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“Will you come? Simone will be out of town, and Candy has morning sickness and—”
“Candy’s pregnant?”
“Yeah, you didn’t know?”
Lots I don’t know. Might explain why Jet seems so distracted lately. Why he hasn’t called me like he usually does, to check up on me.
“Rid… go with me?”
“Uh.” Not so sure about this. “I’m not good with kids.”
“I don’t believe that for a second. And you’ll look dashing as Superman.”
“Superman?”
“Or Batman. Or whatever you want.”
I don’t want to dress up as anything. Pretend anything. “Let me think about it.”
“You’re not going to try them?” Brylee holds out the box of cookies to me, and I take one mechanically.
“Chocolate?” I ask before biting into the brown crust.
“Coffee,” she says cheerfully just as I choke on…ground coffee? “And sea salt.”
“Argh,” I agree, choking on the dry and salty paste. “Woh?”
Why? Why oh why?
“I think I might have forgotten the sugar, though.” Brylee taps a short, red fingernail on her chin, thoughtful. “I knew I forgot something.”
“Goh,” I agree, still trying to swallow my mouthful of salty coffee torture.
In the end I give up and excuse myself to the bathroom where I spit everything out and flush the toilet.
God. I splash water on my face, and a fit of laugher grips me.
Bry. That girl… Only she could make me laugh by almost poisoning me with her cooking.
Only I’d be so gone for her I’d keep eating up whatever she dishes out without caring if it kills me.
And yeah, my thoughts are kinda fatalistic lately. I’m aware.
Fatalistic, twisted and downright dark.
It’s as if my mind’s preparing for something really bad to happen, and it’s a well-worn rut in my brain, it seems, because all I can see as I look down into the sink is my brother’s still, white face, dead eyes staring up at me.
Shit.
“Rid?” Brylee’s voice sounds disconcertingly close, and I turn to look at her, my face dripping cold water, my heart pounding. “What… are you okay?”
In two steps she’s right there, putting her hands on my wet cheeks, and no matter how much I know I shouldn’t, how I should fight it, I gather her close and kiss her.
Again I’m surprised by how different she tastes and feels to Ryan. Softer, sweeter, her skin like silk, her lips like satin pillows. No dark spice undercurrent when her tongue tentatively strokes mine, no aggressive tussling, just vanilla sugar.
Just as good. Very good, in fact. Delicious, and perfect, like a side to the pleasure of kissing that was missing, a half to a crescent, making the moon shine full.
Riddick the Poet.
