Page 92 of Mourner for Hire
I saw the awkward goodbye as he and Vada left Something Sweet. I saw that they shared a horse like he was a prince rescuing the princess from a dragon… or a decrepit dark wood monster from The Princess Bride.
And I saw the fucking kiss. I don’t think I’ve unclenched my jaw since.
But as proud as he is of himself, he shouldn’t be. I know what Vada looks like when she loses her inhibitions. I know her eyes do this dreamy, come-get-me thing when she wants more. I know how her hands move and how she melts her body to the person she wants.
She didn’t do any of that with Connor. He may as well have kissed his sister.
Then I saw her wince as she turned away and her gaze landed on me. For a split-second, her guard slipped, and she looked almost happy to see me.
I didn’t mean to notice or watch any of those things, but it just so happened that I was picking up more espresso beans from the coffee roaster on Beach Street before I had to rush back to the bar. I had no intention of analyzing any of it, but—hate it or love it—when Vada’s in my proximity, she always has my full attention.
A part of me wonders if it’s all part of this elaborate game she’s playing. She’s clever enough. Calculated, when she wants to be. But I know the particular shade of pink that rises in her cheeks when she’s been kissed the way she likes—slow and aching, the kind that pulls her in instead of pushing her away. That flush wasn’t there. Not even close. Her face was clear, her expression indifferent at best.
Her body language alone clearly stated she would rather be cutting her fingernails with kid scissors than spending the afternoon with Connor. And while he is what most women would call a “nice guy,” he is inept at identifying true chemistry, making him the annoying lipstick birds that badger beachgoers until they offer them some potato chips.
Even still, seeing his mouth on hers made me unreasonably jealous.
He cracks his neck and drums his fingers on the mahogany bar as he takes a seat next to Marv and Henry. They’ve been drinking since we opened two hours ago, coming straight from their job site with dirty Carhartt’s and dusty brows.
“What’ll it be tonight?” I ask, pouring from the draft for Ronnie and Claire over at the pool table.
“Jack and Coke,” he answers.
“You got it.”
I slide him the drink, and he takes a sip, still wearing that stupid grin. He looks at me like he has something to say, but he doesn’t speak. I hate when people do shit like that. If you have something on your mind, speak up.
I brace the bar, leaning in expectantly.
“I went horseback riding with Vada.”
A fact I already knew.
“How romantic.” My tone remains as dull as a butter knife.
“It was great. She’s funny, Dunner. And she works really hard,” he tells me.
I snort.
“What? Does she actually kill her clients, too? Is she a fucking murderer with a side of serial con artistry?” I take a sip of coffee and lean against the bar.
“No, she’s actually quite empathetic. She has a funeral tomorrow that she said she’s nervous about. She said she gets nervous every time because she doesn’t want to screw it up. She told me about all the different types of funerals she goes to and how she has to follow her clients’ wishes to a tee no matter how uncomfortable it makes her.”
“And how will they know? They’re fucking dead.”
He shrugs. “That’s where her integrity shows. She follows their wishes in pure good conscience.”
I lean back on the liquor shelf behind me and cross my arms. “Ah, so saintly.”
“I don’t think you need to be giving her as hard a time as you are.”
“I’m not giving her any kind of time. She can rot, for all I care.”
Connor laughs. “I’ve never seen this side of you.”
My face twists. “What side?”
“The side where you get your panties in a twist. I’ve never seen a woman affect you like this. Your feathers are completely ruffled no matter how tough you’re trying to be.”
