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“You want to touch it, darling?” He teased, undulating his torso slightly, torturing me. “It doesn't hurt anymore.”
“Sit your ass back down and stop showin' off,” I said quickly, looking away so he couldn't see the burn in my cheeks. He laughed, but he did as I suggested, and soon we were sitting side-by-side again, just like ten years before, shooting the shit and having a grand old time.
And then there was her.
Cross
Of all the nights for this bitch to get jealous, why'd she pick this one?
It wasn't like she hadn't seen me with other women before. Maybe it was because she saw how easy it was, for Bex and I. Sure, it seemed that other people had noticed. Specifically, Dutch. He'd even sent over some drinks for us. Was he playin' matchmaker? I hoped not. For one, I didn't need it. For another, what the hell was our Prez doing givin' two shits about where I whet my whistle? Seemed a bit beneath him. Maybe it was Sylvia's doing. Anyway, I enjoyed the drinks. I was enjoying everything. Until Tiff came around.
“Cross,” her voice cut across the bar like a Ginsu knife through paper. “Baaaaaby.”
No, I thought, rolling my eyes and turning away. Not tonight, Tiff, not fuckin' tonight...
But she was no mind-reader. And even if she was, I don't think she would have taken my word for it and stayed away. I dared a glance at Bex. She was damn near laughing. Eyebrows up to her hairline and pretty lips twitchin'.
“Baaaaaby,” she said, leaning in to whisper the word through her shit-eating grin, a perfect mockery of Tiff's cotton candy voice.
Tiff was cotton candy. So blonde you couldn't look at her on a sunny day, eyebrows painted on, and lips always smothered in enough pink shit to leave a mark on every cheek, glass, napkin, or dick they landed on. Twig-skinny, but with a rack like you wouldn't believe. It was a wonder she didn't topple over from being so top-heavy. And she was one of the only girls around here I fucked more than once or twice. By my standards, Tiff was damn near girlfriend status.
I don't know why I kept screwing her, to be honest. Maybe just because she seemed so damn keen on me. She was always around, always wound up at my side. I'm sure a lot of the time, it was just the convenience. I didn't have to spit much game to get with one of our lollipops, but with Tiff, I could be blind, deaf, and mute and she'd still ride me until the sun came up. And she was ruthless, which I kind of admired. A real ball-crusher when she wanted to be.
“Tiff,” I said as she slid her arm around me, pointedly angling herself between Bex and I. “This is Bex. Bex and I are having a private conversation.”
Tiff threw her blonde hair over her shoulder as she turned her mega-watt smile on Bex, who returned it with a healthy dose of amusement and disbelief.
“Charmed,” Tiff said.
“Likewise,” Bex said, eyes rapt as Tiff tried to crawl onto my lap; when that failed, she tried to move my arm around her waist. I wasn't budging.
“Cross,” Tiff said, turning around and throwing her arms around my neck, lips pouting. “I was hoping you might be alone tonight...”
“Well, I'm not,” I said; I put my hands on her waist then, but only to shove her away. “Tough luck.”
“Since when are you so mean, baby?” Tiff was acting offended; I knew better. She was pissed. Someone was going to get the worst of her tonight. I didn't care, as long as it wasn't Bex or me.
“Since someone doesn't know when to fuckin' leave a man be,” I said.
“Aw, come on now, Cross,” Bex suddenly chimed in. “Tiff can have a drink with us, at least. Don't need to push her away like a sack of potatoes.”
Tiff turned back to Bex again, eyes glinting angry.
“Thanks, doll,” she said, all venom and spite. “Cross is one of the good ones, but sometimes he forgets his manners.”
“Oh, I know,” Bex said, looking straight past Tiff, right at me, that damn smile on her face. She was enjoying this. “You'd be surprised how much I know about Cross.”
For once, Tiff was speechless. But only for a minute. That pink-as-shit grin spread wide, she leaned towards the bar and ordered a vodka. Then she turned back to Bex.
“Is that so? I've never seen you around before.”
“Well, I've been out of the scene for a while,” Bex said, cool as ice under Tiff's burning stare. “But Cross and I go way back. In fact, I'm probably one of the few people under forty who can tell you why they call him Cross...”
No. No. She wouldn't. She couldn't. She knew how much I hated that fucking story, she couldn't possibly think that...
“Oh? Really? Do tell, girlfriend,” Tiff said, a challenge in every word. Shit. I'd told Tiff – everyone who asked, in fact – that my nickname came from the cross tattooed on my ribs, my first after the obligatory Dead Crusaders ink across my chest. It was a replica of my mother's heirloom crucifix, the one thing I had left of her. It made me seem like a mama's boy, sure, but it was better than the truth.
“Well, when Cross here was born, he was pretty cute, except for one thing,” Bex said. “He was cross-eyed. Like, permanently. He was always looking at his nose, or up at his forehead. Up until he was five years old, and his pa got enough money to get him corrective surgery. Poor kid could barely see six feet in front of him, he couldn't walk straight. They had these glasses made up for him, and he had special eye drops, but his little eyes just wouldn't go straight. You should ask Grinder to show you some pictures. It's really fuckin' cute. I think he carries one in his wallet, doesn't he, Cross?”
I could have killed her. She had no damn right tellin' that story. And sittin' there with that smile on her face. Lookin' cute while she told it.
“No shit,” Tiff said, voice shrill as she turned to me. “Is that true, Cross? I thought you said...”
“It's true alright,” Bex answered for me. “He doesn't like to tell it 'cause he's embarrassed. But I don't think it's anything to be ashamed of. Really, the pictures are adorable. And he didn't turn out so bad, now did he?”
She winked at me. She winked at me. I couldn't tell whether I wanted to throttle her or bend her over. Maybe both.
“No, he turned out just fine,” Tiff said, laughing and throwing her arms around me again. I didn't waste a single second before pushing her off.
“Tiff, why don't you get out of here before I think of something Bex wouldn't want anyone to know.”
“I'd like to stick around for that,” Tiff said.
“I'm sure you would,” Bex said, sliding back in her chair, crossing her legs, smiling like a king gloating over his spoils. “But you can't touch me, Cross DuFrane.”
Now, that's where she was dead wrong. In that moment, I decided that if there was one thing I was gonna do in this world, it was touch Bex Carter again. If Tiffany wasn't standing between us, I might have grabbed her right then and there. But I could wait, too. By the end of the night, I'd have Bex screaming my name.
Bex
Once Cross got rid of the Barbie doll, we kept talking like she'd never been there at all. What business was it of mine, what he did with other women? He was a brother, and he behaved like it. I couldn't fault him. Though now that I was back, things would be different. Especially with me doing my damndest to get close to him, or face the consequences.
The night grew long, and the talk grew heavy.
“I watched her kill herself,” I found myself saying, well past 1am.
“She'd been killing herself for years.”
“Yeah, but before that, there were other people to take care of her.” I sighed. “In Helena, it was just me. Just us.”
“She wasn't a bad woman,” Cross suggested, softly.
“No,” I agreed. “She wasn't bad at all. Just one of the doomed. She wasn't a good mother, though. But that didn't make her a bad person.”
“When she died, you didn't...”
His words seemed to fall off the edge of a cliff, and he turned his full attention to the whiskey in his hands.
“No,” I said, knowing what he want
