back to normal life.
the words echo in her mind as she muddles through the dregs of her drink with barely a word. it's almost as though the moment the word normal registers, something shifts in beth, and while ruby seems to notice, she doesn't push the issue.
the issue, of course, is that beth already knows what normal life is. it's filled with PTA meetings, bake sales, a weekly calendar that's overflowing with activities lest she allow her kids to fall into the kind of boredom that'll get them in trouble. it had been desperation, not boredom, for beth.
but she's in trouble all the same.
she thinks that maybe she'd made the decision the moment she heard the words, the moment she repeated them like some sort of monotone robot, joining in the chorus that she'd been programmed to sing. maybe as she'd stared into the bottom of her plastic margarita cup and felt the rush, the fun, the risk of it all seemingly swallowed up in that little plastic straw. she knows she'd made the decision long before they'd dumped the car in the river, long before she'd gotten home to suburbia and her family and normalcy.
it almost sounds like a dirty word, now - now that it's been bouncing around in her head all evening.
the warehouse is empty when she arrives, and beth is a little bit surprised until she realizes it's probably because of them - because her, annie, and ruby have seen the operation, they know too much, and he'd had to cover his bases. the last thing this crime boss needs is a bunch of suburban bitches running their mouths about his business. had he been afraid of that? the thought gives her a sense of power she hadn't had before, and it's a dangerous thing - the way she grips at it with both hands.
she leaves her pearls hanging from the doorknob. somehow she knows he'll find them.
if she wants to rationalize it - they all still need the money. they hadn't gotten any from the last haul - because mister gangbanger with his golden gun had demanded payment in full ( yes, she realizes they'd unknowingly stolen from him, but it still threw a wrench in the works ). if she wants to rationalize it - the trip to canada was so easy ( too easy ), despite the way her heart had been in her throat the whole time. if she wants to rationalize it - what's another road trip in the grand scheme of things if it means they get a payday after all?
all of these things are valid points.
none of them are the reason she leaves the pearls.
he's already been in her kitchen before - and somehow beth had known it would be him, not one of his boys, who would answer her call - so it's not a surprise when he lets himself in. she has the bourbon for her nerves, something to do with her hands, liquid courage - and doesn't offer him any as she takes a small sip. it burns its way down her throat as he watches - watches her watching him, the corner of his lips upturned ever so slightly - as if he can't believe he's standing there, can't believe she'd called on him, can't believe suburban beth had gotten a taste and is already hooked. she can't quite believe it either, but here she stands, trying to maintain every ounce of composure she can hold onto while her body is made up of nerves gone into overdrive.
it doesn't help that he looks at her like a predator sizing up his prey
it doesn't help that she likes it.
"you know the tradition is jordans over a phone line, right?" he says it in that same tone that had enveloped the words we're good the last time they'd seen one another, and he's amused, she can see that clearly, but - maybe, beth thinks - a little bit impressed too. she keeps her expression mild, tone neutral, but she's working hard to regulate her breathing, to keep the tremble out of her fingertips as they grip her glass ( she's happy to have it, if only for the purpose of hiding her nerves ).
"i only had pumps," casual, the words wrapped in a shrug, despite no movement from her shoulders.
"fair enough," he concedes, and she feels a little bit like he's laughing at her, like that little curve of his lips holds back all manner of assumptions about her - beth boland, and her designs on a criminal lifestyle - but he continues before she can bristle. "so. what'd you wanna talk to me about?" and he crosses some line between amusement and intrigue, then - it sparks in his eyes - which means this just might work, she thinks, it might not be as crazy as she'd imagined. but beth doesn't let herself smile, doesn't let the chance that this plan hadn't been completely insane deter her from asking for what she wants ( she's done far too little of that throughout her life, and what has she got to lose ? ) even if she thinks he might not be taking her seriously, and she can't really blame him for that.
"i want - " she hesitates, blowing out a breath, because it's one thing to have a plan in her head, one thing to leave a calling card for a criminal and greet him in her kitchen when he comes to call. it's another thing to stand in your kitchen with him - alone - and tell him you want to be a part of his business. "we want," she amends, because somehow it feels better having a team for this proposition - even if annie and ruby have no clue this conversation is even happening. "to do another job. i mean, if you need someone to make another run to canada, we would like to volunteer." she tacks a sweet smile onto the end of the sentence like another point of punctuation, and he regards her for a long time.
another sip from her glass, and she sets it down on the counter, hands following it to rest there so they have something to do. she's about to speak again - fearing he won't - when he looks her up and down, slowly, like he's drinking in every inch of her, and she feels the flush chase the path of his gaze. he's said nothing, hasn't stepped closer, hasn't touched her, but somehow it feels as though she's suddenly bare before him, and she exhales a shuddering breath.
he catches it, of course, and he's smiling that dangerous smile - the same one he'd directed at little hans before smashing him to bits.
beth wonders how long it'll be until he becomes her destruction, as well.
before another word is spoken between them, he's turning to leave. "is that a no?" her brows are knitted together, and she steps out from behind the island, as if to chase after him, but plants her feet on the spot - figuring she's already made a fool of herself in this. he's probably going to go back to his boys to laugh about their stupid white suburban housewife, already hooked, already coming back for more.
when he turns, there's something piercing in his eyes - though the smirk remains - and he closes the distance between them in three long strides. he still doesn't touch her, but he's close enough that she has to tilt her head back to meet his eyes, close enough she catches the scent of him - charcoal and sandalwood and something citrus - and his proximity steals the breath from her lungs. she swallows, staring at him wide-eyed, wondering if she'd pushed one too many buttons.
he lets out a breath that fans over her face, and shakes his head as though he still can't believe he's standing there.
"i'll let you know," he says with a tilt to his head, a shrug of one shoulder, and his eyes rake over her once more, but he still doesn't touch ( she's ignoring the part of her that wants him to ). "somethin' comes up and it's a good fit - maybe we'll try it out."
it's all she can do to manage a nod, and it seems to be good enough for him because he's heading for the door.
she doesn't breathe again until it closes behind him.
ruby and annie are going to kill her.