Purely Wicked: The Moore Cousins

by Abby Brooks

  Of course, the details of me actually leaving get really complicated. Not only do I not have a car or any savings to speak of—yay for Cain’s video game addiction, his need for instant gratification, and his insistence that all my money go into his bank account—but I’m also really worried about how Cain will take the news.

  He’s always had a problem with anger. He’s never, ever hit me, but he has hit the wall. The doorframe. The TV. He’s thrown stuff across the room and smashed his fist through our old glass coffee table. When he gets like that, I get scared. Fear is a funny thing. It doesn’t listen to facts and reason; it just grabs hold of an idea and runs with it. Even though I have no concrete reason to believe he would hurt me, I’m fully aware that there’s a first time for everything. On top of that, Cain gets in these moods where all he can talk about is wanting to die. In fact, more than once, he’s told me that if I ever left him, he’d kill himself. That’d be it for him. He’d be done. Life. Over.

  I never know how to react when he says that. I always just smile and tell him not to be silly while internally rolling my eyes at his drama and filing the statement away under Reasons to Be Afraid of Cain Holt. Now that I’ve finally decided to leave, all those reasons have resurfaced and I’m frozen. Stuck between my need to get out and my ever-growing certainty that one of us will end up hurt when I finally sit him down to say what I need to say.

  Today, however, is not the day. I’ve got a shift at the bar in a couple hours and I’m cleaning up the house as best I can so there’s not a mess waiting for me when I get home. As I pluck a few cans out of Cain’s trash garden on the coffee table, my phone starts buzzing in my pocket. Cain pauses his game and glares at me as I dig it out and show him the caller ID. It’s work and I hold my breath, hoping it’s Sam on the other end and not Jackson. I accept the call and put it on speakerphone, as per Cain’s request.

  “Hey, Ashley. It’s Sam.” I try not to show how relieved I feel to hear his voice because Cain’s watching me like a hawk. “I had a shipment come in early. Can you come in early and help unload?”

  I send him a little mental note of gratitude for saying I instead of we and shoot Cain a questioning look. He nods his permission and I inwardly cringe to recognize that this is a thing that’s happening in my life. That I have to get his okay to go to work. He drives me in and the silence between us is both welcome and sharp enough to take my breath away. I’ve never been so glad to see him drive off.

  When I get inside, Jackson smiles. His eyes meet mine and it’s like I can breathe again. “Thanks for helping out, Sunshine.”

  I smile in return and duck my head, unnerved by the contrast between here and home. Between the car ride and now. Between Cain and Jackson. I throw myself into the job, determined to keep my focus on the task at hand rather than letting my thoughts drift to how sexy Jackson looks in his jeans and t-shirt. I shouldn’t be noticing how well he wears his clothes. I shouldn’t be falling into his eyes. I shouldn’t be walking near him, hoping for tiny moments of contact as his arms brush mine.

  But I do all of those things, anyway.

  It’s heavy work and today is unseasonably warm. Sweat trickles down my back and in between my breasts as I carry a big box of whatever it is Sam and Jackson ordered into the storage room.

  “Here silly,” says Jackson as he comes out of the manager’s office and catches me breathing hard. “Let me take that.”

  “I’ve got it. It’s not too heavy.” That’s a bald-faced lie. It’s very heavy and my arms got tired about five boxes ago.

  “I know you can get it. That doesn’t mean I can’t help.” Jackson takes the box out of my hands and his fingers brush mine. I’m way too aware of the momentary contact and my body goes into high alert, remembering so many nights of his skin on mine.

  God, I was so young and so in love and so totally brainwashed by the idea of true love and soulmates. I swore he was my one and only. Hell, I spent hours writing my first name with his last name. Ashley Moore. I roll my eyes at the silly girl I used to be. I think I’ll just stay Ashley Thompson, thank you very much. The last couple years with Cain haven’t exactly sold me on the joys of forever.

  “What is this stuff?” I ask, surveying the bar with all the boxes stacked on the tables. I wipe the sweat off my forehead with the back of my arm, surprised by the dirt and grime on my skin.

  “You’ll laugh at me.” Jackson pulls out a chair and sits down.

  “Try me.”

  “Nah.” He widens his legs and shifts in his seat, thrusting his hips forward to get comfortable. My eyes go right to his dick before I have the good sense to look him in the face. By the way the corners of his lips pull up, he saw me look and he liked it. “You’ll just have to find out like everyone else.”

  Blinking away my embarrassment, I tilt my head towards my shoulder. “Since when have I ever been like everyone else?”

  Jackson purses his lips and makes a face like he’s considering the validity of my statement. “That’s true. I don’t think anyone could ever get away with calling you normal. I mean, just the other day you admitted to imagining me as a cowboy. What self-respecting adult says stuff like that?”

  I want to punch him in the arm just like I would have in the past. I can’t remember a time when he wasn’t teasing me for all the crazy things I said or did.

  “Oh, come on. You love the way my imagination works. Admit it.”

  “I wouldn’t change a thing about you, Sunshine.” He smiles at me and there’s a look as old and familiar as this conversation burning in his eyes.

  His gaze captures mine and my lips part. I can’t get a full breath and every single thought in my head just evaporated in the nuclear blast of whatever it is that I’m feeling right now. I clear my throat and wipe my hands on my pants before wandering over to inspect one of the boxes. “Spill it, Moore. What is all this stuff?”

  Jackson runs a hand up into his hair, rests his head in his palm, and then peeks up at me through his eyebrows. “I’m planning a Halloween party. Here at the bar. To celebrate me buying the place. Let people get to know me a little and show everyone that there’s nothing to worry about. Fantastic Sam’s will still be the best place to spend a Friday night.” He laughs and finishes running his hand through his hair before sitting back in the chair. “It’s a dumb idea, isn’t it?”

  “Are you kidding me? It’s a fantastic idea. Is there a theme? Are you gonna do costumes? Ohh!” I clap my hands together, giddy with excitement. “Will there be prizes?” The idea of a Halloween party is almost more than I can handle.

  Jackson chuckles, smiling at my enthusiasm. “Honestly, I don’t know. I just had the idea a couple days ago and ordered some decorations and a whole shit load of extra liquor. I’ve got a few weeks to get it all sorted out.” He slaps his hands on his thighs and stands. “We need to get a move on if we’re going to get these put away in time to open. You ready to get back to work?”

  “You bet your sweet ass I am.”

  Jackson twists and looks over his shoulder, down at his own butt. “It is pretty sweet.”

  We spend the rest of the afternoon getting all the boxes opened and unpacked in the storage room. Judging by the mishmash of items Jackson purchased, he’s a long way from making this party into something memorable. He’s got a lot of liquor, which is great. Some absinthe, which I’m kind of excited to try but I’m not sure the rest of Bliss will feel the same. The rest? It’s just a bunch of weird decorations and Halloween themed snacks.

  After getting the bar put back to rights, I take a moment to clean myself up. No one likes a sweaty waitress and I can’t handle a night of bad tips because of the stink factor. Not now, not while I’m trying to figure out how to leave Cain. Aria arrives in a cloud of flowers and coconut, her dark hair framing her face. She smiles and waggles her eyebrows at Jackson’s ass as he bends over to pull something out from a low shelf under the bar.

  “So. Hot,” she mouths, fanning herself. A surge of jealousy clamps my
lips together while guilt chases right along after it, pointing its finger at my traitorous heart. I have no right to feel possessive of Jackson. None at all.

  And that’s the last moment I find to stand still long enough to have one clear thought for the rest of the night. The entire town of Bliss must be here and I think each of them brought at least three out of town friends. A typical night at Fantastic Sam’s is busy, but I can’t remember a time when we’ve been this busy. I had no reason to worry about my tips. None at all.

  Cain shows up around eleven and sits at a table in my section the rest of the night, throwing back way too many rum and Cokes. If he’s not smiling at his phone, texting back and forth with someone he apparently finds hilarious, he’s glowering at me as I fly around the room, balancing trays laden with food with an expert precision only another waitress could appreciate. I make it a point to avoid Jackson.

  I don’t look at him.

  I don’t stand near him.

  I even go the long way on my treks back and forth from the kitchen to the tables so I don’t accidentally walk past him.

  I know Cain’s just waiting for a chance to make a scene. All he needs is one moment of eye contact between me and Jackson to lose his shit. And considering the amount of rum he’s had in the last several hours, we’d be in for the world championship of shit losing. The last thing I want is to suffer through that here. In public. Where I’d get to be humiliated in front of the whole town and their plus three’s. Again.

  I’m halfway to a table with a tray of too many drinks when I realize I forgot to grab the ramekin of ranch they asked for. My mind is too wrapped up around Cain and all his drama to pay proper attention to what I’m doing. I pivot and change direction just as the guy at table seven scoots back his chair to stand up. It bangs into my hip and catches my foot. I lose my balance, dropping the entire tray of drinks down my chest as I crash and tumble towards the floor.

  Of course, Jackson is right there. And double of course, he catches me before I can hit the ground. And triple of course, my entire body ignites with the memory of how good it used to feel to be wrapped up in his arms, transposed over how good it feels right now to be wrapped up in his arms. His voice is low when he whispers in my ear, just like it used to be. A moment meant just for us.

  “It’s all good,” he says as he helps me to my feet. “I’ve got you.”

  It’s the same thing he said the night he took my virginity, caressing my face and kissing my lips, his hands tracing lightly over my ribs and around the swell of my breasts while I stared up at him, falling so deeply into his eyes I never thought I’d find my way out again. I barely have time to register the quiver of electricity coursing through my body before Cain is out of his seat, stumbling and wobbling and pointing in our direction.

  “Get your motherfucking hands off her!” His voice carries through the bar and people stop mid-conversation to stare, eyes wide.

  “Dude,” says some guy at one of the tables. “She was falling…”

  Cain strides over to us, faltering as the rum destroys his balance. Jackson still has his arm wrapped around me and instead of letting me go, he pulls me even closer. “Don’t do this, man,” he says to Cain.

  “You bitch.” Cain points at me, venom in his eyes, spittle flying from his mouth. “Little cunt. Can’t keep your legs closed, can you?”

  If there are truly defining moments in our lives—times we’ll look back on from our place of age and wisdom and say ‘that’s when it all changed’—this is one. I lift my chin. Square my shoulders. Instead of backing away, I step forward.

  “You don’t get to talk to me like that.”

  My voice is clear and even.

  Cain leans in. “I get to talk to you any way I feel like.”

  I shake my head. “Not anymore. Get out of here, Cain. I’m done. I’ve been done. I don’t want you anymore.”

  Cain laughs, a gunshot of a sound. “You can’t survive without me. You can’t manage one thing by yourself. Where are you gonna live, Ashley? How are you gonna get to work? You’re nothing without me.” He stabs me in the chest with his pointer finger.

  I brush it away and take a deep breath. “Leave.” That’s all he gets. One word. I’m too afraid I’ll fall to pieces if I let anything else out.

  His jaw drops open and I’ve never seen anyone look so ugly in all my life. “You’ll be back.” He spins in a circle, addressing the entire room. “She’ll be back, crawling on her dirty cunt knees.” He finishes his circle, lifts both his middle fingers as he stares me down, takes a few stumbling steps backwards, and then disappears out the door.

  What follows is kind of lost to the roar of emotion in my head. I’m shaking, literally trembling from head to toe, and tears have blossomed in my eyes even though I’m not even close to feeling sad. I’m so relieved I can barely breathe. Jackson wraps an arm around my shoulders and leads me back to the breakroom as people break into light applause before getting back to their Friday night.

  Jackson helps me into a chair and then kneels in front of me. “I’m so proud of you.” He brushes a stray lock of hair out of my eyes. His gaze drops to my chest before he looks back up, a strange look passing across his face. “Do you have a spare shirt?”

  I’m confused by the question until I look down. The thin white cotton of my t-shirt is now completely see through, thanks to the tray of drinks I spilled on myself out there. Not only is the thin, pink lace of my bra totally visible, but so are my very taut nipples. I cross my arms over myself and shake my head.

  Jackson clears his throat before dragging his own shirt off. “Put this on,” he says.

  Now it’s my turn to pretend I’m not staring. Jackson’s always been muscular, but when we were younger he was more lean and wiry. He’s filled out considerably since then. His arms and chest are hard and sculpted and the ridges of his stomach angle down to one of those sexy V’s at his waistband.

  I take his shirt and our eyes meet. It’s just a moment, a fraction of a second, but I swear it’s another one of those life-defining things. Then he blinks and it disappears. A puff of smoke, caught in the wind, there and then gone. Nebulous and fragile. I turn my back to him and struggle out of my wet shirt, overly aware of all my bare skin out on display before I slip on his shirt. It’s too big and it smells like him.

  “What did I just do?” I ask as I turn back around. There’s no denying the lust in Jackson’s eyes but he blinks it away and takes my hand.

  “You stood up for yourself.” Jackson turns as Aria pokes her head in through the door.

  “Whoa!” Her eyes go wide as she very blatantly stares at Jackson’s bare chest. “Work out much?” She comes into the breakroom without waiting for him to reply, a tray of tequila shots balanced on her hand. “I mean, I’ve heard of washboard abs, but damn.” She sets the tray down on the table and turns to me. “Thought we should celebrate your sudden and well-deserved freedom. Figured Boss man wouldn’t mind.” She plucks a shot glass from the tray and tosses Jackson a questioning look. He shrugs, hands one to me before taking one for himself, and then we all clink glasses and throw back the shot.

  The liquor burns on its way down and I wish like hell Aria had brought some lemon slices. “But seriously,” I say after wiping my mouth. “What the hell did I just do? I don’t have a car. I don’t have a place to go. The apartment is in his name so it’s not like I can kick him out even though I’m the one who pays the rent.”

  “That’s a good thing, though.” Aria offers me an encouraging smile. “The apartment thing. He can’t ruin your credit if it’s in his name.” Normally I’m the one looking for the silver lining while Aria goes into crises mode. Our role reversal is not lost on me.

  “Yeah, but…” I flare my hands. “Where am I supposed to live?”

  Jackson doesn’t miss a beat. “With me.” He smiles and I cling to the hope it gives me. “I’ve got too much space and an empty room with your name on it. You’ll just have to put up with the other woman in my
life.”

  Shit. I forgot. Jackson is married. “Will your wife be okay with me staying with you guys until I get on my feet?” His eyes cloud over and I realize that he probably expected me to turn him down. I shake my head and sit back. “I mean, I can’t impose on you guys like that.”

  Jackson blinks slowly and I’m too worked up to untangle what I think I see on his face. “No, no,” he says. “It’s totally fine. Nothing about you has ever been an imposition. But I’m not married, Ashley. I was talking about my daughter.”

  Chapter Four

  Ashley gasps as we pull up to my house. “You live here?” She spins in the passenger seat, eyes wide, lips parted. “Damn, Moore. I knew you did well for yourself, but I didn’t know you’d done this well.”

  The moon hangs high, casting glittering lines of silver across the waves rolling up to the beach behind the house. Palm trees bend lightly in the breeze and there’s just enough light to see the immensity of the place without noticing it’s utter lack of pretention. If I were to stay here, I could easily see me buying the place from Ian.

  “Just how closely were you following me on Facebook?” I wink at her as the garage door goes up and I pull into the well-lit space. There’s enough room for three cars here, but seeing as how I only have the one, the garage has as many echoes as the rest of the house.

  “I spent a lot of time stalking your profile,” she admits as I put the car in park and kill the engine. “I was proud of you. You weren’t exactly on the fast track to success when we first met. You pulled a total one-eighty. You got out of here and made a life for yourself instead of getting stuck.”

  This little flame of pride blooms in my belly and I watch her as she gets out of the car and surveys the cavernous garage. My dick twitches, seeing her in my shirt, remembering the moment when she turned away to change in the breakroom. That intimate glimpse of her back, made all the more tantalizing by the fact that I know what it is to touch that skin, to run my hands up from her ass, across her shoulders, and into her hair.