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“Guys can’t help themselves. If you’ve got tits and you’re breathing, they’re gonna shoot their shot—spoken as a solid six who gets asked on way too many dates by horny dudes in hard hats.”
Jude gives me an odd look. “You think you’re a six?”
I can’t tell if he thinks that number should be higher or lower, and I’m damn sure not going to ask because if Jude thinks I’m a four, he’ll tell me. That lucky little bastard got our mom’s looks and our uncle’s brains. But I got Dad’s singing voice and Aunt Betty’s ass, so I’m doing okay.
“I just mean—you know, I’m not everybody’s cup of tea. And that’s fine, I’m not trying to be.”
Miserably, I imagine for the billionth time what Gideon’s new girl looks like. I never did find out. Probably tall and blonde like his exes. I guarantee she’s got bigger tits than me ‘cause it would be hard not to.
Jude mutters, “Did the redheaded amoeba get anything done, or was he scamming on you the whole time?”
“He did a lot.”
“Did you have to babysit him?”
“Nope. I was down in the kitchen breaking up the old tile.”
Jude’s shoulders hunch, his hands stuffed in his pockets. “I don’t like you out here alone with some dirty dude. I shouldn’t have left when I knew he was coming. I thought he’d be old, with his ass-crack hanging out of his jeans.”
I laugh. “We should be grateful we don’t have to look at that for the next couple weeks.”
“It’s not going to take weeks, is it?” Jude lifts his head, horrified.
“I hope not. That’s a worst-case scenario. I bet we get hot water way before that.”
Jude nods, though he hasn’t quite relaxed. “Just…be careful, Remi. We don’t know these people. If that guy says anything to you, if he bothers you again—“
“He’s not. He won’t.” I’m laughing a little, but also, I’m touched.
That’s the second time today Jude was looking out for me.
* * *
I fall onto the four-poster,every muscle aching just the way I like. Exhaustion helps me sleep. If my body is tired enough, my mind can’t fight for long.
When I work my hardest, I barely even dream.
I had constant nightmares after the accident. All night long I’d thrash around, sheets full of sweat, then wake with my head throbbing like I hadn’t slept at all.
It was good luck I got a job on a painting crew right after. Ten-hour days hauling buckets and ladders—those were the first nights I slept more than a couple of hours in a row.
Oblivion is rest, absence is peace.
I don’t want to dream.
But I guess busting up all those kitchen tiles wasn’t enough to wipe me out—almost as soon as my head hits the pillow, the room seems to tilt and spin. The shadows of branches reach across the floor like fingers…
The bed tosses beneath me, rocking back and forth. I roll like a ship on the waves.
The wind washes against the windows, branches scratching. Raindrops lash the glass. Damp and cold leak down the chimney. On my mattress of air, I rock and shiver.
Gusts of wind, icy, black waves…
Darkness so deep, the moon floats above an ocean of oil in a sky made of ink…
Hammering Dad’s door, a small hand clutched in mine…
I moan and writhe on the bed.
