Hard.
“I’m being deadly serious,” I whispered and I sounded it.
He touched the tip of his nose to mine and whispered back, sounding just as serious (without the deadly part), “Fuck, you’re cute.”
On no he did not.
“Don’t call a revenge-minded girlfriend cute, Deke,” I rapped out.
He pulled away but only half an inch.
Then he stated, “Right, how’s this for revenge? She’s a cunt. She was a cunt when she was a little kid. She didn’t grow out of that. And years later, when I went back thinkin’ the same thing as you, watched her to find my way in to get mine back, I found she hadn’t changed. She’s got everything and she doesn’t see it as bounty. She sees it as rightfully hers, and the more she’s got, the more she wants. She’ll never be happy. Not ever. Not with a man. Not with her life. So I took off and left her to her misery. And right now, lyin’ under me is a pretty, sweet, cute woman with great fuckin’ hair who digs me, is fuckin’ phenomenal in the sack, and she’s got more talent in her than anyone I’ve known or ever will. And she sees all God’s seen fit to grant her as bounty. She doesn’t expect shit. She lives. She works. She gives good to the people around her. And she gets that back. That’s revenge, gypsy. I got a good life and I’ve had that for years. I made that life myself. She’s entitled and miserable because she feeds off that and she’ll have nothin’ but that until the day she dies.”
Sometimes it just plain sucked that he was so wise.
“I was thinking more along the lines of paying her stylist to make all her hair fall out and setting up her husband or boyfriend with a call girl and sending her the pictures, but your revenge works too,” I mumbled.
“Glad you think that way,” he mumbled back.
I kept up with the mumbling. “Though yours works, mine’s better.”
Deke’s hand slid down my side, over my hip, in and he pushed my leg open so his hips fell through, doing this saying, “See? Jesus. She’s cute and I gotta fuck her and I just got done fuckin’ her.”
“I support this option for our next activity because I have some residual Vile Bitch feelings to work out.”
His mouth hit mine but when it did, he didn’t kiss me.
He spoke.
“Just sayin’, it wasn’t actually me givin’ you the option.” And with that, I felt as he slid the tip of his hard cock through my gathering wet.
I suddenly decided I’d learned enough about Deke Hightower for one night.
“Are we done talking?” I asked.
More humor in his one syllable when he answered, “Yes.”
“Then let’s stop talking,” I suggested.
Deke didn’t reply.
He kissed me.
And we were done talking.
Chapter Eighteen
Loss and Gain
Justice
The next day, I was in my truck on the way back from town with sandwiches when the call came in from Chace.
I took it, putting it on speaker, saying, “Hey, Chace.”
“Hey, Justice, things good?”
“Yep,” I replied, thinking that word was an understatement. “What’s shakin’?” I asked.
“Callin’ to let you know, DNA tests came in and they were a match. It was Caswell that broke into your house.”
Everything had been pointing to that. But even so, I felt a profound sense of relief to know that was true.
That it was definitely over.
“You good?” Chace asked as I turned on to Ponderosa Road.
“Relieved,” I answered. “So yeah. I’m good.”
“That’s good to hear, Justice. And was gonna call Deke but since I got you, Faye and me got a babysitter for Saturday. We’re gonna hit Bubba’s. She’d like to meet you. Maybe you guys could come into town and hang with us for a drink.”
That pushed out the weirdness, even if it came with relief, and just left me with a glow because Chace was Deke’s friend, he was going to call Deke, but since he had me, that me being Deke’s girlfriend, he just asked me.
That had never happened to me before.
And it felt way nice.
“I’ll talk to Deke but I’d love to meet your wife,” I said to Chace.
“Great. You or Deke throw me a text when it’s confirmed and hope to see you there.”
“Right, Chace. And thanks.”
“No problem.”
“No,” I said, my tone changing. “I mean thanks. Thanks for how you were at the station when I was flipped out. Thanks for working on this. Thanks for everything. It’s your job but I hope you know how important it is. How much it helps knowing someone gives a shit, knows what they’re doing and is doing something about it.”
His tone had changed too when he replied, “It is my job, Justice. But I do it for a reason, me giving a shit is the reason I do it and the rest was nice to hear you say.”
“I’ll buy you a drink on Saturday,” I offered, deciding it was time to get on to those cases of hooch, all around.
“I’ll look forward to arguing with you about the fact you don’t gotta do that.”