REBEL, a New Adult Romance Novel (The Rebel Series) (19 page)

He grabs her hand and puts her arm in his mouth, growling like a dog and shaking his head a little once he has a good grip on her.

For a second I’m shocked at what appears to be massively awful child abuse; but when she smiles hugely and squeals with delight, I realize he’s not using his teeth and that this is some weird game they play.

He lets her arm go and then head butts her gently in the chest.
 
She takes the opportunity to grab his entire head with both hands and sink her gums and two teeth into his scalp.

“Youch!” he yells, pulling back, his hair sticking out all over the place.
 
“That beast just bit me!”

“What did you expect, you lunatic?” Scarlett says, moving away from him as she gently scolds the baby.
 
“You bit her arm.
 
She thinks it’s a game.”

Tarin frowns, rubbing his head.
 
“It is until you use fangs.”
 
He points at the baby again.
 
“No bites. No bites, you little beast.”

I look over at Rebel and expect to find him enjoying the entertainment, but instead, he’s staring at me.

I’m instantly self-conscious.
 
Maybe I’m supposed to be doing something.
 
My mind searches for the right thing to say.

“Kids who are raised by wolves do the same thing.
 
Bite as a way to communicate.”

Everyone goes silent and still.
 
Only heads swivel in my direction.

Ack!
 
Help!
 
Reverse!
 
“Not that you guys are wolves.
 
Or even like wolves.
 
I mean, you bite your kid, but not like that.”

Silence.

“Anyone need to use the bathroom?
 
It’s super clean.
 
You could eat off the floor in there.”

Rebel walks towards the front door, completely ignoring the asshole in the room that is me.
 
“I’ll call you when I have something,” he says, all calm and collected.

Tarin is still staring at me as he moves towards the door.
 
“Yeah … cool … that’s cool, man.”
 
When he’s even with Rebel he finally gives him his attention and holds out his hand.
 
“Thanks.”

“Anytime.”

Scarlett is laughing silently as she leaves.
 
She and Rebel exchange nods on her way out the door.

I back up towards the other side of my desk in stunned silence.
 
Somehow I managed to not only make a complete fool of myself, but I also figured out a way to sneak in an insult about a baby being a dog raised by dogs.
 
My butt bumps into what feels like the edge of my chair and I slump down into it.

Imagine my surprise when I end up in a pile on the floor.

Rebel comes over and bends down.
 
“Are you okay?”
 
He’s frowning.
 
I can’t tell if he’s concerned or pissed.

I get up on my hands and knees and use the edge of my desk to stand.
 
I’m only halfway there before the pain really hits me.
 
I groan.
 
“Fuck me sideways.
 
I forgot my chair wasn’t there.”

He chuckles.

The sound surprises me so much, I look up.

That’s when he really starts laughing.

“What’s so damn funny?”
 
I stand partway up, hunched over like that guy who hangs out in Notre Dame.

Apparently it’s my face that’s hilarious because he can’t stop long enough to tell me what the hell his problem is. He leaves the office with his shoulders shaking silently and his face glowing.
 
I’m double pissed because he’s the only asshole I know who can laugh hysterically without making a single sound.

Limping over to the chair, I fume.
 
I cannot believe that my total embarrassment and very bad impression of Lucille Ball is so completely amusing that he suddenly becomes a person who experiences emotion.
 
How rude.
 
How fucked up.
 
How … annoying.
 
I grab the back of the chair that was supposed to be behind me and wheel it over to my desk like it’s an old-lady walker.
 
As I sit down in it, Mick puts his head around the corner.

“What the hell happened in here?”

“Nothing.”
 
I’m grumpy and I don’t want to talk to his stupid happy face.

“Seriously.
 
I’ve never seen Rebel laugh like that in my entire life.”

“He’s not laughing.
 
He’s having a seizure.
 
An asshole seizure.”

“What’d you do?”
 
Mick says, grinning.

“Could you please leave?
 
People are trying to work in here.”
 
I stare at the computer screen and start pressing buttons. Any buttons. My fingers fly over the keyboard.
 
GZQW54 FUCKMEI CAN’TBELIVE IDIDTHAT.
 
I just need to stew in my shame alone and try to figure out how I can go about working here and living next door to Rebel without actually seeing him.

I’m blaming all of this on him.
 
Before I came here, I was normal.
 
I was cool.
 
I was never jealous of other women.
 
I said the right thing at the right time and I never sat down on air.
 
This shit has got to stop before I accidentally kill myself.

“Okay, if you say so…”
 
Mick disappears around the corner, but something tells me I haven’t heard the last of this.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

I LEAVE WORK AT FOUR instead of five since I came in early this morning and head over to the hardware store.
 
I use ten precious dollars of my cash to buy a big chain lock and some nails.
 
I’m not even sure what I’m going to do with the nails, but they seem like a good thing to have for a person in the process of repairing a doorframe.

The only bright light of happiness in my afternoon appears when I catch a cute guy checking me out in the store.
 
He’s standing there, flipping keys around in a big circle on a long keychain.
 
When I return his look with a grin, he snaps his keys into his hand, frowns, and walks away with his face turned away.

Whoopie cushion blerp.

So much for a light at the end of the tunnel.
 
Life completely and totally sucks right now.
 
I’ve even lost my man-killer mojo.
 
If I weren’t so mad at my circumstances I’d be bawling. Luckily, anger and frustration are like twin jet engines powering my body forward, keeping me from falling into a heap of self-pity.

I blaze through the check-out line and leave the parking lot, sliding my back tires around the corner on my way out.
 
I’ll show that doorframe who’s boss.

When I get to the Golden Legacy, Stella the landlord is there at the bottom of the stairs and she’s fuming.

“What the hell happened in there?” she asks, following me to my apartment.
 
She acts like she’s been waiting for me to drive in all day; I’ve never seen her move so fast.
 
She’s huffing and wheezing as she stays on my heels.

Resisting the temptation to practice my roundhouse kick, I roll my eyes.
 
“I was burgled.”
 
I’m so not in the mood for her nonsense.
 
Why can’t she just sit in her office and fill her lungs with carbon monoxide all day?
 
Why does she have to ride my ass the minute I come on the property?
 
Can’t I get a break anywhere today?

“You’re going to have to pay for the door,” she says.

I stop walking and turn around.
 
“What? You’re nuts, I’m not paying for that.”

“Oh, yes you are, missy.”
 
She’s at the stairs, its handrail in her white-knuckle grip.

“My name’s not missy, and no I’m
not
paying for it.
 
It was a crime and I am the victim.
 
You
have to pay for it since you own it.
 
Call your insurance company if you want to be reimbursed.” I’m halfway up the stairs before she responds.

“I knew I shouldn’t have taken a chance on you.”

She’s behind me, so I’m in the perfect position to stop and look down on her. I take advantage of my superior height and give her a hardcore staredown.
 
“Let me get this straight... you think I’m some kind of trouble and
I
invited this in here?”
 
I snort.
 
“Like it’s not all the drug addicts and criminals who live in all the other apartments?”

“I don’t see anyone else’s apartment broken into, do you?”
 
She gestures around the place, and I can’t help but stare at the flap of cottage-cheesy arm that sways under her triceps.

I swallow hard and force myself to look away.
 
“Maybe there are other break-ins and you just don’t know it yet.”

“Nope.
 
I hear about ‘em as soon as they happen.
 
You should have called me yesterday.”

“I don’t have your number.”
 
I continue up the stairs to the top.
 
“I had to stay somewhere else last night because this place isn’t safe.”

“I hope you intend to fix that today.”
 
She stops in my doorway.
 
“And that hole in the wall, too.”

I spin around and face her, my head ready to blow up.
 
“I’ll have you know that the hole was there when I moved in, and I fixed it at my own expense.
 
Then some asshole came back and punched it in again.
 
I shouldn’t have had to pay for it the first time let alone the second.”

“So you say. I didn’t see that on the move-in checklist.”
 
She folds her arms across her ample chest and I have to look away.
 
I used to have an appetite for dinner, but not anymore.
 
All that cottage cheese …
shudder
.
 
I’m never going to eat dairy products again.

I really want to tell her to take her apartment and shove it up her fat, wrinkly butt, but I can’t.
 
Rebel’s place is just a stop-gap measure, not a permanent solution.
 
I can’t keep living next to my boss while I feel this way about him.
 
It seems way too much like stalking for comfort.

“Whatever,” I say, blowing her off and accepting my temporary defeat. “I’m here to fix the door. I’ll do the wall another day.”

“You’re going to need tools,” she says.

I hold back my reply and go into the apartment, leaving the door hanging open.
 
Slamming it in her face like I want to will probably only earn me some eviction papers.

“You still owe the rest of the rent,” she says from outside the door.

I ignore her and my urge to punch a brand-new hole in the wall, gathering up the rest of my things that didn’t make it into Rebel’s box collection and putting them in the corner.
 
I can’t fix my door with her standing right there.
 
I’m liable to put a nail through her eyeball if she’s too close.

She finally gives up on harassing me and leaves.
 
I wait until I can’t hear her gasping for air and wheezing out phlegm before leaving my apartment and going down to Julio’s place.
 
His mom is there and after a complicated game of charades and some truly awful Spanish, I have their family toolbox in hand.
 
Less than a minute later, I’m happily banging nails into anything that moves.

That’s where Rebel finds me when he shows up with a pizza box in hand.

“Hey,” I say, banging the fiftieth nail into the doorframe, proud that I’m not shaking, sweating, or wanting to pee at the mere sight of him. The splintered wood is almost fully metal now, thanks to my handiwork, and I’m feeling truly badass over it.

“Hey,” he says, admiring my mad construction skills.
 
“Hungry?”

Until he showed up, my answer would have been no.
 
Now, I’m drooling, and I’m not sure if it’s the pizza or him that’s causing my reaction.
 
“Sure.”
 
I lean over and open the top of the box to peek inside.
 
“Pepperoni.
 
Classic.”

He walks in behind me and I hold my breath until he’s passed.
 
He puts the box down on the sink and reaches into his pocket.
 
“Is there a soda machine around here?”

“Maybe in the gas station on the corner,” I say.

“Be right back.”
 
He leaves me there with his pizza and a heart full of confusion, change jingling in his hand.

He brought me dinner.
 
He’s getting me a soda.
 
What does this mean?
Nothing
.
 
It means absolutely nothing.
 
He’s just a good samaritan and I’m a charity case.
 
I take deep breaths to calm myself out of any delusionary thoughts.

I hammer one more nail in while he’s going down the stairs, but as soon as he’s out of sight, I drop the hammer on the floor and race into the bathroom and look in the mirror.
 
It’s pretty much hopeless, but I do my best to fix my hair and remove the smudges of mascara that have built up under my eyes. Maybe this is just charity on his part, but there’s no reason for me to make it painful on him by looking like a bum.

I make sure to be hammering again when he gets back.
 
I’m so slick the way I play off looking cool and collected while inside my stomach is in knots.