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“Nice,” Rhea says, sounding like she’s just making idle commentary rather than actually impressed by it. I’m about to ask why she said it like it wasn’t a surprise, but then I realize she said she knows how to drive a boat. She’s probably been on boats like this her whole life and is unfazed by it.
She opens the fridge and there’s clanking of glass as she moves bottles around a minute before emerging with her arms laden. “Are we expecting company?” I tease, eyeing the bottles to see a mixture of beer and hard seltzers that she sets on the counter.
“Just thirsty.” Rhea laughs, twisting the top off one of the bottles and handing it to me before sticking her head in a cabinet and rummaging for something.
“Ooh, Doritos,” Her voice is muffled, but when she places a bag on the counter and dives back in, it confirms what I thought I heard.
“We just ate dinner.” I tell her, taking a sip of my drink while she keeps looking for whatever it is that she can’t seem to find.
“They’re for later.” Rhea says confidently. And then she makes a noise of excitement, and retreats from the cabinet with a clear plastic bag in hand. It takes a moment to figure out what the contents are, but I put two and two together and shake my head.
“Seriously?”
“Come on, Claire.” She says. “I buried my father yesterday.”
I open my mouth to try and say something that doubtless wouldn’t serve to make things any better, but I’m cut off by another voice that makes my spine tingle. “You didn’t do any of the work as far as I recall.”
A feeling like pins and needles tickles the space between my shoulder blades. I know he’s staring at me—his eyes on me always have this effect, making my skin feel like it’s stretched too tight. My heart starts beating a little faster. If he’s here, I assume he has dealt with Wes. But how did he know where to find us?
“Whatever,” Rhea laughs. “I’m going to get a little high. I think I deserve it after a week in the fucking twilight zone.” She glances pointedly from Remy, who I still haven’t turned to greet, to me. “I’ll leave you alone to get your story straight… or to bend Claire over the couch. Whatever.”
My mouth drops open, though I shouldn’t be shocked. She’s always been blunt. It just feels rawer than ever before since she hasn’t bothered to hide her lack of amusement at the fact that Remy and I have been spending so much time together. My guilt probably plays a part in that too.
I open my mouth again, feeling the need to apologize, but she sweeps past me, scooping her provisions into her arms as she goes.
When I hear the door shut, I feel him move behind me and fight to maintain my composure. It nearly slips when his voice comes near my ear, his breath tickling the shell of it. “You shouldn’t be out here.”
Biting my lip, I take a little breath to try and get back into the right rhythm and turn to face him. I don’t smile—just raise an eyebrow, challenging him to answer the question I’m about to ask. “Why? You going to punish me?”
I meant it to come across saucy, but when the words actually leave my lips, I feel the blush creeping over my skin.
“Don’t tempt me.” Remy groans. I realize his face is serious, his eyes molten at the possibilities of what I just said. I don’t even know where that came from, but I like the effect it had upon him.
“Where is he?”
Remy knows who I’m talking about, though he looks irritated at the mere thought of him. “Not where he belongs.”
I wait for him to elaborate.
After a moment, he does. “He belongs six feet under the ground. But he’s been neutralized for now.”
I think about asking why he is keeping Wes, but I decide to bite the bullet myself before he can put the proverbial gun to my head. “I’m telling Rhea the truth.” The silence between us unfurls as he appraises me thoughtfully and I wait for him to say something. He doesn’t, so I rush to fill the quiet. “She deserves to know what’s going on. I can keep you out of it, but I—”
“No.” He shakes his head.
“Remy,” I start to protest, but he lifts a finger, prompting me to stop trying to argue with him before I ever even begin.
“I’ll fill in the gaps.”
He doesn’t say how he’ll fill in the gaps, and I don’t ask. I simply trust that he will.
I dust a finger along the rim of my beer, the champagne forgotten as I try to organize the chaos in my head into something that will make sense. I’m not sure that’s even possible, so I tip the bottle back and chug it before I can stop to notice how bitter it is. When I set the empty bottle back down, I exhale a laugh. “Do you have anything stronger?”
Something flickers in his gaze—judgement, perhaps—and then he cracks a grin and steps forward. His move pushes me back against the counter as his body lines up with mine, his hips just barely pressing into my stomach as he reaches over my head and produces a bottle half-full of dark liquor. “Will bourbon do?”
I don’t bother looking at the label. I’m too enamored with the way his arms are caging me in as he retreats slowly. My eyes flick down to the stretch of tight abs that peeks out from the bottom of his shirt. I angle my palms behind me so that I can grip the counter, better to resist the random urge telling me to reach out and touch him.
It’s not until he steps away and tilts his head a little that I realize he’s waiting for an answer. “Yes.” My voice wavers, but he seems to assume it’s uncertainty that makes that happen and lets it go. He turns to another cabinet to gather glasses, and I find myself staring at his ass.
