How, I had no idea.
But it was my mission to figure that out.
Before she got herself hurt or killed.FIVEReaganI had no idea what I was doing.
I was secure enough in myself to admit that. If anything, I was proud to admit that I was a terrible criminal, an abysmal creep. I never wanted to be someone who got too good at such things. That wasn't how I was raised. That wasn't who I aspired to be.
But I had my reasons.
Of course I did.
And keeping them secret was pretty imperative if I wanted to accomplish my end result. To me, there was no if. I had to do it. I had to keep following Michael until I got what I needed. If that took months or years, I didn't care. It would be worth it in the end.
Maybe it would help stem the flow of misery from this gaping hole in my chest.
Maybe it would give me some peace.
Until then, though, I wasn't going to stop.
I didn't care if Michael employed all of these Rivers brothers. And if each and every one of them was just as hot as Nixon was.
"You're distracted, Krissy informed me, sprawled over my guest chair in her sex-kitten sundress. That was the only way to describe it. Because it was modest. The design was nearly floor-length with sleeves and a button-up front that completely covered cleavage and scalloped daintily over her breasts. The pattern was a simple black background with little pink flowers. On anyone else in the world, it would look like something you'd wear to church on Sunday. On Krissy, though, it looked like liquid sex pouring over her envious curves.
"Yeah," I agreed, sighing, standing up, moving over toward my sideboard set up under the windows. I stood looking out over the wildflowers for a moment as I reached for one of the plump peaches situated in the bowl, placing it on the cutting board, then cutting it into slices.
Peaches were my snack food. My vice, if you will. I made Krissy or one of the others run to Costco several times a month to get the giant packs of them to fill up the bowl on my desk.
It was a comfort food of sorts. Each bite reminded me of my childhood, of running through the orchard with my siblings, light carefree, skin sun-warmed, hearts bursting, just full of joy and love. We would reach above our heads, pulling down fat, warm peaches, biting into them, feeling the sweet juices run down our faces, filling our bellies even though our mother had warned us not to spoil our dinner.
Those were simpler times. Happier times. And my little addiction never failed to bring me back there for a few short, blissful moments, chasing away the sadness of the present moment.
"Is it hottie advertisement guy?" she asked as I turned.
"What?"
"Oh, Mr. Tall Dark and Moody. Don't try to pretend you forgot," she told me, rolling her eyes. Krissy never forgot a good-looking man. "I know you were picturing him bending you over that desk, peeling down your pants and panties..."
"Work pants, Krissy. You need to put on your work pants." It was useless to remind her. Krissy was Krissy--outspoken, sexual, a complete open book. It was something I genuinely loved about her as a friend. So long as, you know, she was talking about her own sex life. Not mine. Or the lack thereof.
As usual, she completely ignored me as she picked up a chunk of her hair, folding it upward, inspecting the ends for splits. Finding one, she twirled it around a finger and snapped off the end.
"I mean.. how long has it been Rae? It has to be a year by now. That's just not healthy."
"Not all of us have the sex drive of a thirteen-year-old boy," I reminded her. I deliberately left off the fact that sex dreams had me tossing and turning and waking up to sweat-dampened sheets for more than a couple of nights. And that the man starring in my unconscious erotic movies was none other than the broody, blunt, stupidly good-looking Nixon Rivers.
The things that man did with his mouth...
"Oh, you have a sex drive. It is just hiding away. I really thought that yummy thing was going to make it come out and play."
"You will have to live with your disappointment."
"Admit he's hot."
"He's hot." There was no reason to deny that. And no way to do so even somewhat believably. "He's not really my type though."
"Oh, yes. You like the nice guys," Krissy said, rolling her eyes. "Pray tell, Reagan, which one of those nice guys cheated on you and stole your graduation necklace? And wasn't it a complete other who had you pay for two semesters of his college then promptly dumped you as soon as he graduated? Nice guys are never that nice underneath it all. Now, the assholes, that is a different story. There is always a lot of mush underneath all that barbed wire. Mr. Advertisement Guy would be like that, mark my words. Plus, I'm pretty sure he'd fuck you seven ways to Sunday."