Page 97 of Burned in Stone
“Sure.” Josie sets her bags down, shrugging off her suit jacket. “That would be great, actually. It’s been a day.” She glances at Stone. “He OK?”
“He will be.” Maggie hands her straight vodka. “Just don’t mention Emma, Bones, or upstairs when you talk to him.”
Josie’s eyes widen. “Duly noted.”
Stone looks up and spots Josie. His face does something complicated—softening and sharpening at the same time.
“Josie! Get the fuck over here,” he says, words slightly slurred.
Josie takes a gulp of her drink then heads over.
“You are so fucking pretty, Josie,” Stone says. “You know that, right?”
Josie blinks. “I—what?”
“Pretty. Beautiful. Gorgeous.” Stone waves his glass. “All of it. You’re all of it.”
“You’re drunk.”
“Very.” He takes another sip. “Doesn’t make it less true.”
Josie’s cheeks flush pink. She looks away. “Stone, I really think we should?—”
“I’m gonna have to kill Bones,” Stone interrupts, staring into his glass. “He’s... I can’t even talk about what he’s doing.”
“Oh…” She shoots a look over her shoulder toward us and mouths ‘What do I do?’ We just shrug and she takes another gulp of her drink. “How about?—”
“He’s screwing my daughter,” Stone blurts out and instantly clamps a hand over his mouth, eyes bulging as if he’s surprised by the words escaping his own face. Josie looks from him to Maggie, to me, to the ceiling, then back at Stone. Her mouth opens, closes, does a goldfish impersonation, then snaps shut again. I can’t tell if she’s about to die laughing, cry, or possibly set herself on fire for an excuse to leave the room.
“Oh.” Josie sets down her glass. “Oh. That’s why we’re all crammed in the kitchen. They’re upstairs.”
“See? Pretty AND smart.” Stone grins sloppily. “You figured it out so fast, Josie.”
“Stone, you need water.”
“I need another drink.”
“No, you really don’t.” But she’s smiling despite herself, and there’s something soft in her expression that makes me think we’re all right about those two. It’s just taking them forever to do anything about it.
Cash squeezes my hand. “Come on, angel. Let’s go.”
We slip out and head down the hallway toward the original clubhouse rooms. Music and laughter fade behind us, replaced by quiet and the distant hum of the building settling.
It feels like years since I was last in Cash’s room. Compared to the apartment, it’s tiny. But it’s clean, with a bed, a dresser, and a window overlooking the parking lot. And better yet, it smells like leather and motor oil and my man.
“Home sweet home,” he says, closing the door. “Sorry it’s not the apartment.”
“It’s perfect.” I kick off my shoes and immediately feel ten pounds lighter. “Besides, the apartment’s currently occupied by two people who really, really need privacy.”
He laughs and pulls me close. “Today was insane.”
“Understatement of the year.”
“But we made it.” His hands find my hips, thumb stroking exposed skin. “Same way we always do.”
“Together?”
He grins. “Yeah. Always together.”
