Scar
We find the girls on the back porch drinking champagne. Rita seems at ease, smiling, her hair pulled back. Molly’s in a big flowery dress with a hat shoved down over her unruly curls. “You’re lucky Orin invited you out here,” she says once we’re sitting. “He’s always such an uptight bastard in the city.”
“Hey now, easy there,” Orin says, but he’s grinning affectionately. He kisses his wife on the cheek. “You’re right though, as always. Minus the bastard part, you old cougar.”
The idea that Orin Callahan would let his wife joke about him like that would’ve been absurd a day ago. But I’m starting to get a sense of how he lives his life. There’s the crime lord Orin and the beach going Orin, and those men are very different people.
“He’s more relaxed out here,” Molly says, patting her husband on the knee. “I’m always encouraging him to spend more time at the beach house, but he always says his business is in Boston, and that’s where he should be.”
“What’s a man without work?” Orin asks, shrugging. “You understand, Scar.”
“I do,” I say, not really sure how I feel about putting myself on the same level as a mob boss, but all right. He’s not wrong. I’m nothing without my job.
“Scar’s a workaholic,” Rita announces, looking pleased with herself. Her eyebrows arch when I give her a sharp look. “What? Are you going to argue?”
Molly laughs, delighted. “Did you know that before you married him?”
“I hoped he’d change,” Rita says with a dramatic sigh. “I’m trying to save him. I like damaged men.”
“Damaged?” I ask, glaring. “I’m not damaged.”
“You should’ve seen him when we first met,” Rita says, leaning closer to Molly. “He didn’t have a single picture on the walls of his apartment. It was like he lived in an extremely clean frat house.”
“Really now?” Orin asks, looking at me with wide eyes. “Is that true?”
Rita answers before I can. “He said it was just a place to sleep, so why bother decorating? His entire life revolves around the office.”
“I had decorations,” I say, working my jaw.
“He had one dish, one cup, one towel. It was the ultimate bachelor pad.”
“Sounds depressing,” Molly says, nodding.
“God, you should’ve seen the first night he brought me home,” Rita says, launching into a story that absolutely did not happen. I shoot her a look, trying to get her to stop it, but she’s on a roll now. “His TV was on the floor, which was a total red flag. There was one chair, no coffee table, wires everywhere. Unopened boxes in all the corners, like he’d moved in and didn’t bother unpacking. I asked how long he’d been there and he said three years! He opened a bottle of wine, but there was only a single glass, so he had to drink from a mug. Then we ordered in, but there was only one plate, so he had to eat out of the cardboard container with a spoon, while I was privileged enough to get a fork.”
“And you still married him?” Molly asks, laughing. “I would’ve run screaming.”
“He kept apologizing,” Rita says, putting a hand lightly on my leg. I want to throw her off this damn balcony right about now. “It was very sweet. But I started sort of wondering about him when I realized he had one towel. One set of sheets. One pillow and one pillowcase. I was like, what do you do when you do laundry? He said he just doesn’t shower.”
“Doesn’t shower!” Orin says, laughing. “Oh, boy, you truly needed a woman.”
“That’s not the worst of it,” Rita says, eyes gleaming with excitement.
“It can’t get worse,” Molly says, hand over her heart.
“No, it really can’t,” I say through my teeth. “Right, sweetheart?”
“He used that all-in-one shampoo and body wash stuff,” she says, shaking her head. “It was the no-tears kind, you know, for little kids? Organic though, which I thought was very good, but when I asked him about it, he said it was to save time. Poured it over his head, rubbed it all over, and boom, all clean.”
“That has to be a joke,” Orin says, looking at me like he lost a little respect. “Truly, not the all-in-one?”
“Truly,” Rita says, nodding proudly. “Now, I haven’t told you about the sock-”
“Okay!” I say, jumping to my feet. “Orin, why don’t you show us down to the beach? I’m sure Rita’s done telling you about my totally unbelievable bachelor pad.”
“I was just getting started,” she says, grinning.
“But Scar’s right, we should get some beach time in, and I know the boys would like to say hello,” Molly says, and I could kiss the woman. At least if her gangster husband wouldn’t cut my throat for it. “You two head out and get changed. We’ll meet here in ten.”
“Sounds good.” I yank Rita by the hand. “Come on, love.”
“Coming, honey bear,” she says sweetly.
Once we’re inside and out of earshot, I put my arm around her, pulling her tight. “All-in-one?” I growl in her ear. “And where were you going with the sock?”
“Just spicing things up, that’s all.” She bats her eyelashes at me. “Oh, don’t get all mad. I didn’t go too far.”
“You made me sound like a serial killer. TV on the floor? One towel?”
“I made you sound like the workaholic you are.”
“My place is nice.”
“Your place was entirely devoid of personality before me.”
“I liked my place before you,” I say through my teeth as we reach our room.
She shrugs, walking over to her bags. “Don’t get mad at me, okay? I’m just selling them on our relationship.”
“By making me look like a moron.”
“By making it look real.” She pulls a bikini from her suitcase and holds it up. “What do you think?”
I stare at her for a long moment.
This fucking girl.
This motherfucking girl.
The bikini is small. It’s white. And she’s going to look absolutely delicious wearing it.
Which makes me hate her even more.
She has no right to look fucking sexy after telling that story.
I walk over, grab the bikini from her hand, and throw it aside.
“Didn’t like it?” she asks, backing off, grinning. “Okay, no need to get mad.”
“I love the bikini,” I say, glaring pure loathing at her. “You are going to look obscene in that fucking thing and I’m half hard thinking about it. But listen to me, Rita.” I jam a finger in her face. “Stop making me look like a fucking psychopath.”
Her grin gets bigger. “I’m really having fun with our marriage.”
“You’re impossible.”
“Don’t be mad, sweetie.” She knocks my finger away, leans in, and kisses my cheek.
I catch her by the hair. She sucks in a surprised breath as I kiss her hard, teeth biting into her lower lip. She grunts, frustrated, but I hold the kiss. When we break apart, her face is red and her eyes blink rapidly.
“What the fuck was that for?” she hisses.
“Fun,” I say. “Sweetie. Put on the bikini.”
Fuck-ing-hell. I am not going to survive this weekend.
I grab a change of clothes, charge into the bathroom, and slam the door behind me.