I promised myself that there would be no outward or inward thoughts toward Cricket that weren’t entirely friendly and nothing more. Yeah, good luck with that. I awkwardly stationed myself at the back of the bed, my hands stuck in the front pockets of my jeans, bunching my coat around the tops of my hips. The cold seeped through to the bone there, but I didn’t care, whatever distracted me. I briefly pulled my cap down a bit to hide my eyes, then stuck my hands back in my pockets. I stared at the ground and toed the snow outlining my boots. They’d stuck down into six inches’ worth. I kicked the mound around my toes and shook the remaining from my boots. I did this for no other reason than I knew I didn’t want to look at Cricket.
I looked up quickly toward the passenger side and was forced to watch Jonah exit the back, then hold the door and offer his hand to Bridget to help her out. Much as I hated to admit it, I was going to be the fifth freaking wheel in that night’s scenario. Despite what Jonah and Bridget defined their “friendship” as, I knew what was blossoming and felt powerless to stop it. I just wanted to guard my sister from pain. Pain I knew was coming. Pain that would make an already burdensome life more difficult, but sometimes you have to let live.
I stared hard at the ground when everyone gathered around me, then followed them, my eyes trained on their tracks.
How you gonna pull this off, dude, huh? I asked myself as I stumbled toward the front of the pub. Eventually, you’re going to have to look at her. I decided it was best if I saw her in a controlled situation, one where, say, if I fell from my damn stool, no one else, particularly Ethan, would notice.
As soon as we got through the doors, I ripped off my jacket but left my cap on to shield me. “I’ll be at the bar,” I told everyone and left their questioning glances behind before anyone could object.
I was finally able to look up and sat at the back corner of the bar top, steadying my hands on the flat of the surface and trying hard to settle my breathing.
“What can I get ya?” the hot bartender asked. I say “hot” like that was unexpected, but aren’t they all hot?
I smiled. “I’ll take a Coke,” I told her.
“Careful, it’ll go straight to your head,” she teased, making me laugh.
I dangled my keys in front of me. “Driving.”
“Good boy,” she said, winking.
She poured me my soft drink and slid it over playfully before making her way to the other end of the bar to help someone else.
I took a small sip, wishing to everything it would’ve been something stronger. I drummed my fingers on the bar, mentally preparing myself. I took three deep breaths and decided I’d waited long enough. I picked up my head and deliberately scanned the bar. Surprisingly, something with an amazing beat rang through the air causing my blood pressure to rise in anticipation. I placed my palm over my rapidly beating heart. You’re just looking, I told myself. Just. Look. I took another deep breath and kept searching.
I spotted Bridge being goofy, looked like “the lawnmower,” I think, and Jonah laughing his ass off at her. I spotted Ethan sulking in the corner, nursing a beer. My heart sped to an uncomfortable pace as I searched but couldn’t find her. I half stood half sat and peered over the heads of the crowd but still no sign.
“Whatcha doin?” I heard over my shoulder, and I stilled.
My shoulders stiffened at the ringing bell that was Cricket’s voice, and I closed my eyes briefly. I was both apprehensive and expectant. I couldn’t torture myself anymore and opened my eyes. My breathing labored as I started to turn around.
Oh. My. God.
There she was. Gosh damn it! So gosh damn beautiful I didn’t think I’d ever recover from the sight of her. I sort of staggered back into a sitting position and raked her from head to toe. I barely recognized her, and that astonished me.
Her face.
I wondered why she had to be so unbelievably beautiful, torturing myself as I memorized every inch, every centimeter, every millimeter of her resplendent face. She sported her clever grin, but this time her lips were painted a bright red and I ached to kiss them, catch them between my teeth and claim the color on my tongue, smudges be damned. The fact that Cricket probably wouldn’t have cared less made her all the more enticing to me.
Her pitch-black hair was curled, reminiscent of a forties pin-up, including her short bangs, which she’d swept to the side and pinned up.
I would remember what she wore until the day I died, down to the miniature buttons on the ankle straps of her black heels. Underneath a thin, form-fitting cream floor-length cashmere sweater coat she’d buttoned just the center of, exposing her incredible legs, she wore a tailored black, shin-length spaghetti strapped dress with a sweetheart neckline. Countless pearls wrapped around her long, slender, alabaster neck and fell strategically down to her breasts.
She was a comfortable mix of casual and dressy, looked incredibly French, and exuded an elegance that would rival any of my prep school girlfriends. She was everything I never imagined I could possibly want. She was...devastating.
She smiled sweetly at me, completely unaware she’d cemented me to my seat, shell shocked and itching to grasp her shoulders and pull her into my chest forever. I would have whispered into her ear that I couldn’t understand why I felt such an omnipotent and inexplicable need to take her with me everywhere I went for the rest of my life, even though I didn’t love her...yet. I’d beg her to let me do it, to put me out of my misery and just let me have her. I’d pray she’d accept my desperate, though seemingly baffling, request. I’d tell her I didn’t deserve her, that I knew I’d never be able to, but every day would be a monumental effort on my part to strive to.
But I didn’t say those things to her. Instead, I bit my tongue, feeling for all the world like the biggest coward. Instead, I let her lean to my left and brush my shoulder and committed the feel of her heat to memory. Instead, I let her order for herself because I’d completely forgotten my breeding and hadn’t offered her anything. Instead, I turned my head toward her hair and leaned slightly, drawing in, basically gasping in, her heavenly vanilla and grapefruit scent. Instead, I ignored my instincts to own her and let her stand silently in front of me.
“I asked what you were doing?” she asked again, unaware of my internal struggles.
I shook my head slightly and cleared my throat. “Uh, just sitting here, people watching,” I offered with a slight smile.
She gracefully tumbled into the stool next to me and faced the mingling crowd. “It’s busy tonight,” she said.
“Is it?” I asked, unable to think of anything else.
Suddenly, I felt severely depressed. I wished to tear myself away from the magnificent person seated next to me. I glanced behind me at the bar shelves and wished I could snag the only premium bottle of liquor I was able to spot and hunker down in the bed of my truck with it.
“Yes, I haven’t seen this many people out in a long time. I’m guessing the season has got more than a few restless souls to come out of hiding.” She turned and smiled at me, and I almost wished I could cleave out my eyes just so I didn’t have to subject myself to her glaringly pleasing face anymore.
I cleared my throat yet again and braced my Coke between my hands to steady them. “Uh, you look very pretty,” I purposely understated.
She looked down at herself as if she just remembered what she was wearing. “Oh, thank you so much,” she said.
She crossed her arms into herself and regarded me from the corner of her eye.
Click.
Where so far our “clicks” brought me nothing but unimaginable pleasure, that night I felt only crestfallen.
“Hey,” she said, interrupting my thoughts.
“Hmm?”
“You’re awfully distracted.”
I smiled at her. “I suppose I am. I’m sorry,” I apologized.
“It’s okay. Got a lot on your plate lately, I know.” She had no idea. “I don’t think the stresses of the ranch are very good for anyone, but especially
for those with an already full plate.”
“No, it’s really okay. I actually love the ranch a lot,” I said, surprising even myself with that statement.
“You should tell Ellie as much. She would be tickled pink.”
I laughed. “Okay, I will.”
We were quiet for a few minutes, just watching the crowd and laughing at a few.
“I, uh, I finished your sculpture,” she told me, but her face never left the crowd.
My stomach plummeted to my feet then leapt into my throat. “Cool,” I said, feeling anything but.
She turned and studied me for a moment before returning her gaze back toward the crowd. “I think I’m gonna join the others,” she said, standing up and disappointing the crap out of me. I watched her take a few steps before turning back around. “Coming?”
I was surprised by her offer and stood to join her. I followed behind her and drank in her walk, determined to retain it so I could recall it for years to come. No one walked like Cricket Hunt. No one.
We joined the others, and just as I expected, I was the fifth wheel in that night’s scenario. After an hour of pity conversation with Cricket, I decided I’d had enough, and surveyed the girls around me. Not a single one could hold a candle to Cricket, but I wasn’t going to sit there and be miserable if I could help it, so I decided to ask a girl to dance, finally deciding on one from a group that had been staring at me all night.
I stood up and told everyone I’d be right back then headed the direction of the group. They did that stupid girl thing where they whisper frantically, then make a feeble attempt to be cool and collected when you’re within ten feet, as if we are blind until that ten-foot mark. The move almost made me turn back around, but I remembered what awaited me and trudged on.
“Hi,” I said to the blonde with the long hair.
She was tall and provocative and chose a more vulgar style compared to Cricket. Essentially, she was the antithesis of Cricket. She was what I needed to distract myself from the one I really wanted but couldn’t have.
“Hi,” she said in an irritating baby voice. I crinkled my nose a little in annoyance, but she didn’t catch on.
“I was wondering if you’d like to dance?” I asked.
She popped off her stool and unattractively tugged at her short skirt, then adjusted her breasts so that optimal cleavage was exposed. Girls, another little clue here: Only skanky guys want skanky girls. You’d be surprised what a little bit longer hem can get you in the long run.
She awkwardly tiptoed on her ridiculous heels to my side and leaned in way too close. I had to slant my head away just to talk to her.
“So, uh, are you from around here?” I asked.
“Uh-huh. I live in town.”
“Cool, cool,” I said wondering if that was all the answer I was going to get.
“I don’t even have to ask if you’re from around here. I can tell you’re not.”
We’d arrived at the dance floor and I placed a hand at the broad of her back to guide her, but she took my hand and pushed it to the top of her ass. I moved it up to the small of her back and sighed in exasperation.
“Uh, how do you know I’m not from around here?” I asked her as we swayed to the slow song.
“Because I know all the local boys,” she said, pressing her breasts against my chest.
“I bet you do,” I said under my breath.
“What’s that?”
“Nothing.”
I felt like I was fighting a slithering snake. She was all hands, legs and breasts, and it was irritating as she attempted over and over to touch me with them at all times.
I was uncomfortable. Before Montana, this was the type of girl I searched for in the clubs. To my friends and me, these were the expendables. The girls we had fun with and cast aside. The thought of the guy that cast aside Bridge burned a hole in my gut. I’m such an asshole.
I felt a heated stare bore into the back of my neck and I rubbed it to rid myself of the sensation. I turned around and found the eyes the stare belonged to. Cricket sat glaring at me—a look of utter dejection graced her face. I found myself questioning her with my eyes, but she noticed herself then and turned her face toward the ground.
I looked to her left and right and saw that she was alone. I studied the dance floor and saw Jonah and Bridge dancing. I looked over at the bar and saw Ethan talking to what looked like a friend of his.
“So, what are you doing after?” the blonde asking me.
“What?”
“I was asking what you were up to later. I have my own place just up the road and…”
“I’m sorry. You seem like a, um, nice girl? But I’m not interested. Thanks for the dance,” I told her, leaving her there stunned, but I didn’t care.
I felt a magnetic pull to Cricket and immediately made my way to her. She noticed me coming and awkwardly contemplated the ceiling above.
“Cricket?” I asked.
She met my eyes. “Hmm?” she asked with an attempt at cheery.
“What are you doing here?”
“Oh, nothing.” She cleared her throat. “Why aren’t you dancing?”
“Because I saw you here alone.”
She swallowed. “You didn’t have to do that,” she said sweetly.
I sighed and fell into the stool next to her. “Yes. Yes, I did.”
We sat in silence for five minutes and the songs changed twice. When a slow song came on, I stood and held out my hand.
“Dance with me?”
“I don’t think that’s such a good—”
“Excuse me, but Ethan is a fool if he doesn’t take every opportunity in the world to hold you closely.”
She smiled and stood. “Thank you,” she whispered.
I led her to the dance floor and swept her into me. She was so polished, so refined, so unlike the blonde. I was baffled at her upbringing. I had no idea someone so elegant could come from such an interesting place like a cattle ranch. When I actually thought about it, though, every single one who worked on Hunt Ranch, down to the ranch hands, were polite, genteel and humble, even more so than the circle of wealth I grew up around.
I held her gallantly, respectfully, the way her demeanor, her confidence, her dress called me to hold her. I found myself gulping for air whenever she and I shared personal space. She stole away my sanity, every bit of my control and I felt frenzied, frantic whenever she was near and grieved the loss severely whenever she was not. The sensation was so new to me. She was more than lovely to me. She was painfully interesting, the best conversation I had ever had and I found myself wondering what she was thinking at times, instead of what she was wearing beneath her clothing. No one had ever affected me as she had. No one.
My left cheek rested against the side of her head as we swayed to the melody. We stayed completely quiet. I was unable to speak, too engrossed in making sure I learned her by heart. I felt so damaged holding her. My chest felt bruised, sore and hurt. “Hurt” was the perfect word to describe that misery of not belonging to her. My head kept calling out to me to save myself, to stop the torture, but I couldn’t, just could not, let her go.
“Cricket,” I whispered.
“No,” she spoke into my ear, then sniffed, her voice breaking at the end. “Don’t say it,” she ordered, taking a buried, raspy breath. “I-I can’t tell you why, but I can’t leave Ethan.” I nodded against her head and pressed her face into my shoulder. “I’m going to tell you something, but this can only be said once,” she began, and took another shaky breath, “I suffer for you,” she barely got out. “I want to be near you always. I’m falling in love with you and it’s-it’s a sweet agony, however, it’s still an agony.”
Instead of torturing myself by begging for more, I continued to dance with her, teetering on the verge of just throwing my forearm below her knees and stealing her away, taking her home, to a home, any home, our home...forever.
The song was too short and that cut to the bone. In just a few short weeks, I was
almost in love with Cricket Hunt. In just a few more, I’d be a goner but couldn’t convince myself to protect my heart.
I leaned into her face and kissed her cheek, relishing in how soft her skin was, how sweet she smelled. My eyes closed and I decided to keep that kiss forever.
A tap on my shoulder shattered my perfect world, and I hesitantly left the warmth of her skin. I rose, fully ready to accept my fate, expecting to find Ethan, but instead I found a tall, broad-shouldered man in a fine, black suit and odd glasses. There was something familiar about him, and I studied him a moment before placing it. I remembered August’s words “weird old-fashioned spectacles.”
Suddenly, my world crumbled at my feet.
“Who are you?” I asked the man, frozen in fear.
“Mr. Blackwell?” he asked, confirming my worst nightmare. “My name is Dominic Griffin,” he explained, sending me spiraling. He removed his glasses and began polishing the lenses with a handkerchief. “I represent your father.”
When he mentioned my father, Cricket leaned closer into my side and grabbed my forearm.
I reached into my pocket and removed my keys, discreetly placing them in the palm of her hand. She looked up at me, nodded and left. I turned back to the man.
“What do you want?” I asked, trying to control my voice.
He smiled chillingly at me and placed his glasses back on his face. “He wants you ruined,” he said candidly, sending a chill up my spine.
I opened my mouth but couldn’t respond. He placed his hands in his pockets and continued.
“He wants you to know that he’s going to ruin you and your sister.”
My blood began to seethe underneath my skin. “You tell him that if he so much as comes near us, I will take every documented piece of evidence I’ve kept against him and I will turn it into the authorities.”
The man looked surprised. “I don’t think you’ll do that,” he said after a moment’s consideration.
GREED (The Seven Deadly Series) Page 16