I laughed. Rachel could wear a sack and I would think she looked amazing. Or she could wear nothing . . . I preferred her in nothing. I cleared my throat and had to look away from Rachel when I started picturing her naked.
“Four, and probably the most important if you want to keep your manhood, do not ever ask if she is PMS-ing. No matter what. Might as well dig your own grave if you do that.”
Too late. I was always asking Rach if that was why she was in a bad mood. And if I was right, there was no way in hell I was going to tell her I was in the wrong. She could bitch about it if she wanted, but I wasn’t going to go easy on her for the sake of getting out of an argument. Arguing with her was one of my favorite things.
Nodding, I slapped my dad’s shoulder and smiled. “Thanks, Dad, I’ll remember all that.”
“. . . have to go back and see if they’re still there.” Mom was excited about something, and from the look of it, Rachel was too.
“Yeah, we do! Anyway, I just had to tell you about that, I knew you’d flip,” Rach mumbled as she flattened the last box of shoes. Thank God Mary Poppins’s box had officially emptied out.
“That was a lovely story”—Dad drawled again—“and you tell it so well, with such enthusiasm.”
Mom rolled her eyes and shook her head as she smiled, and Rachel just looked at my dad like she was about to let him have it. At the last second, her head jerked back. “Wait. Forrest Gump . . . really, Rich? You’re using Forrest Gump quotes to insult me?”
“You have met your match, honey!” Mom cheered, and Dad just huffed in annoyance toward them, but shot me a wink.
“She doesn’t put up with your bullshit or mine. Son, I’m telling you, you better hold on tight to that one.”
“I will, Dad. Rach, are you done with the shoes?”
“I’m not sure. If you bring up my shoes again, I could probably sit here and rearrange them, maybe set them up by color, size of the heel, and length of the boot.”
“Woman, get out of the damn closet. I have to put this up, and if you coordinate your shoes, I swear to you they will be in a pile on the floor the next time you come in here.”
“Logan Kash Ryan!” Mom chided at the same time Rachel swore, “I will gut you.”
My little Sour Patch. So fucking cute when she’s threatening my life.
“Wait, what are you putting up?” she asked as she walked out of the closet, which was big enough for a car.
“Fake wall.”
“Uh. Why?”
“Kind of like a really cheap safe room. Actually, that’s a lie. It’s just for you to hide behind if someone were to break in or something.”
She laughed loudly and kissed my throat. “Kash, really? You’re being just a little bit paranoid. We’re not putting up a fake wall.”
Before she could move away, I wrapped an arm around her and pulled her close. “Babe. I almost lost you once, I’ll be working shitty hours and there will be a lot of nights you’re here alone. This is for my peace of mind, don’t be difficult.”
“Nothing is going to—”
“Rachel, stop. We’re putting up the wall.”
“You’re being paranoid!”
I kissed her hard once before pushing her gently away. “I probably am, but I don’t care. With all the clothes hung up, you won’t even notice it’s there. And if something happens, it’s there for you to hide behind. I love you, but I’m getting my way on this, okay?”
She rolled her eyes and gave my mom a look that Mom clearly understood, since she started laughing. “All right, Kash. If you want to put up the fake wall to help you sleep at night—er, to keep you happy when you’re away—then have at it.”
Rachel
“OH MY WORD, this is a disaster,” I whispered as I pulled yet another shirt off my body and threw it on the bed before heading back to the closet.
I’d been in Florida for two weeks, and we’d spent every day with Mason, his family, or Kash’s parents; so Kash told me yesterday that he was taking me on a date tonight. I had been excited about time with just him . . . but then last night happened.
I’d had my first dream about Blake in over a month, and to make matters worse, Kash had been gone because he’d gotten a call from the police department as we were getting ready for bed and then left minutes later to go help. Apparently word on the street was two gangs were getting ready to have it out. I’d laughed and said it sounded a little West Side Story-ish, but when Kash told me there’d already been a lot of bloodshed between the two, and the body count would be high if they didn’t prevent it from happening, I’d shut my mouth.
Ever since I’d woken up in a cold sweat at 3:00 A.M., I’d been edgy, terrified to turn a corner in the house, and having flashbacks of everything that had gone down with Blake last year. I was ready for him to be gone from my life. It was ridiculous that even in death, he still found ways to torture me.
Now I was running fifteen minutes late and I still couldn’t find something that would cover all my scars. I didn’t pay a lot of mind to them now, since they’d faded significantly, but after the dream, it was like they were neon signs on my body screaming, “Look, look, look, look, looooooook!”
I grabbed a thin, long-sleeved shirt and threw it on, but the MINE on my chest was flashing its bitchy, bright lights at me; so I grabbed a button-up shirt and pulled it over. Even though the top buttons couldn’t button without looking all kinds of messed up because of the size of my chest, the collar still covered the little scar.
There. I’m ready now.
“Rach, what are you wearing? It’s hot outside.”
Don’t care. “It’s winter,” I reasoned as I caught Kash’s gaze in the mirror.
His gray eyes were heating as they trailed over my nonexistent ass, and while I loved that he was appreciating the view, I wasn’t in the mood to be checked out right now. I was having a mini freak-out. Tonight was going to be an epic fail if I couldn’t stop thinking Blake was going to randomly show up at the movie or restaurant.
Blake’s dead. He died in Texas. Blake’s dead. He died in Texas, I continued to chant to myself over and over again, but it wasn’t helping.
“Yeah, but it’s also seventy today.” Kash’s voice broke through my inner-chanting. “Take off the shirt underneath.”
“I’m fine.”
Wrapping an arm around my waist, he pulled me so my back was against his chest and brought his lips to the sensitive spot behind my ear. “I know you’re fine, but you’re gonna be too hot,” he whispered, his voice dropping even lower as he began slowly unbuttoning my shirt.
Goose bumps covered my body when the cool metal of his lip ring brushed against my skin, and I felt myself getting ready to say I would do whatever he asked of me. He was such a cheater. He knew what that piercing did to me.
“Open your eyes, Rachel.”
I did as I was told, and found his gunmetal gray eyes looking directly into mine. Even through the reflection of the mirror, I could feel the heat from them and sense the want. His hands trailed over my chest, waist, and stomach; the pressure was so light I almost couldn’t feel it, but it was doing insane things to my stomach, and my breathing quickly escalated. I watched as he slowly took my top shirt off, the movement of his hands so calculated and controlled, it felt like we had just entered some form of foreplay.