Deconstructed(17)

And that’s when I felt the car tilt drunkenly with the telltale thump of a flat tire.

“You gotta warn me when you’re gonna say things like that,” Ruby said, pulling my limping car to the side of the road near a cluster of houses on a dark street.

“Sorry,” I said, pulling my phone out of the hoodie I’d dumped on the floorboard. “Just came out.”

“Anal beads?” Ruby asked, putting the car in park and turning to me.

“Never mind. Forget I said that,” I said, wishing I’d filtered myself with the sex-toy talk. “And I have Triple A.”

I clicked the home button on my phone, and my sweaty, pale face emerged on the screen . . . instead of the picture of Scott violating Stephanie on her porch step. Like an idiot, I’d hit the turnaround button and taken a selfie. My eyes were narrow, mouth pressed into a line, determination etched into every feature . . . even though my neck looked suspiciously turkey-like. Perfect selfie of a very pissed, hurt woman. Proof of disaster right in my hot little hand.

Ruby shook her head. “Anal beads . . . good Lord.”





CHAPTER FIVE


RUBY

Griffin Moon, my first cousin and a somewhat upstanding member of the Balthazar clan, wasn’t the kind of man who made people feel comfortable. I knew this, but I also knew that if I called him, he would come tow Cricket’s car and that he would have a gun. Hey, we live in one of the more dangerous cities in Louisiana. And Triple A was probably going to call him anyway. Might as well skip a step.

Griff climbed out of the tow truck looking a bit dangerous himself . . . and miles away from the men who peppered Cricket’s land of golf courses and stucco mansions. Griff practiced spitting and scratching himself regularly. Probably simultaneously, too.

Cricket’s eyes widened as my cousin approached wearing tight jeans and an equally tight T-shirt. A wicked curved tattoo inched up his neck. Scruffy boots clomped onto the cracked pavement as he eyed the wounded car.

“Nice wheels,” he said, by way of greeting.

“Not mine,” I said, sliding off the back of the car, where I’d parked my butt while waiting for my cousin, the owner of Blue Moon Towing, to play white knight.

Cricket eyed Griff like she wished she’d insisted on Triple A instead of letting me call in a favor.

“You don’t have a spare? How does that happen?” he asked, dark eyes flickering toward Cricket, who immediately frowned.

“Well, that’s why we called you,” she said, looking annoyed.

I wasn’t sure if Cricket was annoyed because Griff was being somewhat condescending, because she actually didn’t have a spare, or because she finally had proof of a cheating husband. Probably all three.

“Come on, Griff,” I chided, knowing that he sometimes reveled in sitting on his high horse, not that I’d had the occasion to experience this over the past few years. He was almost a decade older than I was, and was known for getting all patriarchal on his younger cousins, especially me, since I was the only female in the wild bunch. Obviously, he also didn’t mind extending reprimands toward bouncy, older blondes.

He gave me a flat look. “Y’all wantin’ me to tow it, right?”

“Oh, you mean that’s what the truck with the hook is for?” Cricket said like a real live smart-ass and not the Cricket who would have normally apologized for not having a spare. Whatever had happened to my boss in the last twenty-four hours was halfway encouraging but mostly unnerving. If she thought I had shown my true colors, she needed to look in the mirror at her own plumage.

Or maybe I needed to look harder at her, too. Women like Cricket seemed so together, so untouched by life’s problems. I had thought patterning my life after hers would elevate me and give me more opportunities. But here she sat, as broken as her fancy convertible.

Griff’s eyes glittered with annoyance, and he stopped looking friendly . . . which is to say he looked almost the same as he normally did. He’d never been a merry fellow.

Cricket seemed to realize Griff didn’t have much of a sense of humor. If anything, my boss could read a room. “I’m kidding. Thank you for coming, Mr.—”

“Moon. But everyone calls me Griff.”

“Again, thank you for leaving the comfort of your home, Mr. Moon,” she said a little too sweetly.

“Eh, it’s not really that comfortable.” This time he actually looked at Cricket, perhaps even checking her out, which I found interesting because Griff was a no-nonsense guy, and though Cricket wasn’t necessarily frivolous, she was so not his type. But then again, she was wearing a thin and somewhat damp tank top and tight yoga pants. And her boobs were about two sizes bigger than mine and pretty dang up there for a woman in her early forties. Griff wasn’t the kind who would make a pass at a woman stranded on the side of the road, but he wasn’t blind, either.

I made a face at my cousin while he blatantly ignored us and walked around the car, muttering things I probably wouldn’t understand and would never need to know about towing cars. I had never cared much for cars, like my boy cousins did. Instead I was content to sketch and help my gran sew projects for the church bazaar.

Cricket watched Griff with equal interest, like she was trying to figure him out. My cousin wasn’t unattractive. Quite the opposite—he had girls all over him when he went out to play. It was that big, strong-jawed, bicep thing he had going for him. That, and he rescued cats. Which was weird for someone like him, but girls seemed down for him, if the way he cycled through them was any indication.