Just Her Luck (12 page)

"I've been wantin' a sandwich," Ephraim added lastly, taking a huge bite out of his, chewing thoughtfully.

I could feel my eyes narrowing, eye lids slipping until they were nothing but two little slits, squinting at them with what felt like little pin pricks for eyes, as they eagerly went on.

They
hate
sandwiches!

I can't say that enough!

They
can’t say it enough!

Thatcher and Ephraim are always going on and on about it.

And on and on…

Did they think I'd forget?

The one time I'd suggested we have them, besides that first night, they practically threw a fit, sighting that sandwiches were all their mother ever made for lunch growing up, and if they never saw one again, it would be too soon.

I cleared my expression and frowned a little, looking up at them uncertainly.

"But... I made eggplant the other day..." I started, innocently earnest expression in place, "don't you guys want any?"

I was grinning on the inside as they all swallowed hard and looked at each other, trying not to grimace.

They hate eggplant even more than sandwiches.

Heh. Heh.

"Oh, uh, sure," Thatcher said quickly, feigning interest, "I'll have some. What did you make with it?"

"Erm, me too?" Ephraim garbled, coughing to hide his terrible acting skills.

Sawyer and Bowen just nodded their heads at the same time in acquiescence.

"Ah-hah!" I shouted, doing a little excited jump in place and pointed at them accusingly. "Now I
know
you guys are full of shit!"

"Way to go, lame brain," Ephraim muttered to Thatcher around a mouth full of sandwich, "I told ya I was a shitty liar."

"The only one of you who will even eat eggplant, let alone likes it, is Reeve! He ate all the leftovers yesterday," I said smugly, "I remember you guys going on about it at breakfast."

Bowen grimaced and Sawyer gave me a hopeful smile.

"Just kidding? Heh, heh," Sawyer joked.

I should say he
tried
to.

Bad timing, buddy.

Not funny.

"So what gives? Why are you all being so,” I waved my around, “
helpful
?"

"Who you callin' a lame brain, dunce?" Thatcher snapped at Ephraim, "At least
I
don't insult women when I'm tryin’ to talk to ‘em. You can't even get past an introduction."

"Bull crap! Genny talks with me just fine!" Ephraim eyed Thatcher coldly.

"
She
talks to
you
just fine. She's probably gettin’ used to you by now. Doesn't count," Thatcher shot back.

"Does too!"

Thatcher just laughed at him.

"It aint funny!"

"Really, Romeo? Then what about you tellin' her she looked like shit when she obviously had somethin’ going on? Real smooth, Rico Suave," Thatch taunted.

Ephraim made a move towards Thatcher, hands reaching out towards him, but I stepped in between them, putting an outstretched hand on Ephraim's chest to stop his advance, the other stretched out towards Thatcher.

They both pushed up against the resistance, their muscled chests pressing against my palms, the warmth of their skin seeping into my fingers through their shirts.

Damn guys are heaters
, I reflected for a second, wishing I had that kind of internal warmth in the winter.
Then I wouldn't need so many damn blankets!!

"You've been itchin' for a fight all week! You just can't stand the thought that someone might not see you and want you right off!" Ephraim growled.

"Bull shit!!" Thatcher growled back, both of them poised to pounce, ignoring me as I tried to separate them.

"Hey!" I whistled and their heads shot towards me, distracting them from their glaring match. "Eyes and ears down here!"

"Back up, fellas. You heard the lady," Bowen rumbled out, making a move towards us, letting the guys no he wasn't going to
let
anything happen, his thick body flexing with his movements.

Paint him green and he's just like a certain beloved, by me, television and comic book character I'd always crushed on.

Sigh.

"Will somebody tell me what's going on around here?" I shrieked, getting frustrated when Thatcher and Ephraim seemed to mentally shrug for a minute and start right back up with each other.

Not the fighting part, but the insults.

I growled at them in irritation, and they finally stopped, finally noticing my distress.

"Don't get all worked up, lamb chop," Thatcher cajoled, cupping his hand over mine on his chest, immediately softening his voice as he talked soothingly to me.

I slapped at his hand, pulling mine back when he dropped his to his side.

"And that's another thing! No pet names! I don’t care if you’re just teasing or not. I am not your snookums, sweetheart, love muffin, honey lamb, or whatever else kind of crap, hallmark rejected nicknames you can come up with!"

"But, lamb, uh..."

"Call me that one more time, Thatcher Harrison, and I will lamb your chop! Pork your honey! Gah! Wait, I didn't say that right!" I glared at him as he smothered a smile. "You know what I fuckin' mean! So knock it off!"

The guys stifled laughter at my kooky outburst, amused by my flub.

"What the hell is going on in here?" Reeve thundered as he stormed into the room, trademark scowl firmly in place.

I could just imagine a wrestling announcer shouting out our names as we squared off against one another.

Let’s get ready to rumble!!!

“Don’t you yell at me you overgrown…
man-child!"

He coughed into his hand at that, his fingers smoothing out around his mouth, like he was smothering a smirk.

"Man-child? How the hell am I a man-child?" he demanded, but his voice held absolutely no heat, flipping switches, swiftly amused now, leaning against the wall casually, his sudden three sixty in attitude unsettling.

For some reason, this bothered me even more.

Maybe he's bipolar...

"Mooning people went out with the teen years, buster! So did taunting and scaring off the hired help! Now it just makes you seem like a desperate man-child! I feel truly sorry for whoever was dumb and or gullible enough to voluntarily have babysat someone like you!”

He stopped hiding the smirk, and I growled.

Ah, fuck! I get it now. Bastard is smiling because he’s finally gotten a reaction out of me.

Well, shit.

I let myself slip up, damn it!

Erm, with him, anyways. I don’t mask anything with my guys, obviously.

"Of course you'd grin like
that
when I'm pissed off at you," I growled at him, uncaring if I let on this time that he's gotten to me, won this round. "This isn't over, moonshine, it's just begun," I hissed at him.

I turned to address my four guys once again.

"I am not some delicate flower you all need to walk on egg shells around. It's not a big deal! I. Am. Fine!
REALLY!
So quit it! Your special treatment is making me feel uncomfortable and I don't like it! So, just... knock it the fuck off! Tons of people have asthma! Or worse shit than that.
Way worse,"
I ranted, chest heaving as I let them all have it, blowing up on all of them, letting everything I keep bottled up just explode out of me and splatter all over them.

Their snickers at my pork and honey mishap quickly died a sudden death as I lost it a little, eye twitching in anxiety, hands fisted, giving me away.

I need to clarify here
, I thought, trying to clear my thoughts, get myself in order.

"I can't do...
fake
," I continued, calmer, trying to explain, getting everything off of my chest, "I don't like when people act secretive or different with me, try to protect me when I don't feel I need it, or try to find some roundabout way to get me to do the things they want me to without asking me. I can take care of myself-
have been for years.
If I wanted or needed your help
or
opinions, I'd ask for it!"

They all had identical expressions of shock on their faces.

And now I feel like shit...

Way to go, me!
I thought self-mockingly.

My head started pounding as my stomach dropped.

This is what you always do, Vieve, push people away. Make them hurt when you feel awkward or feel like they’re pitying you, effectively making it easier to get them to leave you alone.

What the hell else am I supposed to do, though?

I can't have them feeling guilty or treating me like glass for the next however long.

I want to hang with the 'real' Harrison men, not the lemmings of a few minutes ago.

I need ‘real’ people!

Real.

Seriously, no sugar coating required.

Even if it means being Thatcher's pookiekins for the next few weeks...

Nickname wise, not physically.

I fought hard not to roll my eyes at the very idea.

I'm pretty sure his mushy talk is all an act though, but I can't be too sure.

God, I hope he's not for real.

Thatcher's silliness aside, they didn't do anything mean or anything…
Did they deserve my ass chewing?

A lump of guilt assailed me, settling into the pit of my stomach.

At the same token, they were just trying to help,
I thought, rubbing my eyes.

When was the last time someone offered to help me out?
I had to ask myself.
Ruthie and Barry not included.

Probably never.

And maybe that's part of my problem.

I'm not real sure how to even let someone help me, let alone let them in.

It would involve a certain level of intimacy that I'm not quite ready for.

I laughed, a little thrown off balance by that particular thought.

Can someone be too independent? To the hindrance of themselves instead of the benefit?

It's because they care. Actually give a shit,
I realized suddenly, a little loath to admit that despite the brevity of our short acquaintance, I've come to care about them too.

They’re like the crazy awesome family I’ve never had.

Caring just makes everything more complicated,
I commiserated.

I looked down for a minute and willed the stupid tears I was getting ready to shed back.

I don't deserve friends like this,
I thought sadly
, they're all being so nice to me, Reeve excluded, and this is how I thank them?

Clearing my throat, I looked up and chewed on my lip for a minute.

They all looked at me patiently and waited.

"I get it, I do. You guys feel bad because you had your poker game in the house, smoked some cigars and what not and it irritated my lungs. It happens, guys. Shit happens.
Life
happens. You didn't do it on purpose. How could you have known?"

I glanced at Reeve and added especially to irritate him
- because I'm petty, he's an ass, and his feelings don't count.
Plus, I'm contrite about my blow up on the guys, not at him, "At least I know
most
of you didn't do it on purpose... So, just forget about it, okay. Can we just, uh... move on?" I asked hopefully, ignoring Reeve as he gaped at me.

"I didn't do it on purpose! I don't want you gone
that
bad! I wanted to make you huff off and get pissy about the poker game, set you one step closer to running out the door, not wheeze to death!" he barked in his own defense.

Oh, yes, 'cause that's sooo much better!

Hmph.

Still an ass!

"Whatever helps you sleep at night,
pervert
," I retorted dryly, giving myself away.

Reeve clamped his mouth shut and crossed his arms over his chest, mulish expression on his sourpuss face.

Looks like it’s one point Genevieve and one point Reeve.

Look at that, Ma, I can pick a fight with someone and apologize to four others at the same time.

I’m one of them multi-taskers!

And wouldn’t she just be proud, Vieve?

Nah, she’d just tell you to multi-task your ass over to the corner store and get her some more cigarettes and beer.

I snorted at that and ran a hand through my bangs, gripping the strands and tugging a little when my fingers reached my scalp.

Glancing at the guys again, I wondered if they officially thought I was crazy yet.