He jerks my dick a little harder when I seem to get lost in his description. So I jerk him back. Not hard or fast, but kinda slow.
“Let’s go,” I say. “Let’s just go there. Right now.”
He sighs. “I want to, I really do, AJ. It’s just… you know we can’t do it.”
“We can do whatever we want, Logan.”
“He’ll look for us.”
“Down on buttfuck-nowhere Isla Holbox?” I laugh. “Come on.”
“He knows I went there. I told him about it afterward. He’d look.”
“So we can go somewhere else.”
“It won’t work.”
“Fuck you,” I say, pushing him back against the wall. “I’m tired of you saying that. We can make it work. You just don’t want to.”
“I do want to,” he says. “I just think ahead, AJ. And I don’t want to get us all killed.”
“We’re already dead.” I laugh, walking out of the shower. “We’re already fucking dead. Yvette wants to die and you and I hate who we are.”
“Speak for yourself.”
I just look at him for a second.
Then shake my head and walk out of the bathroom.
Chapter Twenty – YVETTE
Yesterday morning I came downstairs dressed to die.
Don’t get me wrong. I like that outfit I wore yesterday. Before AJ ripped my shirt up the front it was very nice. But I didn’t wear it to make myself feel good or because I had someone to wear it for.
I wore it so when they found my body I wouldn’t look like shit.
What’s that old saying? Make sure you wear clean underwear in case you’re hit by a car?
I don’t know why people would say that to their kids, but I’m pretty sure it’s a thing.
The point is… yesterday I came downstairs to die and today I’m still alive. Looking like complete crap wearing yoga pants and an old t-shirt, but still alive nonetheless.
Also… I have two sexy, dangerous strangers up in my bedroom.
AJ’s right. You don’t know when you’re half-baked. Still gooey on the inside. Because honestly I’m having a pretty good time with them.
Except for the part where they can’t leave here without killing me because Damon will just kill them when they get back. That part sucks.
I grab all the ingredients to make French toast and begin cracking eggs into a small stainless-steel bowl, musing about my current situation.
Do I feel different? Aside from fun, would I change my mind and want to live just because I had an incredible one-night stand?
I heat up the griddle while I think about that. Get the bread ready. Pour the syrup into a little ceramic pitcher and place it into a pan of hot water so I can warm it up. Put a small scoop of powdered sugar into three little condiment dishes. Peel a little fancy curl of skin off an orange to make the plates look pretty. Then grate some zest and add it to the sugar.
I’m kinda going all out for this breakfast.
Or maybe I’m just avoiding my question.
Do I want to live?
“Hey,” AJ says, pushing his way through the swinging metal door. “What’s cookin’, cookie?”
“Cookie,” I say, dipping bread into the eggs, then placing it onto the hot griddle. Repeating that process until the whole grill is full.
“Coffee?” he asks.
I point him to the single-serving machine that I use for myself and not the industrial version I use for customers. “Help yourself.”
He does. Finds what he needs without asking. Which I appreciate. There’s nothing worse than a helpless monster of a man.
AJ doesn’t come off that way, so I’m not surprised he can fend for himself in the kitchen. He comes off very competent, in fact. More competent than Logan.
I think Logan wears those suits because he knows he’s got weaknesses and that projects an image of strength and control.
While AJ wears jeans and cowboy boots because he knows he’s strong and doesn’t care what people think about him.
They are a nice dichotomy, I realize. Little bit of yin and yang going on. Which makes for a good team.
Or the perfect set of partners.
Which is stupid. Just plain stupid. You don’t pledge your undying love to a woman you’ve known one day. That’s dumb. Not even fairy-tale believable.
And still… I’m alive. They’re here. We’re gonna have breakfast. Spend the day together.
But is all that only because of the storm?
Do I want to live another day?
“What are you thinking about?”
Logan is standing in the doorway wearing my dead husband’s jeans and I get a really sick, sick feeling in my gut.
He enters, letting the door swing closed behind him.
“I’m thinking about… how I think you should kill me.”
“Stop it,” AJ says.
“I think we should fuck again, but this time”—I look at AJ—“don’t stop when I tell you to choke me.”
He narrows his eyes at me and I suddenly know what men see when they look at him.
Dangerous. Mean. Evil. Ruthless. Threatening. Dark.