CHAPTER 177

CAIN POV

She’s not quick enough to dart away from view when I head through to the living room with a fresh cold beer from the fridge. Call it instinct, but I used to do it when I was a kid and my parents were arguing – sit myself down on the top stair and hope people would be too caught up in their row to notice me.

I prop myself against the bottom bannister and call up to her.

“You can come down if you want. Brian’s gone.”

 She pokes her head around the top rail. “I wasn’t–” she begins, but I shake my head.

 “Don’t even think about lying to me, you’ve been there since we sent you out.”

She shrugs. “It’s not eavesdropping if the conversation is about you. It’s called not being a stupid fucking idiot.”

 “It’s called poking your pixie nose in where it’s not fucking wanted. What Brian and I talk about is for our ears and not yours.”

      She folds her arms as she heads back downstairs. Good manners seem to fade awfully fucking easily with this girl.

      “Even if the shit you’re talking about revolves around me?”

      “Especially if the shit we’re talking about revolves around you.”

      “He’s freaked out,” she says and it isn’t a question.

      “Brian takes things hard. He’s very considerate.” I pause. “Usually very considerate.”

      A flash of insecurity shows in her eyes. “I guess I’m messing things up for him a little, right?”

  I have the strangest urge to pull the girl into my arms and hold her tight. I saw one of those sickly sweet graphics on the internet once. It said one day someone’s going to come along who’ll hug you so tight that all of your broken pieces will fit back together again.

 It made me roll my eyes at the time, and yet here I am years later considering whether maybe it’s not quite such a grotesque idea after all. If I could hug Moona Avii that tight I would.

I’d love to feel her broken pieces fitting back together again. Hell knows there’s enough of them. The girl has a list of issues a mile long.

      “My ass hurts,” she says and I can’t help but smile.

      “That’s the idea. I trust you’ll think twice next time you get the urge to drink tequila with a coke-dealing loser.”

      She shrugs, and there’s that devilment in her eyes again. “Maybe.”

      “Maybe you won’t be able to sit down for a week if you do it again. I’d count yourself lucky.”

      I head back through to the kitchen and she follows me, arms wrapped around herself as her feet pad softly across the floor tiles. I get her a coffee, not a beer, and she doesn’t argue.

She looks thoughtful, pensive even. It’s not an expression I usually see on her.

 “Why did you let me stay here?” she asks, and the question takes me aback.

“You needed somewhere to sleep. Brian would lose his job if he took you to his.”

      “But the hotel. Brian said he’d take me to a hotel.”

      “And I had a spare bedroom.”

      Her eyes meet mine for just a second before she stares down at her coffee. 

“I’m glad you let me stay,” she says.

      “So am I,” I tell her. “Even if you are a pain in the fucking ass.” I smile to let her know I’m joking, and she smiles too.

      “Can’t help it. Born that way.”

      “We’ll knock the spiky edges off you, young lady. Just give it time.”

Time. It’s only been a week, but it feels so much longer. It feels like Moona Avii has been a whirlwind in our lives for an eternity already.

I finish up my beer as she finishes up her coffee and I’m done for the night.

Exhausted enough to sleep for a week, even if my balls are still tight enough to blow.

 “Goodnight, Moona,” I tell her. “I’ll see you in the morning. Tomorrow night is movie night. Me, you, Brian and some popcorn.”

      She raises an eyebrow. “I don’t like movies. I don’t even like TV.”

      “Then I guess you’ll have to make an exception, won’t you?” I smirk. “You can choose since you’re likely to be the awkward whiny one.”

      She groans like I’ve just told her she has to shovel shit for a week and I’m smiling as I make my way upstairs.

  Life feels strange in this house all of a sudden. Strange but not unpleasant, far from it. Even if I’m in some absurd triangle with my best friend and his runaway gypsy girl.

      I finish myself off in the shower and it’s one of the best hand jobs I’ve ever had the pleasure of giving myself.

      I put that down to the Moona Avii effect, just like everything else this week.

      I’m beginning to feel glad it was contagious after all.