Grinning up at Sawyer, I finish climbing up before resting on the bench next to her. "Your bikini is the nearly the same blue as your eyes."
Grinning slightly, Sawyer squeezes water from her hair and shakes it out. "I'm going to have a serious afro soon."
Saying nothing, I just watch her. If my entire life is spent doing no more than looking at this sexy woman, I'd die perfectly happy.
Nearby, the twins are thrilled to have survived their horror movie experiment. Their good mood seems infectious. In fact, Sawyer and I spend the rest of the night smiling.
Chapter 19
Sawyer
Blue Hotel
On Saturdays when the rest of Last Dollar is out on date nights and at parties, the McLaughlin bunch watches horror movies at home. The day I arrived, they offered for me to join them in the media room, but I wanted to rest. Tonight, I'm feeling nostalgic since my first official date with Jace was at a horror movie.
Tonight, he's wearing a black tank, revealing a hint of sunburn on the back of his neck and shoulders. I use the burn as an excuse to touch him. His dark gaze studies me until I can't handle the heat rushing over my body. Turning away, I realize I might have bitten off more than I can handle with this teasing thing.
The McLaughlins take their horror movies rules very seriously. Watching the films is no exception. The media room's screen is so massive the zombies look like giants. Jace loves the idea of a horror movie night. Bodie smiles at his enthusiasm, setting off my jealousy. Before I lose my temper, Jace sits in the chair closest to mine rather than hers. This little gesture makes me feel awesome, and screams I've lost all of my self-respect by pining over his every little move.
"Zombies," Jace whispers, leaning over enough for me to smell his recently washed and still damp hair. "It's a very serious problem."
JJ enters the media room in his robe and boxers. Carrying a rifle, he looks us over then frowns at me.
"Where's your gun?"
"In my room."
Colbie removes a gun from her holster and hands it to me. "She's solid."
The lights go down, and the movie begins. I settle back in the comfy chair, setting aside the gun Bodie handed me.
Horror movies never bother me, and I've seen Night of the Living Dead a few times over the years. Pop used to say there are too many real monsters in the world to worry about the imaginary kind. Despite my normal enjoyment of horror movies, a dread builds in my gut. I find myself shivering at the lifeless eyes of the zombie attacking Barbara and her idiot brother. My eyes quickly burn with impending tears.
I hurry out of the room, likely convincing the McLaughlins I'm a sissy. I can't stop myself though. A panic gripping, I search for a quiet spot to cry. My bedroom feels too far away in the huge house, and I decide to hide in a sunroom.
Hugging myself, I hear someone approaching. Zane's Pug growls at Jace who gives the dog a dirty look, sending the ugly little thing scurrying.
"Are you okay?" he asks, sitting next to me.
I glare at him. "No. That's what the tears are about."
Only watching me, Jace doesn't speak.
"It's stupid," I say when his silence goes on for too long, "but seeing all those fake dead people made me think of Pop. How empty his body felt once he died. He's just gone, and I still can't accept I'll never see him again."
Jace wraps his arm around me, and I immediately lean into his embrace.
"He lived a great life, doing exactly what he fucking wanted. No man could wish for more than what Kirk had. But I think he'd want you to miss him and know what the world lost. He'd want you to cry over zombies reminding you of him. He wouldn't want to be forgotten, and you'll never forget him."
Jace says all the wrong shit a guy is meant to say to a grieving chick. His words are perfect for me. Feeling lost and unusually fragile, I want to know I'm right, and my way is best.
I also need to know Pop was a great man and deserves to be admired. Many men in his shoes turn into cold, evil fuckers. My pop walked the line between scary fucker to his enemies and warm bastard to those he loved.
"Thanks," I whisper, crying a little more. "I don't want to feel better. Why should I rush to get over a loss so great? People don't like death, so I have to fake shit for their benefit. Fuck that. I refuse to pretend any other day of the week. I'm not doing it over losing Pop."
"No one here wants you to pretend. I don't know that they want you to pretend in Ellsberg either. I think you might be expecting too much from them like you think they're expecting too much from you."
"No. I'm always right."