I don’t know what to say to her. Lincoln Riscoff is the one person I plan to avoid for the rest of my time on planet earth, and definitely for as long as I’m in Gable. Which, if the Riscoffs have anything to say about it, may not be long.
“So,” Cricket says, glossing over the information bomb she just dropped on me. “Where do you want to go first? Home, or Cocko Taco for the Taco Tuesday special? Be warned, Mom won’t be out of work yet, and Karma is definitely home because unless she’s doing something with her girls, she never steps away from her freaking computer and reality TV.”
Blood is blood, but if Cricket, the most loving and forgiving person I’ve ever met, still can’t handle her sister’s attitude, I’m in no hurry to see my other cousin.
“Taco Tuesday it is.”
Cricket nods and fires up the van. “That’s my girl.”
I’m not sure if she’s talking about me or the van, but it doesn’t matter, because she’s swinging out of the parking lot and narrowly misses a little red Audi convertible. The blonde in the Audi lays on the horn and flips up her finger before flooring it and taking off at a speed the van has no prayer of reaching.
“Whore,” Cricket says under her breath.
“Who was that?”
The rear end of the Audi disappears as it careens around a corner, its tires almost clipping a curb. At this point, I’m not sure who’s the worse driver, her or my cousin.
Cricket shoots me a sideways glance. “You don’t want to know.”
My stomach, which is already knotted into a ball, twists tighter in anticipation.
“Why?”
My cousin’s gaze slides back to the road. “That’s Maren Higgins. She’s ... well, let’s just say you don’t want to talk about it—and neither do I—because we both have a reason to run her over on purpose. I like to refer to her as Cuntcake McWhoreson because it makes me feel better about myself and life in general.”
“What did she do to you?” I don’t even want to entertain the thought of why I might have a reason to run her over. “Because you know I’ll still cut a bitch.”
Cricket’s grin comes back. “I know you will. That’s why I’m glad to have you home. Maren is ... Well, let’s just say there’s a special place in hell reserved for women who think they deserve to have a man who’s already taken, and she’s one of them.”
“She tried to steal Hunter?”
Cricket nods. “They went out on two dates a few years ago, and then she set her sights on ...”
Cricket stops before she says the name, and I tense because there’s only one person whose name I told her not to mention.
“Well, she set her sights on a bigger target and has been slobbering after him ever since. But, because she’s a Cuntcake McWhoreson, as soon as Hunter and I went public about our thing, she came running back because she was afraid of losing what she thought was a sure bet. Unlike her other option, who has basically made zero signs of ever committing, regardless of how much his family would love him to start popping out the next generation of rich kids.”
“So ... what did you do?”
“Told her I knew a voodoo priestess who would curse her to marrying a man with no money and no teeth. She backed off, but I don’t trust her as far as I can see her. Apparently, she’s also got a golden twat, because she’s got half the guys in town under her spell.”
I already hate her. I’ve never seen anything but her middle finger and her convertible, but considering she tried to steal my cousin’s man—and only for that reason—I’d bury her body for Cricket without question.
I tell myself I don’t give a damn who she has under her spell or who wants her to use her golden twat to pop out an heir.I’m a thirty-one-year-old broke, bitter widow, and I don’t have room in my life for another man.
I came back to Gable to be close to Cricket and my aunt Jackie, and that’s it. I want to find a job and live a normal, quiet life, and stay out of the public eye. I don’t need people like Cuntcake McWhoreson popping up and causing problems, because I had enough of that with myfriendsin LA who sold me out to the tabloids by giving them bullshit information about my broken marriage with Ricky.
My goals are simple now. Be happy. Keep the people I love close. Stay out of the press.
There’s no room for wasting a single thought on the man who shall not be named. None at all.
Even if I never get the good dick for the rest of my life. I’ll consider it penance for all the destruction I’ve left in my wake.
Except nothing could be that easy.
“There’s Hunter’s truck!” Cricket veers into oncoming traffic as she hangs her body out the window and waves at a fancy dark green pickup truck parked on the other side of Bridge Street.
“Jesus Christ, Cricket!”