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“Brat!” Hunter yelled loud enough I felt the sharp sting of the letter ‘t’ from the flight above. Now I definitely wasn’t sorry for anything I said next.
“Oooh!” I slapped my hand on the wall, wincing before I turned around and barreled into Damien’s arms that held me up by my shoulders. His whole body shook and I looked up into mischievous eyes as he held back laughter.
“I love watching the two of you fight.”
I tried kneeing him in the balls because after all, Hunter called me a twelve-year-old and I wanted to act like one. Damien dodged my knee and hauled me closer in a ridiculous bear hug.
“You’re sick, you know that?”
“Yeah, but I get all the girls with it.” He chuckled, and I pushed him off, running down the steps to my little bug car, driving home like a crazy woman. My dry clothes ended up being a set of flannel pajamas followed by ice cream, a marathon of Twilight movies, and calling Kristen to hang out. Boys were stupid.
11
Hunter
“Flip a house, she says… it’ll be easy, she tells me… I only need you for the bare essentials….” My ass slammed down onto the barstool nursing a cold beer, watching the condensation travel down the brown glass, hoping it would take the edge off my temper. My fingers peeled the label back on another famous Easton microbrew, distracting me from driving back over to the death trap and potential money pit Taylor Jane has sunk her fingers into. A body dumped itself next to me and the happy radiating energy coming off my cousin was enough to make me queasy.
“Chin up, buttercup, at least she didn’t hit you in your beautiful face with the power washer.” Damien took a long drag from the frosted glass, and I was surprised he said so many words between gulps of beer.
Andy Easton, pub co-owner, high school buddy, and general townie know-it-all, smirked, sliding a new beer from the tap in front of me. Did everyone in town hear about this? Apparently so because Andy had the good sense to back away whistling. I’d hate to knock the hipster glasses off my good friend’s face.
“Sometimes I don’t know what I did to deserve being related to you.” Hunched over the bar counter, I wished without fulfillment that Damien would go away and leave me in my misery tonight.
“At least you don’t need a rabies booster. I heard about the bird, Mr. Hooter Hart.”
“I hate you.”
“You can’t live without me, big guy, admit it. You looove me.”
I wanted to punch him in the throat. Is that a thing, throat punches? Because it should definitely be a thing. I make a fake gagging sound he should recognize considering that’s the only face he gets from Kristen.
He laughed and instead of carrying on I told him, “Shut up.”
Enjoying alone time at the bar would be impossible with Damien here now. He winked, smiling at me.
“Something in your eye, dipshit?” I wasn’t in the mood for any company right now. You would think he could have left well enough alone, but not Damien. Sometimes I thought Kristen was right to call him a Demon, not that I would ever tell her that. I still had a pact with Taylor Jane to remain an annexed neutral zone. Ever the non-romantic, I was convinced the Calloways and the Harts of the world were a modern day version of the Capulets and Montagues waiting to blow.
“Aw, come on, I bet you’d rather flip her over your shoulder, sunshine. Maybe spank her ass for being insubordinate on the job site?” Damien jabbed me good in the side, causing me to grunt, and laughed to himself at his own joke.
I’d give him a punch of sunshine right to the eye if he kept this up. The anger simmered under the surface. Sure, I’d love to flip her, right over my lap, and beat the hell out of her pert little ass to a rosy shade fifty fucking times darker for today’s stunt. I agreed to help her flip this house, but I told her, damn it, I told her that I would be in charge of the construction while she designed to her heart’s content. I didn’t anticipate she would be such a pain in the ass interfering on every level possible making me worried sick she might hurt herself.
Speaking of her ass… the way she looked standing on the aluminum ladder taking measurements for crown molding that I was sure we were going to argue over the budget on made her look like an angel on the stairway to heaven. She even had me waxing poetic shit I wouldn’t be caught dead saying out loud.
She was a goddamn angel with her long blond braid and ripped up denim shorts, her thin legs tucked into a pair of Timberlands. The perfect fantasy I couldn’t have, I reminded myself. I was beyond screwed. My aunt would have cursed my religious blasphemy, but the big guy and I were on the outs anyway, so no harm no foul at this point. Pretty sure I hadn’t seen the inside of a church since Jolene Bryant’s death. Even Aunt Ginny begging wouldn’t get me inside a house of worship without having to worry if the place would go up in flames.
I hated to think how things would go when demo really got underway. I’d have to tie her up and toss her in a closet somewhere, preferably one she could organize while I ripped up toilets and busted through walls. Damn woman.
“I doubt Taylor Jane would appreciate your thoughts, Damien.” I continued to use her full name to give me the brevity of distance, or what I hoped was appropriate distance that had been years in the making. Once I started with her full name I couldn’t use the short versions everyone else did. Her name was kind of my thing.
“She’s a doll and I never did understand why you haven’t tapped—”
I grabbed Damien by his shirt collar, pulling his face close to mine, my knuckles white and clenched, the scars running over my hand visible and deeply etched. The vein in my forehead would probably burst before tonight was over.
“Don’t even think about finishing that sentence inappropriately or I’ll beat the ever loving shit out of you.” My voice brooked no argument, and I released Damien as quickly as I had grabbed him.
He stumbled back and the jackass kept on smiling like it had all been some kind of joke. Taylor Jane and I, we’d been friends from the beginning and I wasn’t going to let a little redecorating get in the way of ten plus solid years of friendship with the only woman who wasn’t trying to get in my pants or take advantage of me. She was a nice girl and girls like Taylor Jane deserved a nice guy, something I had no desire of ever becoming. Being a nice guy wasn’t in my DNA to begin with and I wanted her to have better than me.
“Aw, come on, cousin, I’m not into T-Rex the house terminator like that.” Damien concocted another nickname I didn’t like while he ordered a second beer, which came sliding down the counter toward him with a nod from the pretty little bartender, Remington, who worked our end.
