Yeah, that’s the Rust I know. Always joking. Always the problem-fixer.
“You don’t sound the least bit upset by this.”
He smiles. “That’s cause I ain’t upset.”
“Please don’t tell me you’re an unhinged serial killer and this is a regular occurrence for you.”
“Hell naw. But I’ve had over a decade to figure out what I’d do for you, and let me tell you, hiding a body ain’t the worst thing on that list. Want me to commit arson? No problem. Manslaughter? Sure. Premeditated homicide? No big deal.”
“Stop talking dirty to me,” I quip. It’s meant to sound sarcastic, but the way my voice breaks gives the impression of a teen girl getting teased by her crush.
I chug the last of my coffee and leave the cup on the table. The bourbon stokes my courage as I get up, bridging the distance between us to poke him in the chest.
“I don’t have the faintest idea what you hope to achieve with all that flattery, but it won’t get you nowhere,” I chide.
“Just tryna help you, Trouble. You’ve been around them fake music industry folks for too long. I want nothin’ from you.” He puts his index finger under my chin and I feel his calloused skin as he tips up my head, his darkening eyes boring into mine. “At least nothin’ you don’t want as badly as I do.”
Face on fire, I turn away before I do something stupid, like finding out if that slutty mustache would tickle if I kissed him.
Because what could go wrong with kissing your ex-husband while trying to cover up a murder, right?
“We should burn him,” I muse, staring out the window at a squirrel scurrying across the yard and under Rust’s silver truck.
He chuckles like I said something outrageous. “Amateur. A regular fire won’t burn all of him. You’d need a special furnace like in a crematorium to turn his bones to ash.”
I twist around, hands on my hips. “How about you make a suggestion then, Mister Full-Of-Great-Ideas?”
“Remember the stretch of swampy land inthe woods behind the house? We weigh the body down with rocks and toss it in there.”
My eyes roll. I had hoped to make fun of his idea, but unfortunately that sounds like a solid plan. And now I’m certain he has spent an extensive amount of time considering corpse disposal before today.
“Alright. Let’s get to gettin’.” I collect my boots, tugging them on.
“No, you stay here and I’ll take care of it. Believe me, you don’t wanna hike through the woods after last night’s storm.”
I stomp my foot. “We’re in thistogether. I’m not letting you do all the work while I twiddle my thumbs. And I know the forest around this house like the back of my hand. Did you forget all those times we went camping out there as kids?”
A smile plays around his mouth. “I thought you’d come back being little Miss Priss, scared to get your hands dirty. Glad I was wrong.”
My nostrils flare. “Don’t insult me or I’ll show you how dirty these hands can get.”
I instantly regret my choice of words. What is it about my ex-husband that makes me say the most innuendo-charged things?
Rust leans down and I smell the bourbon on his breath. “Was that a threat or are you flirtin’ with me?”
I stretch up on my tiptoes, wrapping my hands around his neck while I make intensely murderous eye contact. “What do you think? I already killed one guy, so what’s another?”
His pulse picks up, thudding against my fingers and I can feel the muscles in his neck flexing. Suddenly I’m acutely aware of how close we are.
His eyes sparkle. “I thought you said it was anaccident.”
“It was! But way to ruin my badass main character vibes, thanks.” I pout, dropping my arms as I step away.
“You’re always the main character inmylife, Trouble.”
“Great. A role in the Rust Show where everything is about fishing, beer, and big trucks.”
“And you.”
