I’ve only been out of prison for a few days, but I can’t ignore this restless ache much longer.
I need to get laid.
I lean against a display table of western apparel, wishing I was anywhere but here. I don’t need a degree in human sexuality to tune into the leg-humping vibes between Lorne and Cora. Their lingering eye contact, the ease in which she touches him, and the undercurrent of intimate history is enough to make my stomach collapse.
The beautiful, bouncy, animated seamstress is everything I’m not. She glows with sheltered innocence and passes out Disney smiles like it’s her only mission in life. She’s blonde and fair and bursting with musical light.
Meanwhile, I’m tempted to retreat into the shadows with my black cloud of fuck this.
I have a mission, too. It’s to kill the man who tortured me and let my sister die. I guess that makes me the bitter, vindictive villain. Hopefully, not the kind that perishes in the flames of her own stupidity.
In the back of the store, Lorne lumbers around the door, setting up some kind of booby trap. At least he’s dependable. I can rely on him to keep me alive and insult me every time he opens his mouth.
“Look at him, being all protective.” Cora rests a hand against her breastbone. “I always knew he had a heart made of honey.”
Oh, his heart is honey, all right. Honey that crystallized and hardened in a cold dark corner for eight years.
“Should we get started?” I gesture at the racks of clothes.
“For sure!” She flutters around, gathering denim and cotton while carrying on about this season’s fashion.
When Lorne emerges from the back, she directs him to the dressing room.
“Remove your shirt and…” She sweeps her gaze down his torso. “Whatever else. I’m gonna grab a tape measure.”
Does she really need to measure him? Just ask his size.
I release a breath, irked by my dreadful mood.
The measuring and flirting and half-naked touching—this is happening. I just need to deal with it.
Lorne snaps his fingers, drawing my attention to his wide stance in the dressing room.
“Stay where I can see you,” he growls, too low for Cora to hear.
I give him a middle-finger salute and a saccharine smile. Then I step as far away as I can while remaining in his line of sight. There, I focus on the front door, because that’s a safer view than the asshole stripping in my periphery.
Footsteps sound behind me and stumble to a stop.
“Oh sweet lord baby Jesus,” Cora whispers over my shoulder. “That’s more man than I have ever… Well, I have seen him. All of him, if you know what I mean.”
On the other side of the store, Lorne folds up his clothes, his mouthwatering body clad in tight-fitting briefs.
My pulse responds with a punch of eagerness, as if this were the first time I ogled his obscenely perfect physique.
Evidently, this isn’t a first for Cora, either.
I give her a narrowed look, which she interprets as a question.
“Prom night.” She sighs blissfully, her voice achingly quiet. “God, he looked downright lickable in a tux. And out of it. I thought he was the one, you know. Then he got arrested.”
I’ve never been to prom. Never been with a guy who didn’t pay by the hour. I’ve certainly never referred to anyone as the one. But if I did, I wouldn’t have let him go.
“Did you visit him in prison?” I glance at Lorne, confirming he’s out of hearing range.
“No, I…” She swallows. “It was too hard.”
Too hard for her? If she loved him, she would’ve carried her fragile little heart to the Big Mac and supported him every grueling day he was imprisoned there.
I’m all for Lorne finding a nice girl, but this one isn’t right for him.
I also might be a tad bit jealous.
So I do the responsible thing and unleash my inner bitch. “It’s too bad what happened to him.”
“What?”
“You didn’t hear?” I edge close and whisper at her ear, “He contracted a sexually-transmitted illness in prison. The debilitating kind.”
The blood drains from her cheeks. “How debilitating?”
“It made him sterile.” I scrunch my face in horror. “I feel terrible for him.”
“What is it? Like HIV or something?”
Can HIV cause male infertility? I’m not sure, but I roll with it. “Yeah.”
“How did he get that in pris…?” Her eyes widen. “Lord love a duck, that stuff really happens in there?”
Not as often as people think.
I nod. “All the time.”
“That’s awful.” She touches her throat and stares at him wistfully. “He would’ve made such pretty babies.”
Ain’t that the God’s honest truth.
“Well…” She straightens. “Since I chose my career over childbearing, I’m beginning to think he was returned to me for a reason.” Her gaze wanders to the half-naked cowboy across the room. “He can put his shoes under my bed any day of the week and twice on Sunday.”