Just Her Luck (6 page)

Thank you, Thatcher!

Bowen and Sawyer seemed more amused than anything as they watched me cuss out the hulking monster of a man on top of me.

At first, he’d looked downright scary when they'd first turned the lights on-
I'll be the first to admit it.

He's at least six foot two-ish, to my five foot four and three quarters, with wide shoulders and long limbs.

A scar ran down the length of the right side of his face, marring his eyebrow, eye and the upper part of his top lip, giving him an almost sinister look about him- a perpetual snarl.

His semi-permanent sneer just added to the
I don’t give a fuck
attitude he exudes, as if he was thumbing his nose at the world.

The eye on that side was milky white, letting me know he more than likely couldn't see out of it.

He lacked the sheer muscle mass that Sawyer and Bowen possess, but clearly had the compact strength in his lean body to keep me from breaking his hold.

No matter how hard I tried, I just couldn't buck him off either.

"I saw her first! I already called dibs, damn it!" Thatcher protested, cutting in on my inner thoughts.

Well, so much for Thatcher being the voice of reason in all of this.

I really should have seen something like
that
comin' from him, though.

Gee! Thanks a lot, Thatcher!

'Don't touch her, brah, she's mine'. Really? I don't think so.

"Like hell!" I hollered and tried to head butt Mr. Reeve, lord of the grumpy bastards in soggy drawers.

He moved back in time, and I gritted my teeth as Bowen and Sawyer chuckled at us.

"What the hell do you think is so damn funny!?" I demanded as I scowled at them.

Ephraim had just finally decided to grace us with his presence, blinking at us owlishly as he shuffled into the room.

"Reeve?" Ephraim mumbled after a moment, "Shouldn't you be doin' somethin' like
that
in a bedroom?"

My face heated, burning my cheeks.

"We aren't... I'm not... Oh, get off of me, you big wet oaf! You're squashing me!" I snarled.

Reeve glared at Ephraim and opened his mouth to say something, but Thatcher cut in.

"She wouldn't take up with
Reeve
, you dunce!
He
came after
her!
She really wants
me!"
he insisted adamantly, hand to his chest, said chest puffed up.

"Quit calling me a dunce, you dunce!" Ephraim warned, thrusting a finger out at his brother, eyes narrowed, chin jutting forward.

"Why not? You are?!" Thatcher shot back childishly, arms crossed over his chest defiantly, smirking now.

Oh, my god, this is like third grade around here sometimes!

I swear!

"Thatcher Harrison, I've told you once and I will tell you again! Not even if you were the last man on this planet
or the next,
and if you call your brother a dunce one more time, I swear I will make good on my promise to tie you down and Nair you from stem to sternum!" I bellowed over them both.

The man on top of me relaxed visibly when he realized how well I was acquainted with the guys.

Acting fast, I kneed him in the groin and used his distraction to muscle him off of me.

He cupped his balls and doubled over, wincing as he grunted in pain.

I hopped up, straightening my night gown as I backed up, trying to put enough space between us.

"What the hell were you trying to do to her, Reeve?" Bowen grumbled, his disapproval and displeasure evident in his voice as he really got a good look at us, Reeve with his pants swimming around his ankles, a giant wet patch the length of Reeve’s body plastering my nightgown unbecomingly to my ample, plushier person.

Wet nightgown contestant in the making- I think not.

"I wasn't going to
do
anything! That crazy bitch attacked
me!"

My jaw dropped and I stopped trying to pluck my dampened nightgown away from my chest as I frowned down it, willing the thin material to stop showing so much of me in such an unflattering way, my head shooting up as I glared at him.

What!

The nerve oh him!

"You son of a bitch!" I shrieked, "Call me a bitch again and I'll show you a
real
beating!"

Incensed, I ran over and picked up the rug beater, ready to rearrange his face a little for him.

Oh! That scar across his face will be the least of his worries when I'm done with him!

"I came home and she started calling me a pervert, telling me to get the hell out of my own home!" he groused as he continued to cup his injured parts.

Frozen in place at that announcement, my hands fell to my sides, the rug beater held loosely in my grasp.

Shit.

Well, fuck me...

He's a Harrison too?

He lives
here?

Aw, shit, there's more of them?!

Why the heck didn't anyone tell me?

My hand tightened reflexively on the handle of my new favorite self-defense-go-to again and I stiffened.

What am I saying? Of course they didn't tell me!

He's probably the looniest in the bin!

"You were taking your pants off!" I said defensively, waving the beater at him a little, "and you didn't exactly give me the impression that you lived here, you know. I thought you were a thief or something with the way that you snuck in here and everything in the middle of the night."

"I wasn't exactly quiet about it, now was I?" he snapped, sneering with a curl of his lip, massaging his groin.

The action kept drawing my attention to his junk and I fidgeted awkwardly.

"Can you do that later? It's weird and, uh, kinda creepy, dude." Grimacing, I gestured at his privates.

He growled at me as if to shut me up, muffling a groan when he shifted.

"You're rubbing your testicles in front of me," I informed him primly, going for a momm-ish tone.

There. Maybe that will embarrass him into shutting up.

"Don't like it,
pin cushion
, then get the hell out!" he barked at me angrily, trying to get up. "A burglar," he muttered under his breath, scoffing, "you have
got
to be fucking kidding me."

"Yeah, well... how was
I
supposed to know that?! You could have been a really shitty burglar or something! They do exist, ya know! And screw you, asshole!" I snapped right back.

"Whoa! Whoa! Let's all talk about this for a moment, huh? We're all adults here," Sawyer soothed, sounding more like a marriage counselor than a peace keeper.

All he needs now is a pair of big glasses, a pad of paper with pen, and an ugly sweater that no one in their right mind would ever consider wearing in the light of day, and he'd be all set.

I turned on them then and pointed the beater at them like a broadsword, slicing it through the air.

Apt name,
beater.

I’m gonna keep this puppy by my bed from now on
, I decided as I tested the weight of it out in my hand.

I sliced it through the air one more time,
just for fun,
getting a little kick out of it when they all flinched.

Hah.

"And you four!” I barked, going back to my current task at hand, “Why didn't anyone inform me that there were five of you? Hmmm?"

"Uh..." Bowen mumbled, scratching his head.

"Well..." Thatcher started, but stopped, at a loss as to how to continue.

"You see..." Sawyer tried, but it seemed really forced, so he gave up and just scratched at his facial hair a moment.

I waited grimly to see what the ever eloquent Ephraim was going to come up with.

This should be interesting.

"Erm..." was all he said.

Slightly disappointed in my blue-eyed blurter for some odd reason, I gave a little mental shrug.

Huh, guess not.

Why couldn't he always talk like that?

Short and to the point.

The 'erm' said it all.

That was all I got out of the four sheepish, fully grown men standing before me.

"Why doesn't someone tell
me
what the hell you four were doing taking in degenerates like
her
into
my
home for!" Reeve demanded gruffly, glowering collectively at all of them.

Good god! I'm beginning to put together the secrecy they'd seemed to hoard over me now.

Who would want to work for him?

Who would even enter this damn house knowing they'd have to deal with
him?

The man is obviously a crotchety asshole.

"I am not a
pin cushion
, you grumpy, belligerent jerk off! I am the replacement for Ruthie Ferguson until you all can find a replacement for me! So don't you go getting all stupid on me or I'll march right out that door and you can fend for yourselves!
Right after I finish beating your ass!"
I added the last part on a whim, ready for another whack at his smarmy face.

"You have got to be kidding me?" he barked out on a laugh as he took all of me in- from my numerously pierced ears to my one little facial piercing, then to the tattoo I have that wraps around my ankle and makes a winding path up my leg, leading towards my inner thigh.

What can I say, I was drunk and I was twenty one
. I shrugged inwardly.
Youth, alcohol and stupidity make for some pretty interesting outcomes.

Gave up drinking after that, though.

"Where did you get
her
from, Thatcher? Straight off a prison release program?" Asshole smirk firmly in place, he cocked a condescending brow, sending it in my direction as he snickered at me.

Prison!

Prison?

Seriously?

For a second there, it really did give me pause and I glanced down at myself a little bit, then shrugged.

Really, dude?

Nothin' screams previous inmate to me.

I shook my head.

He's so full of shit.

I have no idea what the heck he's going on about.

Me? A criminal? Or even an ex one?

How the hell does he figure?

What? Do I look like I rob gas stations for fun or something?

I don't even look butch, much less prison-ish, or any other thing that might have given him that stupid impression.

Hmph.

There is nothing about me that screams ‘I just got outta the pen’, thank you very much, Mr. Stereotype.

Not even a little.

And I will have everyone know right now that I am, and always have been, an upstanding citizen!

Now I just need to say all that shit out loud...

He's just hitting below the belt, Vieve, trying to take a low blow,
I thought decisively.
Don't give him the satisfaction of knowing he's getting to you
.

That little revelation just made me even more agitated.

"Where did they get
you
from, the morgue?” I quipped, bouncing back
,-I’m like rubber, baby, and he’s the glue,
“You're about as fun as a dead person and your sparkling wit and titillating personality are on par with that of a week old corpse! Simply put, sir,
you stink!"

The room went deafeningly silent, and I waited, one hand cocked on my hip, the other still gripping the rug beater, ready to do verbal battle with the wet man-beast from hell.

Or beat the shit out of him…

My four guys burst out laughing suddenly, all at the same time, and I smiled a little, despite the situation, at the looks on all of their faces.

"You two should see yourselves," Sawyer managed to gasp out between laughs, "You look like you're ready to do battle. Duke it out to the death. Both of you!"

My smile died at that.

They continued to guffaw
at
us, and I found my lips involuntarily pursing like I'd just sucked on a lemon.

Why stop at beating Reeve's ass? When I could just whack them all?

Contemplating all this quietly, brooding, I tapped the rug beater lightly into my opened palm.

"We aren't
that
funny," I grumbled, frowning now.

"It isn't funny at all, assholes," Reeve grumbled as he yanked his pants up.

"If anyone looks like they just got out of prison, it's you!" I shot at Reeve.

He gave me a dismissive look and sniffed, running his free hand through his dripping wet hair, eyes scanning away from me as if we were done.