“If you’re going to do that, make sure you clean the shower after,” Mo says, his face screwing up with disgust.
“What? You don’t jerk off in the shower?” I ask him.
“This isn’t a conversation I’m going to have with you, Jax.” He slides down the bed and rolls onto his side so that his back is toward me.
“Mo’s right. We need to get some sleep. Hudson’s keeping watch tonight, so we’ll be one down tomorrow. Just focus on the job, Jax.”
“I always do,” I say as Connor flicks off the light.
I’m the last to fall asleep. I’ve never found it easy to rest. Maybe it’s because when I was a kid, I always had to keep one ear open to potential dangers. Not all foster care is shitty; I had a few nice homes over the years, but in between those, I had some that shouldn’t have been allowed to care for dogs, let alone children. I’m not alone in having a difficult past. Connor’s mom was an alcoholic, and her boyfriends were a long string of assholes with fiery tempers and fists that liked to rain down on a kid who couldn’t fight back. Mo probably had the best upbringing of us all. A loving family. A father who’s a doctor and a mother who spent all her time doling out affection and caring for her family. His hardships came from outside the four walls of his home.
Maybe they’ve both just found a way to bottle up all their demons, where mine seem to come to the fore the minute I lay my head on the pillow.
I toss and turn for around thirty minutes, feeling the building frustration of insomnia. Usually, when I’m at home, I get up and wander around my apartment. I put on the TV and make myself a cup of cocoa like an old man who needs to warm his bones. I wait until I’m exhausted, and then I try to sleep again. Sometimes it works. Sometimes it doesn’t. I guess over the years I’ve gotten better at managing on a few hours than most people.
Sliding out of bed, I creep to the door and open it as quietly as I can. In the huge open lounge area, Hudson is sitting in the corner of the large white couch; his eyes are focused on the widescreen television playing softly. He’s up and alert as soon as I come into view. At six-foot-four, he’s an imposing figure.
“Fuck, Jax. What the hell are you doing wandering around?” He slumps back on the couch, running his hands through his messy brown hair.
“Sleep is a fickle bitch,” I say.
“I could sleep for a week.” His light-brown eyes are rimmed with red, a sure sign that he’s tired.
“We could swap shifts,” I say.
Hudson shakes his head. “You know what Connor’s like about us deviating from his plans. It’s not worth the aggravation.
“True.”
“You got something on your mind?”
I flop onto the couch next to him, grabbing one of the fancy pillows and hugging it against me. “Angels and demons,” I say, winking and grinning. I try never to dwell anywhere too serious for too long. It’s easy for negativity to drag me down, and down is a place I never want to go back to.
Hudson’s hand drifts to his heart, and I know immediately where his thoughts have gone. Ever since he had the tattoo of his twin’s name inked there, he touches it whenever he remembers him. “Fuck the demons,” he growls.
“Fuck the demons,” I repeat.
“But tell me more about the angel.”
I wiggle my eyebrows and run my hands across the rough beard I’ve recently grown. “She looks like an angel and sings like an angel, but I’m pretty sure she’s got a darker side too.”
“Luna?”
“Bingo.”
“She’s fire and ice, that girl,” Hudson says.
“That’s a good description.”
“Those eyes.”
“Those lips.”
“Those tits.”
Hudson snorts. “You craving pussy?”
“Like a fucking addict.” I shake my head as my cock stirs between my legs.
“I hear you.”
“I just hope that this tour flies by and we get moved off this contract.”
“And then what? You’re going to ask a superstar out for a date at that dive bar you love to hang out at.”
“Nothing wrong with Hannagan’s. They serve good beer and great food.”
“Your standards for both need raising.” Hudson snorts, probably remembering the last time we hung out together there. He picked at his burger like it contained rat meat.
“Who wants a girl who can’t rough it every now and again?”
“Does Luna look like she’s used to roughing it?” Hudson lowers the audio on the TV and shuffles in his seat until he’s facing me. I guess the conversation’s drawn his full attention.
“Oh, she’s used to roughing it. Didn’t you read that article about her? She has more foster homes in her past than I have in mine. And parents who are fucking useless too.”