Page 8 of Karma

Now his arm is still around my shoulders as he leads me up a set of creaking wooden steps to a dark cabin on the lake. Moonlight is all the light we have to go by until he flips a switch inside the cabin and a light not much brighter, only yellower, illuminates the one-room space.

It smells like stale lake water and wood, and him—this mix of scents that always somehow reminds me of winter and summer at the same time. I never gave it much thought because even though he’s one of the hottest guys I know, and he has pursued me relentlessly for a while, I wasn’t free, so there was no point getting interested.

The room only has one queen sized bed, a little kitchenette with a simple wooden dining table and a rug that was once whitebut is now crisscrossed by dark lines, which I’m sure are mildew or worse.

“Here it is,” Scorpio announces. “It’s not much, but…”

“There’s only one bed,” I say, not even sure why.

He looks at me, grinning, and winks. “Yeah, and I’m not sleeping on the floor.”

I don’t know how he does it, but he can make just about everything he says to me have this rushing undercurrent of sexual innuendo. I wonder if he does that with every woman he likes. Probably. You don’t get that good at it without a lot of practice.

And on that sobering thought, I finally step out of his embrace and deposit my bags next to his on the kitchen table.

“I’d rather not sleep on the floor either,” I say.

He shrugs and walks over, pulling a fresh bottle of whiskey from his bag, then walks out on the deck. I find myself let down by the lack of some racy comeback to my statement, and not in a good way.

“They called you Joker’s bitch,” I say as I join him outside. “But you didn’t seem to mind. Most guys I know would.”

“Would they?” he asks and sits down in one of the two deck chairs, cradling the bottle in his lap. “I figured whatever it took to get out of that amped-up disaster. And I’ve been called worse.”

“So there’s no truth to it?”

I don’t even know why I’m asking. Grim sent me packing. I don’t have to worry about who I fuck and whether they’re compatible with him. I’m sure Scorpio, with his messy blond hair, bright blue eyes and muscles that flow all over his tall body like waves of the sea, would be. In fact, he has suggested I just bring him over once or twice, back when Scorpio would pursue me and Reaper was still alive, and I doubt he was joking. He’d always been open to that kind of thing. Reaper was not. At all.Now things are very different. So much so I’m still trying and failing to put all the pieces back together into something that makes sense.

“What? You’re asking if Joker and me are together?” he asks, looking genuinely surprise. “Nah, never came up. He’s solidly straight.”

“But you’re not?”

Why the fuck am I even asking? Must be that stupid, long ass text Grim sent this afternoon after I wouldn’t answer his calls or respond to the voicemails. So he sent me a whole string of texts. Ten to be exact. He apologized for the way he treated me, the way he broke it off with me, but he didn’t take it back. Just said he should’ve done it more gently. When I got to that part, I was too pissed off to read the rest.

That’s why I came here looking for peace. So I could process all of that.

“Why are you asking?” he says. “Are you secretly a guy?”

He laughs at his joke, but I can’t even smile at it. Instead, I take the bottle from his hands, unscrew the cap, and take a long swig, ignoring the burn that is bad enough to make my eyes water.

He’s no longer smiling either as he watches me. “I heard about Reaper. I’m sorry for your loss. That guy really loved you.”

I turn to him, wishing my eyes weren’t still full of whiskey tears. “Yeah, how could you tell?”

I shouldn’t be snapping at him. He seemed genuine in offering his condolences. But I still can’t hear Reaper’s name without either getting very angry or very sad. Anger’s easier.

“Well, he threatened to cut off my junk if I didn’t leave you alone,” he says and takes the bottle from my hands. “And he sounded serious enough to convince me.”

He takes a swig and I’m just sitting here, mad at Reaper now for keeping this from me. I can fight my own battles. Didn’t hetrust me to stay true? Now I’m sad and mad and it’s a very annoying combination.

“I didn’t know he did that,” I say. “But I did wonder why you stopped trying to get me naked.”

“Oh, I wanted to do a lot more than get you naked,” he says, giving me one of those all over looks that makes all those things he’s talking about pop up in my mind like perfectly lit photos. “Now you’re free. And of all the places you chose the one where I could save you at, and get you into my room without even trying all that hard.”

“There’s still Grim,” I say, no idea why. Probably because I’m not done processing the new state of things. Or the stupid ten texts which had to be about wanting me back, because why send so many otherwise?

“Grim what?” he asks, looking confused. He’s just holding the bottle, not drinking, so I snatch it back and take another eye-watering swig.

“Grim nothing,” I say in a raspy voice. “We were all together, the three of us, but now that’s over too.”

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