Page 9 of A Light in the Darkness
Normalcy.
I don’t think Rhea knows what normal is, either. “Besides,” she smirks, knowing whatever she’s about to say is going to get a reaction out of me. “Remy would hate it.”
I blink, processing her words for a minute before they sink in. Remy would hate it. I’m pretty sure Remy would hate me fucking anyone besides him. He was pretty clear that even though there was no future between us, he wanted me to stay and continue to let him destroy me. He may not care for me, but he definitely liked fucking me. Obviously, that part was mutual. “Remy would hate it?”
“He told me so.” She grins, trying to contain her glee. “He told me, ‘Don’t fuck Moose, okay?” Her voice drops an octave in a poor impersonation of her brother. “I don’t want you to get involved with a man like that’.”
“An asshole?” I guess. “Because your brother is kind of an asshole, and he didn’t mind me hooking up with him.”
That gets a laugh out of her, but she shakes her head. I haven’t told her everything that happened between her brother and me. She knows everything up to the night of the funeral, but once she started having her own mental health crisis, I decided to keep the darker details from her. She knows that Wes got away when Remy and I were together, but she doesn’t know that Remy went into a jealous rage because I didn’t want Wes to die. She also doesn’t know he called me a bitch in heat or threw me over the side of his boat. And she definitely doesn’t know that I still get wet every timeI think about the way he threw me on his bed and tied me up with the strings of my own bikini. I think I’d rather die than tell her that.
“Who knows?” She shakes her head. “And who cares? He fucked with your heart, you fuck with his head.”
As fun as that sounds, I’m not sure Remy’s annoyance is worth fucking my bodyguard. I mean, Moose is hot. Sinfully, so. He’s all hard edges, darkness without the shiny lacquer. He’s everything Remy isn’t, and yet they’re cut from the same cloth. I don’t doubt that Moose would break me harder than Remy… which is exactly what I asked for.
I purse my lips together, trying not to even debate the merits of having meaningless sex with another man. “You think I’m petty enough to sleep with him because Remy wouldn’t like it?” I laugh, and Rhea doesn’t hesitate to join me.
“You’ve known me long enough to take notes, Claire. Iguaranteeyou could be petty enough. Besides, this isn’t a dime store novel. I mean, what does he think? If he can’t have you, no one can?” She scoffs. “Fuck that and fuck him. I mean, not literally.” She chews the tip of her nail in thought as she contemplates her words. “FuckMooseliterally and Remy metaphorically.”
I laugh, unable to help it. She’s a bad influence. Always has been, and yet she’s good for me. She has a way of knowing what I need even when I don’t.
And Rhea is right, I deserve to have a little fun.
***
Taco Tuesdays are actually my favorite day of the week, particularly because tonight, we’re going out. Moose was similarly appalled by the idea of cooking on the counter that Rhea and Eli fucked on, and neither of us trusted them enough to keep their hands off each other long enough to cook the meat.
Unfortunately, that means I’m stuck in the car with Moose on the way there so that Rhea can give Eli road head. They didn’t say as much, but that’s the conclusion that we came to when he grabbed his own set of keys after Moose already had his in hand.
“Fucking children.” He grumbles, slipping behind the wheel and fitting his key in the ignition.
“You don’t like kids?” I tease, deciding it’s too early in the night to be in a bad mood. I decide not to match his glowering this time, though a ride in silence may be the better option.
“Nobody likes kids.” Moose snaps, cutting his eyes to me. “Let me guess, you were one of seven who grew up on a farm and babysat the commune children for free?”
I glare at him, wondering which part of that was supposed to be offensive before I realize he meant itallto be offensive. “Only child.” I say, glancing out the window at the cars that we pass, the lights that seem to bloom bright but then pass by so quickly. “Though I did live in lots of foster homes with multiple children, and sometimes I babysat the younger ones. Not that that was legal or anything, so usually just for a little at a time.”
“While the adults went to the corner store to meet the neighborhood drug dealer?”
“Jesus,” I shake my head at him. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
“Too many things to list, princess.” He flashes me a cocky grin that has no business being as attractive as it is. “But I’m more interested in what’s wrong with you, which is why I’m asking. You have to have a story, and there has to be a reason that Remington Boudreaux is paying me more than your tuition to keep you safe.”
I only stare at him, wondering how much my tuition actually costs. I’ve never bothered to look, since it’s all covered by scholarships. But now that I’m thinking about it, it has to be a lot. And Remy is paying him more than that?
“I don’t know how much my tuition is because I’m a scholarship kid.” I wait for him to make fun of me for that, but Moose keepshis eyes trained on the road ahead, so I continue. “How much is he paying you?”
“Not enough,” he shakes his head. “Considering how damn annoying you are. Do you ever just answer a question instead of talking circles around it?”
“I’m not—” I cut myself off, clearing my throat, and tuck my hair behind my ear. “Do you get off on trauma, Moose? You want all the gory details?”
“It takes a lot to get me off, princess. And no, hearing people’s sob stories doesn’t get me hard, so you’re safe.”
I roll my eyes at him though he’s not even looking to see it. “How about you tell meyoursob story?” I challenge. “Or, better yet, let me guess? You’re the oldest of three, your father left after you were born, and…” I pause, mulling it over, “and your mommy didn’t love you enough to stay sober. Am I close?”
I was aiming to piss him off, but Moose only laughs. “Youngest of two and mommy didn’t love me enough to stay alive after what happened to her. Good call on the daddy thing, though.”
His answer stuns me to silence for a moment. I’m just about to tell him I’m sorry when he starts speaking again. “My sister is only four years older than me, but she provided when our mom died. I don’t know how she did it, but she got food on the table, and she kept the state out of our house. She was only fifteen, but she managed somehow. Didn’t want the system to separate us.”
