Page 104 of Relentles
“Don’t fucking push it, CJ. I hate that bitch, but Diesel seems happy.”
After the way he described Diana sucking his cock raw, CJ bet he was.
“For now at least.”
Popping to her feet, she walked away with those words hanging in the air. CJ refused to think about what she meant, but he had a fucking idea. His only consolation was that she wasn’t eighteen yet. Fuck, she wasn’t evensixteen.He supposed she’d respect Diesel’s life enough not to fuck with him until she was at least legal.
At three, Dad guided Mom to the club. Thankfully, she seemed to have perked up. CJ carried Gunner; Diesel held Tabitha’s hand; Rule and Rebel whispered amongst themselves, and the Terrible Triplets zigzagged between them.
Lolly and the aunts saw to the family’s meal, while the old ladies cooked the club’s dinner.
Mom was the woman of the hour in the packed clubhouse. Alcohol and food were flowing. Toast after toast was made to her good health and strong will. No one knew about Jo’s crisis.
The deception annoyed CJ.
His parents could pretend all they pleased, it didn’t change what faced them. Not wanting to be around anyone, he lit a cigarette and walked outside, heading to the side of the building.
Just months ago, Uncle Mort caught Harley and CJ seated on a chair, long since gone, and almost kissing.
“CJ?”
At Molly’s call, he dragged on his cigarette and turned to her. He already knew how well she dressed up. She’d been Ryan’s date to Prom.
Flicking away ashes, he smiled. “Merry Christmas, Mo.”
With all the bullshit, he hadn’t gotten a chance to tell her or bring her her gift.
“You too, CJ.”
“You look so pretty.”
She glanced down at her green dress shot through with gold threads. A cold breeze threatened to damage the soft curls framing her face. On her feet were black pumps with red soles.
Lolly loved Louboutin.
“Lolly helped me to dress, and with my hair and makeup.” She frowned. “Or was it Pop?”
“Knox wouldn’t help you dress.”
“So Pop is Mr. Knox and Lolly is Ms. Roxanne.”
Oh.It was a Molly-ish speculation not a lapse in memory. “Yes.”
Her eyes lit up. “I got presents.”
“Anything on your wish list?”
“I have a Santa list, CJ. A wish list is forTwinkle, Twinkle Little Star. It even has something about wishing on a star.”
The return ofhisMo eased him more than words could express. Grinning, he enjoyed his cigarette a moment, anxious to know what else would come out of her pretty mouth.
“That’sWhen You Wish Upon a Star, bae. Jiminy Crickett sings it inPinocchio. Two English poets wroteTwinkle, Twinkle Little Star.”
“Nuh-uh! It was Mozart. And a cricket can’t sing.”
How could she know the old rumor about Mozart and the poem but not know about the cricket, Geppetto, and his wooden son? Laughing and tossing his cigarette, he wrapped his arms around her.
“You’re right, Mo,” he whispered. “Did you get anything from your Santa list?”
