Page 50 of Judge's Mercy

“Are you joking? Who?” Tinleigh’s eyes go wide with excitement.

“God.” He points above. “The only relationship I need.”

I roll my eyes. “Lame.”

“As fulfilling as that relationship must be, you can’t fuck the Lord,” Jenson says, and I spit my mimosa all over the table.

“Damn it, Jenson. Warn a girl before you say shit like that.” Thankfully, I’d only taken a sip, so it’s easy to blot the mess with a napkin.

“Am I going to hell for saying that, Judge?” Jenson asks.

Judge stands and places a hand on the back of my chair. It’s a casual move no one would think anything of, but my face flames red, certain everyone can see tell that twelve hours ago, Judge was giving me a yoni massage.

“I’m happy with where my life is at right now, but who knows? If there’s someone out there for me, I trust we’ll find each other when the time is right.” His hand runs along the back of the chair, barely skimming my shoulders. His touch sends a shiver down my spine as my body remembers all the delicious things his long, lithe fingers can do.

“Amen,” Jenson says in a teasing tone, but Judge doesn’t take offense. When he says his spirituality is personal, he means it. He doesn’t push anything on anyone and truly believes in free agency. I admire that about him, considering I grew up in a religion that constantly pressured us to share our testimony with non-believers.

He raps his knuckles on the table twice before walking away. Even with only a view of his back, I can tell he’s showered since I saw him last. His hair is wet and combed back, doing a cute little flip at the ends. His worn leather cut ends right at his hips, so I get a good view of his backside. Things start to heat up in my panties when a fresh memory pops up of how his ass looks naked, all round and muscular.

He has on his usual long-sleeve black button-down that’s rolled up to his elbows, exposing his forearms, and even those are sexy as sin. The underside is soft and hairless, with a prominent vein running down the center. I swallow hard as another memory flashes through my mind of how they felt under my palms as I held on for dear life while he pounded into me.

“Do you guys see Mustang?” Jenson asks, snapping out of my trance.

“He’s over by the pool table talking to Lucky.” Tinleigh gestures in that direction, and as if they heard their names, both look over to check in with their partners. It’s disturbing, really. Tinleigh and Jenson are grown-ass adults; they don’t need guardians.

Jenson leans over the table, one brow quirked as he gestures for us to lean in. “I need some advice. Mustang and I are going to Vegas in a couple weeks for a work conference, and I want to ask him to get married while we’re there. The only thing is, we’ve never talked about it, so I don’t know if it’s something he wants, or if the institution of marriage is too traditional for him.”

“You mean you’re proposing?” I ask.

“No, I want to get married. Neither one of us really likes being the center of attention, so I can’t picture having some big event.”

“I think he’ll do it because you want it, but wouldn’t he want his brothers there?”

Jenson shakes his head. “If I put him in a serious situation like a huge wedding, he’d probably do something stupid to lighten the mood, like fart or tell a bad joke. I figured if we got married in Vegas, it’d be light-hearted and fun enough to keep him entertained and stop him from ruining it. Plus, with my dad passing last month, my mom isn’t ready to start celebrating, so I don’t know. I think a Vegas wedding with just the two of us would be romantic.”

“That’s actually smart. I don’t even want to know what Lucky will do when we get married,” Tinleigh says.

I narrow my eyes on her. “Is that something you guys are thinking about?”

She smiles so big all her teeth show as she digs into her jeans pocket and produces a ring. “This is partly why I wanted to see you. Lucky asked me to marry him, and of course, I said yes.” Her face screws up. “Actually, he didn’t ask. He just shoved the ring on my finger and said since he can’t find a doctor who’ll sew us together, and even though the law is just a social construct, it’s the only other way he can think of to bind me to him. Well, besides knocking me up. But I’m not ready to be a mom yet, so yeah. We’re getting married! Can you even believe it?”

My upper lip curls. “He needs help.”

“That’s so sweet,” Jenson coos.

“Right?” She holds her hand out in the center of the table to show off a platinum ring with a gleaming purple solitary stone. “It’s a two-carat violet sapphire.”

Jenson gasps. “It’s stunning!”

“I’m just lucky he couldn’t find a jeweler who’d carve this beautiful stone into a purple dildo.” She wiggles her fingers, admiring the way it sparkles, as if what she just said was normal, and I guess it is for them. Them. She and I used to be a “them”—a packaged pair—but I’ve been replaced by a man with genital piercings. It would be funny if it wasn’t true. She has someone else to be a “them” with now, and I’m well and truly alone.

The urge to cry hits me like a ton of bricks, and I can hardly hold it in. Fucking hell, I should be happy for her. A normal sister would tackle her in a hug and congratulate her, but I’m not normal, not anymore. But unlike the former, normal version of me, I can lie. “I’m so happy for you, sis.”

“You don’t look it. Are you okay?” She places the back of her hand on my forehead. I should’ve known she’d see through the fib. We might not be on the same level lately, but we’re still twins.

“Actually, I’m feeling a little sick. I’ll have to take a rain check on the rest of brunch.” I stand and pick up my plate, wishing I didn’t have to walk through the crowd to clean up after myself. The need to let out a sob grows stronger by the second, constricting my throat painfully.

“Don’t worry about that. I got it. Just go home and rest.” She takes my plate. “And call me later.”

---