behind the curtain.
I don’t reply. Instead, I drop the rest of my clothes, mixing them with hers on the floor.
“Helllllo?” she calls, her tone singsong happy. The smell of her shampoo becomes stronger and my cock stirs. “Mia, I promise, I’m good. A little hungover. I’ll be down for lunch in ten.”
Hungover. Nice.
If Cricket’s recovering, she’ll be weak and off her game, giving me the chance to say what needs said.
“Not Mia,” I announce.
As I’m about to pull the curtain open, the flimsy material is ripped from my grasp. Cricket’s furious face, covered in soap, shampoo, and water, pops out. Her lips are thinned and her skin is red.
“Get out,” she hisses, glaring over my head to the closed bathroom door.
“I won’t,” I reply, shoving the curtain wide, happy to view her naked.
I’d been pissed the last time we were in the shower together. As damaged as she was, I still wanted her.
Turning, Cricket ignores I’m here, keeping her attention to her hair. Foam from the shampoo drips down her back, sliding between the crack of her ass, until falling from her long legs to the shower floor.
My stirring cock starts to ache.
“No time to talk to you,” she relays. “I’m meeting the girls downstairs for lunch.”
When I step in behind her, Cricket huffs, advancing one away. She’s forced under the spray, closing her eyes against the cascade of water.
I use this to my advantage.
Running my finger down her back, I insist, “Forgive me.” She ignores me so I add, “I was a dick, Cricket. I was pissed.”
When she still doesn’t respond, I palm my hands over her hips and pull her back into my chest. She attempts a small step forward, but I refuse.
“Get out of my room,” she orders tersely, keeping her hands to her hair. A weak attempt being the shampoo is long gone. “I said I don’t have time for you right now.”
“Give me three minutes.”
Twisting around, Cricket steps out of the water, bringing her closer and settling her attention on me. The fight not to run my hands over her body is a pained struggle.
“Three minutes, then,” she sneers. “You’ve had days to get your shit together, but sure, Gypsy. Why not?”
“I thought you were dead,” I tell her. Cricket’s wet brows raise with confusion. “I stood in that field looking down to where Vante had you in his arms.”
“Gypsy.” My name said isn’t out of understanding or pity, but exasperation.
She doesn’t get it.
“Twenty seconds passed, and you still hadn’t moved. Twenty seconds of my life ticked by in slow motion, thinking you were gone from me for good.”
“Well, I wasn’t,” she tells me, signaling down to her small, naked body.
Looking down between us, her small pink nipples are tight from the cool air. My cock throbs harder.
“I was pissed, and I took that out on you,” I further explain.
“You think?” she snaps. “I was there, Gypsy. Me. The mediocre fuck, remember?”
Of all of this, I’m content to know that my fucking her the way I did isn’t what she dwelled over. She’s not pissed I took her rough, working out my fear and anger while using her body in the most carnal of ways to do it.
She’s holding on to this because of my bullshit way of making her feel as inconsequential and small as I felt.
“I’m sorry, Cricket,” I admit sincerely. “Swear to God, I deserve you bein’ pissed. But at least understand why I was a prick.”
Cricket looks away, concentrating on the curtain.
“I saw you go down. I was the only one there who could help any of those people. Yet, I had no fucking way to get to you.
”
Turning away, she lets the water rinse over her body.
I wrap my arm around her stomach, my hand dropping south. She doesn’t stop this, so I push, using my fingers to spread her open to expose her clit.
Closing my eyes, circling, but not touching what will eventually ignite, I move my mouth to her ear and demand, “Forgive me.”
Cricket’s stomach clenches. Her hands fall to her sides, and her body strings tight. I glide a finger over her clit and she rolls the back of her head against my shoulder.
“Cricket, forgive me,” I urge again.
Running my finger over her again, she takes in a breath and turns her head to the side. I slide a finger into her slick center and push my hips forward.
“I’m pissed at you,” she tells me. “Or I was,” she decides with petulance.
She said was. This is good. I’m getting through.
Sliding another finger deep inside, my thumb manipulates her clit with added aggression.
“You’re not pissed anymore?” I bait.
Shaking her head, she shoves her ass into my cock, and I thrust my fingers harder. She stands on the tips of her toes, offering better access.
“I’m not pissed anymore,” she mumbles, dropping her head to watch my fingers fuck her faster.
“I love you, Cricket.” I kiss the side of her neck.
Cricket gasps and arches her back. Her chest heaves with exertion, her attention focused to my hand. Her knees go slack and her hips move, giving into the ride for all it’s worth.
When she starts to lose balance, she flattens both palms to the shower wall.
She’s close. So am I. I’m running out of time.
So many goddamn times we were apart, I’d picture this, fucking her in the shower, hot and wet, inside and out.
Owning my mind’s eye, I instruct, “Spread your legs.”
Without hesitation, Cricket complies.
“Forgive me,” I insist, pushing on her back to get her to bend.
I grab my cock and position it at her entrance. She moans and strains her neck toward the ceiling.
“Fuck, you want that,” I hiss, sliding the tip inside.
“Gypsy, please.”
Slipping out then back in I insist, “Say you forgive me.”
“I love you,” she utters, shoving her body back for more.
