Truly, Madly, Whiskey(4)
“I ask myself that question every time I visit.” She looked away. “Some sort of warped sense of loyalty, I suppose.”
Her mother rose to her feet, talking around her cigarette. “Don’t be so stuck-up. You came from my womb. You have my blood in you, girlie. You’re no better than me, so don’t you dare judge me.”
Crystal forced herself to dig deep and find the calm voice she used with overbearing parents at the boutique. “I’m not judging you, Mom. I just wish you’d stop judging Jed and Dad.”
“Hey, how about we change the subject.” Jed winked at Crystal. “How’s your boyfriend?”
“What boyfriend?”
He laughed. “Uh-oh. Did you break up?”
She rolled her eyes. “With…?”
“Bear? The guy who had his arm around you at Tru’s Christmas party and again at the Easter parade? Did you forget I was there?”
“He isn’t my boyfriend.” Although he’s played a starring role in my dreams for months. “There is no boyfriend. Same as last time and probably the same as next time.”
Their mother scoffed. “She can’t keep a man. A man touches her and she flips out.”
The night of the attack, and the reason she’d left college, came rushing back. Why she’d thought she could confide in her mother was beyond her. The hell with this.
She stormed across the room and grabbed her bag. “Sorry, Jed. I’ve got to get out of here.”
“That’s it. Run away, just like always.” Her mother waved a hand and picked up her fork, stabbing at her food.
“Whatever.” She was so sick of the same old shit; her mother was barely worth the energy of her halfhearted response.
“Jesus, Mom. Give her a break.” Jed pushed to his feet and stood between the table and Crystal, thankfully blocking her view of her mother. “Ignore her. She’s blitzed out of her mind.”
“You need a ride?” Crystal was dying to take a shower and scrub off the smoke and grime of her past.
“Yeah. I get my license back in six weeks, but can you swing me by my buddy’s?” He looked at his mother, and Crystal saw the guilt eating away at him.
She rolled her eyes again. “I’ll take you to get her cigarettes first, but I don’t know why you cater to her.”
“Same reason you’re here every month. Good old-fashioned guilt.”
CRYSTAL FLEW THROUGH Truman and Gemma’s front door like wildfire, eating up everything in her path. Her raven mane was soaking wet, framing her beautiful, scowling face as she stormed into the living room. Her black hoodie hung open over a Rolling Stones T-shirt, and her piercing baby blues threw daggers. Her skintight black jeans had tears along her thighs and beneath her knees, revealing flashes of her tanned skin. Skin he’d like to touch and taste and have wrapped around him.
She stopped a few feet from Bear and set her hand on her hip. “Give me a paintbrush, or a roller, or a goddamn gun for all I care. Just give me something and get out of my way.”
They’d finished painting ten minutes ago. Bear chuckled at her vehemence. She was sexy as sin no matter what mood she was in, but this tigress before him made him want to comfort her and f*ck her at once.
“Hard night, sugar?”
She narrowed her eyes. “Not hard enough. And I’m not your sugar. I need to work out my frustrations.” She thrust out a hand, obviously waiting for a paintbrush.
He grabbed that delicate little hand and hauled her against him. His entire body flamed. Several months of playing cat and mouse was way too long. Her eyes darkened and her breathing shallowed. Bear was done messing around. This brazen beauty not only wanted him, but she needed him. She just didn’t know it yet.
“What do you think you’re doing?” She spoke in a low voice and probably meant it to sound threatening, but she sounded sultry and hard to resist.
He cupped her chin, brushing his thumb over her lower lip, and the air rushed from her lungs. His hand slid over her hip. She had the sleek, sexy curves of a ’61 Harley-Davidson Duo-Glide, and he couldn’t wait to rev her up and make her purr. “Giving you what you need. A wild Whiskey night is the perfect remedy for your frustrations.”
“Uncle Be-ah!” Three-year-old Kennedy ran into the room wearing a Dora the Explorer nightgown and clutching the Winnie-the-Pooh stuffed toy Bear’s younger sister, Dixie, had given her. She squeezed between them. Truman had rescued his younger siblings, Kennedy and Lincoln, from a crack house after their mother overdosed. He and Gemma were raising them as their own.
Crystal smirked at Bear and arched a brow.
He reluctantly released her. Cockblocked by a three-year-old.
“Hi, pretty girl.” Crystal gave Bear a snarky look as she crouched and hugged Kennedy. “This cuteness is all I need after a frustrating evening.”
“Why are you fwustrated, Auntie Cwystal?” Kennedy still had a hard time pronouncing r’s, and the way she spoke turned Bear’s insides to mush.
“I’m not anymore, thanks to you.”
“I came to kiss you and Beah good night.” She gave Crystal a tight hug and kiss, then reached her spindly arms up to Bear and went up on her toes.
He lifted her up, and she wound her arms around his neck.
“Thank you for letting me help you paint.” Kennedy yawned and rested her head on his shoulder. “The house will be pwetty for Mommy and Tooman’s—I mean Daddy’s—wedding.” Although Kennedy and Lincoln were Truman’s siblings, when Lincoln had begun talking, he’d called Truman Dada, and Kennedy had said she wanted to call him that, too. Sometimes she forgot and called him Tooman.