My usual response to things was to smile. Crack a joke. Be a smart-ass. But there was just something about Hush that made all of that fall away. The deep dark part of me that I suppressed, every second of every day, reacted to Hush’s presence. Like he was trying to escape the same kind of darkness that lived in me too.
My jokes and sass didn’t belong around Hush.
He somehow made me . . . vulnerable. Something I wasn’t used to fucking being with anyone.
Hush’s eyes fell to the space on the couch. I had no idea what was going on in his mind, but I saw the moment he decided to walk away from us. The ice-cold frost that was a permanent fixture in his eyes was back. “I’ll make us something to eat,” he mumbled and moved toward the kitchen.
Acting on instinct, I took hold of his fingers with my own as he passed. Hush stopped dead and squeezed his eyes shut. His chest rose and fell, his breathing slow. His fingers were so damn cold.
I wanted to warm them. I wanted him to open his eyes and smile.
I realized I just wanted him . . . period.
“I’ll help you cook,” I offered, my voice shaking. I prayed he wouldn’t reject me again.
My breathing hitched when Hush’s finger moved and ghosted over mine. I didn’t dare look away from his face, just in case he wanted to look at me. Do anything other than scowl at me. But he kept his stare forward, eventually slipping his hand from mine. My hand felt empty. Cold.
“You stay with him. He needs you right now.” Hush’s voice was strained. He moved to the kitchen.
His departure left a sudden chill in the air.
I grabbed the bottle of bourbon and took a sip, feeling the liquor travel down my throat. I rarely drank, but right now I needed it. Closing my eyes, I laid my head back and continued running my hand through Cowboy’s hair. I drifted off to the sound of Hush cooking in the kitchen . . .
When I opened my eyes, the fire had been lit and Hush was standing before me holding a bowl. Cowboy was sitting up beside me, already eating. Hush moved across the room—as far away as he could get from us—and took his place by the fire.
“I fell asleep?”
Cowboy nodded. “Don’t worry, cher. You still looked fucking beautiful even when you were snoring.”
I rolled my eyes when he smiled with a mouth full of food. “Firstly, fuck off. And secondly, how’s your arm?”
“Still here.”
I looked across at Hush. He was silent, staring intently into the flames. They were as untouchable as he was.
Cowboy, for once, wasn’t smiling as he followed my gaze. In that moment, as he looked to Hush, he too appeared . . . broken. Just as Hush did as he grew more and more lost in the flames dancing in the hearth.
I had no idea what the hell was going on.
“Cowboy?” I reached out to touch his arm. Cowboy broke from whatever had filled his mind. He gave me a small smile. But then he looked back at Hush and sighed. I could hear the devastation in that one simple breath.
Without even knowing what haunted them both right then, I felt truly sad.
Hush curled in on himself, toward the fire. I tried to work out the enigma that was this man. “He doesn’t say much, does he?”
“It’s why people think he’s called Hush.”
I turned to Cowboy, intrigued. “It’s not?”
He sighed deeply . . . sadly, and then glanced at his best friend. “It’s not even close.”
I let this new piece of information hang in the air. When only the sound of the crackling fire could be heard, I took a spoonful of the food Hush had cooked. I closed my eyes when the flavors hit my tongue. “Hush.” I looked down. Gumbo. “This is delicious.”
Hush looked over at me but said nothing. He stared at his feet, and then abruptly stood from the chair. “I’m gonna go to bed.” I watched him go to the hallway that led to the stairs, as did Cowboy.
“He can cook,” I said, smiling at that little discovery about the perpetually closed-off man.
“His daddy taught him that recipe,” Cowboy said absently, eyes still on the empty hallway.
“He back in Louisiana?”
Cowboy tensed. “He ain’t with us anymore, cher.”
The smile slipped from my face. I didn’t dare ask anything else. The devastating expression on Cowboy’s face told me not to. Cowboy reached across me to take the bourbon. He downed several gulps before handing it back to me. I did the same.
“Careful, cher. You’ll get drunk.”
I ran my hand down my face, sighing. “I’m thinking that might not be such a bad thing tonight.”
“Then give the bottle the fuck this way, and I’ll join you on your journey to Trashedsville.”
An hour ticked by, and a second bottle of bourbon was opened. The room had started to tilt slightly. “I’m feeling tipsy,” I said, a high-pitched giggle slipping from my throat. I slammed my hand over my mouth, eyes wide. “What the hell was that fucking cheesy-ass sound that just slipped from my mouth?” I groaned. “Shoot me if it ever falls from my lips again.”
Cowboy leaned close. “You can’t help it, cher. It’s my exuberant presence. Makes all the bitches in a fifty-yard radius turn into giggling schoolgirls.”
I rolled my eyes, but then stared at Cowboy’s profile. Unable to control my words, I stated, “You’re real fucking handsome. I’ll give you that.”
He smiled, showing me his white teeth. “Merci, cher. From you, that’s a real fucking compliment.” His tongue wrapped around the French words, and I closed my eyes, replaying them like a lullaby in my head.
“Merci, cher,” I imitated, opening my eyes when his hand ran up my leg.
“You mocking my accent?” Cowboy thickened his accent, the everyday exotic words falling off his tongue like melted butter.
“Never!” I said jokingly. “But seriously, I do love how you sound. How you both sound . . . it’s beautiful.”
“Yeah?” He leaned in closer, his arm now able to hold more of his weight than a few hours before. I shifted, heat traveling faster up my legs and onward to my stomach the closer he came. I quickly fucking sobered up.
“Yeah.”
I held my breath as Cowboy crawled toward me only to snag the bottle from beside me. I blew out a shuddering exhale. Cowboy’s muscled arms flexed as he lifted the bottle to his full lips. When he pulled the bottle away, his tongue darted out and licked a drop of bourbon that was falling.
“Tell me,” I heard myself saying. Cowboy looked at me. Swallowing, I ignored the heat in my cheeks and said, “How does it work?” Cowboy looked puzzled. I shifted in my seat. “With you and Hush . . . and the women. How do you . . . do it?” I felt my face blaze, but I held my ground. I wanted to know. Since the day he told me of the way they had sex, I could barely think of anything else.
Cowboy’s pupils dilated. The question hung in the air between us. He took another sip of bourbon, and then turned his body toward me. His fingers landed on my foot, stroking the skin. “You wanna know, cher?” he asked, his voice husky from the bourbon.
“Yes,” I whispered back, my thighs clenching together as his light touch on my skin sent shivers up my spine.
“First, we take her back to a room,” he said. My chest flushed, and I knew it wasn’t from the fire. His rich accent gave life to the everyday words. Cowboy traced his finger over the bottom of my jeans and up my shin. “One of us leads her toward the bed.” He circled his finger around my calf. “The other trails behind.” My gaze was fixed on his mouth as I imagined the scene in my head. “Slowly, we strip her of her clothes. One item at a time, our mouths beginning to kiss every inch of the newly bared flesh.” I shifted where I sat as his finger reached my knee. Cowboy licked his lips. “Her tits are freed, and we each take a nipple in our mouths, making her moan.” My eyes widened. “We devour her body, until one of us moves between her legs.” He shrugged. “Then . . .” His hand crept higher still until it was on my thigh. I squeezed my legs together and fought the moan that was threatening
to spill from my mouth at the image. Because I didn’t see some random club slut in my head.