"No," I whisper, the truth of it settling into my bones. "It wouldn't matter."
His hand comes up to cup my face, thumb brushing over my cheek where the bruise has long since faded.
"You know what I am, Reese. What I've always been." His voice is soft, but there's steel underneath. "I don't regret it. Not for a fucking second."
I lean into his touch, my eyes closing briefly. "I know."
"I did get my ass handed to me by your psychotic ass brother though for not letting him help," Ramsey admits suddenly, his thumb still tracing circles on my cheek.
I roll my eyes and pull back slightly. "You say that as if he isn't literally your cousin. Why is it always he's my brother when he acts up?"
Ramsey's laugh is rough and unexpected. "Because he’s fucking dramatic. Penn practically threw a tantrum because I didn't invite him."
I shake my head, trying not to laugh at the image of Penn throwing a fit over not getting invited to a murder party. God, my life is so fucked up. The Blackwoods have completely warped my sense of normal.
The fact that I'm sitting here, not running for the hills, probably says more about me than I want to examine.
"You know what? I don't want details," I announce. "I don't need to know what happened, how it happened, or where he is. What's done is done."
Ramsey watches me with those intense blue eyes, waiting to see where I'm going with this.
"Instead, we're having a spa night," I declare, crossing my arms. "And you're going to get us snacks."
He rolls his eyes dramatically before standing up, his crotch suddenly right at my eye level since I'm still sitting on the coffee table. My breath catches for a second, and I try not to stare at the bulge in his gray sweats, but fuck, it's right there.
Ramsey stretches, arms reaching toward the ceiling, his shirt riding up to reveal a trail of dark hair disappearing into his waistband.
He grabs his keys from the side table, still smirking. "Anything specific you want me to bring back?"
"All the chocolate. And those spicy chips I like. And ice cream. The good stuff with actual calories."
"Fine, but we aren’t watching that weird ass baking show again."
“You’re watching whatever I put on and you’re going to like it," I call after him as he heads for the door.
The door slams behind him, and I'm suddenly alone with my thoughts. Thoughts I'd rather not have right now.
I head to the bathroom and start gathering supplies: sheet masks, that fancy moisturizer Reagan got me for Christmas, nail polish. Normal shit. Shit that has nothing to do with the fact that my best friend murdered someone for me and I'm completely fine with it.
By the time Ramsey returns, I've changed into leggings and an oversized t-shirt, my hair pushed back by one of those fluffy spa headbands.
For a big ass man, he sure as shit pays attention because Ramsey bought this for me, making note to point out it hadan octopus on it to match the stuffed animal he won me at the campus crawl carnival months ago.
I've got everything laid out on the coffee table by the time Ramsey kicks the door open with his foot, arms loaded with way more snacks than I asked for.
"Holy shit, did you buy out the entire store?" I laugh, getting up to help him.
"Fuck off, I got exactly what you wanted." He dumps the bags on the kitchen counter, pulling out package after package of junk food. "Plus some extras because you always say you want one thing then eat all my shit."
My heart does this stupid little flip when he pulls out a blue Ramune soda bottle, the one with the marble that you have to push down to open.
"You went all the way to the Asian market?" I grab the bottle, turning it over in my hands. "That's like thirty minutes in the opposite direction."
Ramsey shrugs like it's nothing. "You said you wanted spa night and all your favorites. Go hard or go home."
"I'm not letting you put that glittery shit on my nails again," he warns, dropping onto the couch.
"Relax, I got you matte black this time." I hold up the bottle. "Very manly. Very brooding. Suits your whole murder vibe."
