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“So do I.”
“I know. But I won’t let you use me to prove something to yourself.”
A lump forms in my throat. “You’re annoyingly decent sometimes.”
“Don’t tell anyone.” He winks. “It will ruin my reputation.”
Pretty Boy flaps into the kitchen, landing on the empty stool beside me, and I freeze. The fucker is huge up close. “Rude woman.”
“Feathered asshole.”
“Fuck off.”
I laugh. “I will feed you to Bertha—she is due for a decent meal.”
Pretty Boy bobs his head. “Eat ass.”
Rue covers his face, and I laugh. This entire morning has been fucking ridiculous. I was convinced my entire life was imploding because three men somehow got past the defenses I spent years building.
“Thanks for this. I really needed it.”
“Any time, you know that.”
“If you tell anyone about this conversation, I’ll kill you.”
Rue smirks. “Wouldn’t dream of it, little nightmare.”
I smile, and it’s official: hell has frozen over. I actually think I like having a term of endearment.
I stand from the stool, as it’s time I should go. Rue tells me to come back anytime for food, but that the next time I want to fuck, to be thinking about him.
Walking back from Rue’s, I decide he is right. I don’t have to figure it all out now or overthink it. A faint sound has me freezing and looking around. My heart fucking thumps in my chest, and I hate that my body reacts this way. I turn and see nothing. For one stupid second, disappointment hits me, and I hurry faster toward my house. When I look up, the Jester is outside leaning against the railing. He looks tired, with bags under his eyes, but he is alive. Relief hits me so hard it immediately turns into rage.
The second he sees me, his mouth stretches into a smile. “My love.”
“Where the fuck have you been?”
His smile falters, just slightly. “I . . .”
“No, actually don’t fucking answer yet, because I have been waiting three days to be pissed at you, and you’re going to fucking listen.”
His eyebrows rise, and his smile comes back.
“Stop fucking smiling at me.”
He covers his mouth with his hand, because we both know there is no way he will stop.
“Do you have any idea how fucking annoying you are?”
He nods.
“You spend months and months following me around, so I can’t even walk across this island without hearing those stupid bells behind me. You appear at my house, at work, at the bar. You tell me where you’re going. You send me pictures of vegetables shaped like dicks.”
“That tomato was exceptional.”
“Shut up.” And he does. “You tell me every useless thought that enters your fucking head, and then you disappear for three days.”
His expression changes, but I keep going because today is the day I get it all out. I can regret my life choices tomorrow.
