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“Fuck yeah! Yeah! Fucking yeah motherfucker!” Mission accomplished, I flung him off the swifter, letting it go out the window feeling a little like John McClane in Die Hard watching the bird take off into the night sky, flying upward as I fell back against the cabinets with heaving breaths. I was splayed out on the floor feeling a sting in my ass from the nails that, well, fucking nailed me moments earlier when Taylor Jane rushed in again, kneeling at my side.
“Is Mr. Hooter okay?” Her hands clutched my face and all I could do was close my eyes and let my head bang back against the cabinets.
“Seriously, Taylor Jane?” Here I was on the kitchen floor, a wounded victim from two nails in my ass, and she was more concerned about a damn bird that almost stabbed my eyes out with his beak. A bird she named fucking Mr. Hooter and all I could think about were boobs and birds right now. The idea was appalling until I looked at Taylor Jane’s heaving chest and wide eyes.
Birds and boobs.
Boobs and birds.
I hoped my dick stood down. The sleeves of her too large red flannel shirt were rolled up and a wide braided belt nipped in her waist over short as hell jean shorts, joined by her new tan Timberland work boots. I kind of missed the blue ones she wore matching her eyes, and it was a mighty fine sight as my dick agreed, pressing painfully against my jeans. Why couldn’t my best friend wear clothes that covered her business up? A paper bag, a black trash bag, anything that didn’t scream sex me up on the kitchen floor with drywall dust for starters would be nice. My mother would have called her exasperating. If I was being honest with myself, I wanted to fuck her, hard.
Frustrated, I stood up a little unsteady and walked past her back to the living room and my current drywall project. My ass
hurt, but I said nothing, limping back to my half put up sheetrock with a tetanus shot on my to-do list for tomorrow. I wasn’t taking any chances.
“Hunter?”
“Yes, Taylor Jane.”
“Is—uh your butt bleeding?” The observation wasn’t lost on me, but my patience was paper thin, and I couldn’t deal with any more emasculation today. I needed to go home, watch some sports, and drink a beer in the dark.
“I’m fine.” But even I knew that was a lie. I was so far from fucking fine with this girl.
“Hunter?”
“What?” My tone was sharper than I meant it to be.
“Sure you’re okay? You kinda screamed like a girl back in there.” A wicked little smile turned the corners of her face up as she thumbed in the direction of the kitchen and I shook my head, ignoring her. Taking off my baseball cap, slapping it on my leg, and running a hand over my shorn head, I walked away, leaving her mouth gaping in the kitchen. Her designer notebook pages littered the linoleum tile floor that would be ripped up later this week. Window screens were definitely getting installed tomorrow morning ahead of schedule, screw Taylor Jane’s budget. I refused to have any other ruffled feathers during this six-week nightmare that seemed fraught with problem after problem.
10
Taylor Jane
“Domineering oaf thinks I can’t do something. I’ll show his stupid ass.” Stalking back to the truck, I pulled the power washer supplies Hunter ordered me to leave alone. You’ll hurt yourself, he says. Leave that for the guys to do, he says. If he tells me one more time something is too heavy, too awkward… oooh… grrrr…. My legs tangled up in a long heavy hose and I started kicking the damn thing out of my way, huffing exasperated breaths, focused on not tripping or tying myself up accidentally because that wouldn’t look ridiculous at all. I was at the end of my rope and wanted one thing to go right, just one.
This week brought more hurdles with permit troubles and supplies being delivered either late or not at all from the supply house I was using, so much for using locally sustainable supplies.
I was pissed because I had to rely on Hunter to weave his magic down at the town hall. I had never done this before and I didn’t know some aspects of the project required specific permits, which in turn took more time to acquire. Apparently, my best friend had also bonked, yes, bonked the girl behind the counter at the municipal building. He flapped his Hunter eyelashes and dazzled the damn girl into waving the waiting period so we could speed things along. Do you have any idea how sickening it is watching him lean over the counter and glass partition flirting with a girl who could barely file alphabetically? I almost missed seeing Miss Marbles after that fiasco.
He even knew the town inspector, which I should have realized because he was a reliable honest contractor who did a lot of jobs in town. I just didn’t gather the inspector, if you could call her that, had already inspected Hunter’s goods and services a long time ago. I was embarrassed, hurt, and angry for not knowing this and having it surprise me.
I stalked back to the house pounding my boots into the gravel driveway when another slip of the hose had me tripping.
“Whoa, easy there, Moonbeam.” Damien took the gun of the power washer from my hands, pointing it away from his manly parts, and started coiling up the hose. He wrapped it around his thick and equally muscular arms, which did nothing for my libido. “I thought Hunter planned to take care of this later?”
I had no earthly idea how relatives in the Hart family could be any more dissimilar. Polite, kind Damien and his ass of a cousin Hunter should not have been branches of the same family tree and yet they were.
“Not you too, Damien. I am perfectly capable of handling a little cleanup job on my own.” Eyebrows raised, he handed me back the power washer. Was every man going to question my abilities? I was an independent woman and last time I checked, the dingleberries in my pants might have been biologically different, but no less than Hunter’s. The thought that my longtime best friend didn’t have faith in me hurt more than I cared to admit. The last week had been filled with revelations of his tomcatting around town as we hissed at each other like feral cats. We didn’t say things you couldn’t take back, but I was definitely hitting below the belt while he steadfastly gave me stoic and infuriating silent looks.
Hunter had been in a huff ever since the bird incident, becoming short with me and dictating how my project was getting done. Holding the power washer one handed, I dropped the hose and struggled to cross my arms defiantly. I tossed my braid of hair over my shoulder, standing my ground with raised eyebrows of my own. If he wanted me to throw down my gauntlet it was well and truly down.
Damien held his hands up in mock surrender. “Listen, nobody is saying you can’t do it, but I think Hunter is ah…” Damien paused to look around, and I was increasingly annoyed with both of them.
“He’s what, Damien? Insufferable? A pain in the ass, and a dictator?” I let dictator sound more like dick-tator while Damien bit back a laugh. “Come on, this is my project and how, how dare he try to take over?” Convincing no one, I stomped my work boot into the dry mound of grass that could use a good landscaper, something else that was slowly getting squeezed out of my budget. “I’m the project manager and the designer, damn it.” Every word out of my mouth sounded like a pitiful whine, like I was some spoiled petulant child who wasn’t getting her way.
“Tell me how you really feel, T-Rex. The louder you say it, the more convincing you are.” Leave it to Damien to make one lick of sense standing with his arms crossed mimicking me. I wanted to kick him too.
The pit of worry I pushed down surfaced. There was a reason why this project had to succeed and it would fall on my shoulders alone if it didn’t. Hunter wasn’t aware of this additional stress that had me panicked on a daily basis to get more done than there were hours in the day and sticking to the budget. Heck, if he did know, he would be disappointed in me, and I couldn’t bear that knowledge.
