Page 138 of The Coldest: Stay Dangerous Part 2

She bristles, her eyes tracking Rico lifting my hand to his mouth to kiss the back of my palm. His lips are soft on my skin, but I still feel how hard he’s holding back. Even if I couldn’t, him being so silent is a dead giveaway, too.

I squeeze his hand, letting them fall into his lap this time. He rubs the skin around my sore cuticles, careful as ever even with his big ass fingers.

He’ll never be around these people again. Not if I can help it.

“You done talking shit? The food is getting cold.” Turk yawns, fixing Auty’s plate before his own. She doesn’t touch it, especially since it’s only a glob of potato salad and caesar salad. I throw a rib on her plate. “Eat,” I intone.

She glares at me, her eyes shifting behind me before her lips twist.

“You ain’t allergic to no rib, Auty. Eat.”

“It’s a little too late to be watching your figure, Autumn. You already lost your man.”

“Mom!” I turn to her as Rico grabs my plate. “What the fuck?! Like seriously, shut up.”

“Amani–”

Mom turns to Dad, who just sighs. He grabs his beer and gets up to go inside, leaving us with her.

“Like I was saying,” she drawls, pouring more margarita into her tall glass, “everyone can’t be blessed like us, Wynter. Autumn is finally watching her figure, so you should be mindful. Here. Fill your cup.”

“It’s always like this?”

I turn to Rico, who only has eyes for Turk.

“Yeah,” he sighs, rubbing his eyes with one hand, and Auty’s back with the other.

Turk used to take up for Auty, especially before Deucey came along. All it would do would make Auty more mad, and then they’d be into it, Auty competing with Mom on who could say the worst one-liners. When Auty told everyone she was pregnant, G-Pops and Mom almost came to blows, and Turkey banned Auty from talking to our parents until after she gave birth.

Now he’s just quiet, at Auty’s behest. Supporting her and then trying to undo all the damage that incurs every time Amani Shaw sees the daughter she never wanted.

“And you just be taking this shit?”

“Shut up talking to me, Richard,” Auty spits, folding her arms.

I take my hand out of Rico’s lap and sit on my hands so I don’t reach for the pitcher. It was a reflex, something I barely registered a thought of. My mouth dries, and I try to focus on the lone bead of sweat traveling down the bridge of my nose instead of the tequila calling my name.

This was such a bad idea. Such a bad idea.

“Thirsty?”

Rico’s leaning into me, his lips dangerously close to mine. He brings the ball of his tongue ring between his teeth as he watches me give him a jerky nod.

“I got you.”

He grabs the pitcher and my cup and holds both away from the table, on top of the grass.

“Rico–”

But the pitcher completely misses the cup. The margaritas pour directly into the grass, slowly, inches away from the cup. He sets the cup on the table and continues to pour the rest of the alcohol into the grass, before placing the empty pitcher on the table next to my cup.

The table is quiet as he grabs the pitcher of water, smells it, then places it back down.

“I’ll stop and get you some bottled water, Snow.”

“Who the hell do you think–”

“I’m the one keeping ya daughter from becoming a sloppy, miserable drunk like her mother.”