Page 5 of A Moth to the Flame (Utopia #1)

The first crack of the first egg against the windshield of his truck opened something in me.

All the years of taking it evaporated. Suddenly, I couldn’t remember why I never retaliated before.

He’d done so many shitty things to me. I always turned the other cheek.

As I smeared those yolks all over his custom paint job, the pent-up hurt poured out of me.

I didn’t even care anymore about my unanswered questions.

Why, why, why.

Why does he hate me so much? What have I ever done to him? Why can’t he just ignore me like everyone else?

Why did he even show up at The Flame last night? Everyone loved Granny, sure, but she wasn’t there.

She’s gone.

His last poke to my fresh wound was the straw that finally broke this camel’s back. Be that as it may, I have zero intention of engaging again. Standing up for myself for one night of my life was more than enough for me.

“Hell, no! I didn’t agree!” Neveah cackles.

“What he specifically offered was a ride on Utopia’s finest steed if I would leave a rather large flaming bag of shit on your porch.

Miss Ada actually drove that huge man out with a swinging broom for bringing an unsanitary item into her shop. It was hilarious.”

No matter how many times I blink at Neveah, I can’t make sense of her words.

She nods like she understands my confusion. “I know, right? Who brings a bag of actual dog shit into public like that?”

I shake myself out of my stupor enough to ask, “Are you sure it was dog shit? You said something about a horse. ”

The details of Duke’s current life take up exactly zero space in my overcrowded mental files.

Other than the obvious predilection for banging women in bar bathrooms, which was knowledge that I gained unwillingly.

He might have a dog. He could just as easily be a horse breeder or a farmhand. Who knows? Not me.

Neveah bursts out laughing. “I wasn’t talking about a real horse. He offered me a ride on his horse-like dick if I would help him get back at you.”

If I thought for an actual second that his offer was genuine, I would high-five her. But he’s not a genuine kind of guy, and the crude bribe was not only egotistical beyond belief, but also insulting as hell. “Why, that motherfuc?—”

Neveah clearly doesn’t share my anger on her behalf.

She laughs harder. “See, this is why I said he offered me comedy gold. Not only did I get to watch a woman a third his size wield a broom like a goddamn lightsaber, but he also promised me an orgasm in exchange for a little revenge.” She shakes her head and sips her coffee.

“Only around here would a guy who spent most of his life making fat jokes at my expense act like getting a ride on his joystick would be doing me a favor. All in the name of keeping a long-standing feud alive.” She sighs dreamily.

“Yeah, there’s definite joke material there. ”

“I can’t believe you’re okay with this!”

I should have borrowed a knife to slash Duke’s tires.

It’s too bad Wallace didn’t have a random baseball bat stashed in the back of the bar.

I could’ve smashed in all of Duke’s windows, too.

Maybe emblazoned his hood and doors with some tiny dicks, if I’d only been lucky enough to discover a half-used can of spray paint lying around in the littered parking lot.

Neveah grins. “I’d like to think Miss Ada got in a few extra whacks in my honor. It’s a shame that I don’t get cell service here. I would have filmed it and posted it on all my socials.”

“How does any woman within a fifty-mile radius sleep with that man?” I screech. “He’s insufferable. I don’t care how big his dick is. He probably doesn’t even know how to use it.”

“He undoubtedly thinks every woman he’s ever been with has walked away satisfied,” Neveah piles on, her grin widening until twin dimples form in her cheeks.

“I’ll bet most of them were faking it,” I double down.

Neveah’s eyes widen, and she glances around the room frantically.

From one cluttered corner, she pulls out a used notebook that’s seen better days.

In another, she finds a random pen. She sits on the threadbare sofa, knocks back the rest of her coffee, then rifles through the pages until she finds a blank one.

“ This is comedy gold. Let’s go, Delia. We’re making a list. Give me everything you’ve got in the manwhores who are surprisingly bad in bed department. ”

I settle into Granny’s favorite recliner that still smells like her. The book I stashed pokes my butt and bleeds every ounce of comedy out of my bones. “I dunno. I mean, talking about this in private is one thing, but if you publicly perform a skit about manwhores…isn’t that slut shaming?”

She narrows her eyes and points her pen at me.

“What’s good for the goose is good for the gander.

Men slut-shame women all the time. They’re supposed to sow their wild oats while we remain pure and virginal, while also believing they’re the magical dicks who will end our search for the perfect orgasm. Make it make sense.”

I pop my eyebrows. Here I was, naively thinking that I was the only woman on the planet with romance horror stories. Clearly not. “But if your goal is to sell out comedy venues, then it might not be a good idea to alienate half your audience.”

Neveah’s expression turns pensive then sad in such rapid succession that I open my mouth to backpedal over the hurt I’ve unintentionally caused. She reaches out to fold her hand over mine, and I snap my lips shut.

I used to wish for this kind of friendship. I never imagined it would feel like someone poking a fresh bruise.

“Delia,” she murmurs softly, “after everything that man has done to you, why would you care a lick about alienating him or people who are exactly like him?”

I stare at her unblinkingly as an increasing thrum of anxiety ratchets up my heartrate. Neveah didn’t bully me the way Duke did— does—but we’ve never exactly had a heart-to-heart before either. I don’t understand this sudden shift in her behavior toward me.

“Why would I want to become the same as them?” I finally whisper.

Two wrongs don’t make a right. Sure, I got a little payback last night, but I doubt I’m capable of stooping to the levels of the abuse I’ve received around here. Most days, it takes all my energy to continue existing in a world that pays me no heed.

Neveah’s smile is sharp. She squeezes my hand, then releases me to fall back against the couch with a self-deprecating shrug. “I’m not saying you have to become exactly like them. I’m saying that doling out a taste of their own medicine could do wonders for your mental health.”

I chew on her suggestion. Improving my mental health doesn’t sound all that bad.

“Men never ask for directions,” I hedge, “which is probably why none of them can find the clit.”

Neveah cackles then writes down my words.

We take turns listing the obvious stuff. Wham, bam, thank you, ma’am. And the ever-popular jackhammer technique. While we appreciate the effort, having our cervixes repeatedly rammed isn’t a surefire path to ecstasy.

She frowns down at the page. “This is all generic. We need to get more nitty-gritty, more specific. What’s the single worst sex story you have?”

I gulp. Sadly, not coffee. Just a ball of dread.

Her invitation to talk more about myself—to be included—is everything I’ve ever wished for. Why does it feel like a threat?

Oh, right. Because if I tell her my pathetic sex stories, she’s going to realize real quick that all those romance books I used to read have never been put to good use.

“Ah, I see. You don’t want to get too personal. Let’s try a different angle,” she suggests with a slightly evil grin. “What do you think is the worst thing Duke has ever done to a woman?”

She’s right about the different angle. Somehow, it would be easier to talk more about Duke than about myself .

Unfortunately… “I do not want to think about what Duke does in his spare time, for any reason.”

“Huh. You really do hate him,” she marvels.

I wrinkle my nose. “Why is that a surprise? He’s been making my life a living hell since puberty. Like that wasn’t hell enough on its own.”

“Sure.” She nods like she gets it, which means she must’ve seen the horrid things Duke did to me. “But he’s a Castellaw. Those men are practically deities around these parts. You’re telling me you’ve never fantasized about any of them?”

My entire face crinkles in disgust. “Are you telling me you’ve actually fantasized about Duke?”

That…that is inconceivable.

She laughs. “Oh, yeah. About Duke, about Jude, about Luke, about Finn, about Cash. What? Don’t look at me like that! They’re hotter than the surface of the sun! Hell, I’ve even fantasized about Mr. Castellaw. Like you haven’t.”

I shake my head. “I really haven’t.”

She pulls her lips to the side. “I’m not sure if he’s actually as hot as his sons, or if it’s just that he’s been a single-dad widower for so long that it pulls at my heartstrings.”

The Castellaw family history is heartbreaking for sure. That’s part of why I never retaliated against Duke’s taunting in the past. I honestly felt bad for him—at first.

Still, that was no excuse to treat me like gum stuck to the bottom of his shoe for so long. Time never seemed to heal his wounds. If anything, he grew crueler and more insidious over the years.

“I’ll bet women sleep with him to experience the same fantasies you’ve had,” I muse.

“Then they discover the reality doesn’t match up to their expectations.

” I choose to ignore the bathroom graffiti that proves otherwise.

Two opinions aren’t exactly a majority. “It doesn’t make sense.

There aren’t that many single women to go around.

How is he thirty and still playing the field? Where is he finding them?”

“You’re overthinking it,” Neveah advises. “The best jokes are simple. ”

“I’m not joking. I’m actually curious about these statistics. The math ain’t mathing.”

More importantly, it’s statistically improbable that the Castellaw brothers haven’t settled down.

As far as I know, they’re all still bachelors.

The oldest is thirty-two, and the youngest must be in his mid-twenties.

Marriage and children are God-tier goals for mountain folk.

Even if all the Castellaws are bad in bed, their status around these parts makes them highly desired catches.

Neveah laughs as she suddenly rises. “I was never any good at math anyhow. Wordplay is more my jam. We’re onto something here. We just need some brain lubrication to allow our thoughts to flow freely.”

I squint at her then glance at the black cat clock on the far wall.

Its tail swings back and forth to mark the seconds, but the constant tick, tick, tick isn’t nearly as creepy with company present.

“Um, I don’t refute the wonders of brain lubrication when it’s warranted, but there are two problems with your suggestion. ”

“What’s that?” she asks as she collects her things.

Obviously, nothing I can say will sway her undoubted plans.

I say them anyway. “First of all, you’re still nursing a hangover from last night’s libations. Second, it’s only three in the afternoon.”

“It’s five o’clock somewhere.” She shrugs then heads for the front door.

“Come on, Delia. We’re a couple of hot, single chicks stuck in the boondocks for who knows how long.

Might as well live it up while we’re here.

” She throws me a challenging glance over her shoulder.

“Didn’t Granny ever teach you that the best cure for a hangover is a little hair of the dog?

Let’s go to The Flame and exchange ideas on how we’re going to change our fortunes.

We can even stop by the wishing well in town to make it official.

Like you said, this is just a little setback on our road to success.

Things are going to change for us. I can feel it. ”

My options are limited, but all of them are equally depressing. I shouldn’t read. I don’t want to find more hidden skulls among Granny’s belongings. If I stay here, I’m liable to lose my mind.

Besides, mourning or not, when was the last time anyone invited me anywhere for anything? Granny would never forgive me if I turned down this golden opportunity .

“You know what?” I rise from my seat, too. “A little fun sounds great. We’re adults. If we want to hit the bar two days in a row, then that’s our prerogative.”

“That’s the spirit.” Neveah chucks me on the shoulder as I slip on my shoes. “Now, what are you going to wish for?”

I snort. “I’m going to wish that Duke Castellaw never existed. That seems like a good start to solving at least half of my current problems.”

If he never got under my skin in the first place, then I won’t have to feel guilty about my petty revenge.

“Really? I’m going to be totally selfish and wish to be beautiful, skinny, and famous.”

I frown at her. She might not be the modern definition of skinny, but she’s drop-dead gorgeous. I don’t want to poke at her tender spots by arguing, so instead, I say, “How is me wishing Duke never existed not also totally selfish?”

She flashes me a wry grin as we make our way up the gravel lane toward the main road. “Because you’d be doing the single female population of the mountains a huge favor. Just think, never again will they be disappointed by a pretty face and a useless dick.”

I really don’t want to think about Duke’s dick, useless or not.

I’m also not about to admit how unfair it is that such a pretty face should be worn by someone so disturbed.

“As much as I’d love to help my fellow women see the light, I doubt all the pennies in the world will cure their appetites for his rotten meat.

Wishes aren’t a replacement for hard work. ”

I can’t count the number of times Granny told me that. She was adamant that the well in the center of town wasn’t an easy road to anything except losing money.

“What if we work really hard on wishing?” Neveah asks in all seriousness.

Well, when she puts it that way…

I’m going to wish doubly hard for Duke Castellaw to disappear.