by Shaye Marlow
“Oh, thank god,” said Zack, relaxing.
I didn’t get it. “What’s your objection?” I asked the newcomer.
The man pointed a finger at me. “I’m pregnant with her love child,” he declared.
“What?” Pretty sure if I’d slept with him, I’d remember it.
The crowd murmured, and up on the steps, Ed groaned.
Next to me, Zack was cringing. “J.D.,” he said, and shook his head. “Couldn’t you have come up with something—anything—manlier to say?”
J.D. grinned. “I can’t believe my brothers tried to get married without me.”
“Not Utah,” Ed muttered.
J.D. looked at me. “I’m not normally one to cause a scene,” the blond explained before transferring his gaze to Zack and Rory, “but you guys have tormented me so much over the years, that I couldn’t resist fucking with you just a little.”
“Well, you suck at it,” Zack said. “And we weren’t trying to get married without you. We invited you. You said you couldn’t make it.”
“And you didn’t, technically,” Rory pointed out. “You missed the vows.”
“Whoops,” J.D. said. He approached and held out his hand. “Hi. I’m these pirates’ brother.”
Ah, the MMA champ. I took his hand. “I’m Frances. That pirate’s wife. I’m only marrying one of them,” I clarified.
J.D.’s eyes widened. “What? These two are joined at the hip. You’re telling me you were able to pry them apart long enough to—”
Zack shoved him back.
Grinning even wider, J.D. introduced me to Thea. Then he sniffed the air and took a page right out of his mom’s book. “I smell ribs!” he crowed, turning to hustle back through the crowd. Thea lingered long enough to mouth “I’m sorry,” then followed her man.
That seemed to be everyone’s cue for barbecue. Guests started detaching from the edge of the gathering, floating across the yard like dandelion seeds. Only the ones closest hesitated.
Ed waved them off. “I think we’re done here. Go eat.”
The rest of the locals sheared away, leaving an older woman with a gray bowl cut and her four biddies—I mean buddies.
Mildred glowered at me before marching forward. “Congratulations,” she said. “Now, where’s my dahlia?” Behind her, her friends formed a scowling half-circle accessorized with colorful knit.
I brushed by Ed on my way up the steps to the gazebo, hefted the large plant that I’d stashed behind the railing, and as I carried it back down, Mildred’s eyes teared up. When she had the pot in her arms, Mildred pressed her face into the shiny, deep-green foliage, and actually began to cry. Her knitting crones—cronies—circled ’round, patting her back and making comforting noises.
“I didn’t know,” I mouthed in response to Zack’s chiding glance. At the time, I’d just seen a pretty flower, and fairly close to the street, too.
“C’mon, Mildred, I know what’ll make you feel better,” one of her friends said. “How about a nice dip in that hot tub?”
“But we didn’t bring suits,” Mildred sniffled.
“No matter. We’ll go in naked. Then we’ll have it all to ourselves.” The gaggle of grannies wandered off with us staring after them.
Ed wiggled his finger in his ear. “Did they really just—?”
I nodded. “Avoid the hot tub.”
Zack and I were on our way to the grills when Helly shouted for Zack. She approached with a brown paper bag cradled in her arms, and a big grin on her face. “You did it,” she said. “The beer, the lures.” She fished out a big, duck-billed diving lure, and the treble hooks rattled in their plastic casing as she shook it at us. “This. Is. Awesome. Hell, I fucking love you.”
We followed her gaze over to the table with the gift bags, where the fishing guides had gathered ’round, oooing and aahing and comparing their loot. They caught us watching and raised their beers in salute.
“Hell, yes,” Zack said, accepting Helly’s high-five.
We took our place in the grill line. Just in front of us, as it happened, was the Trebuchet Gang. They eyed us, and we eyed them. I didn’t really have any problem with them personally, but in the spirit of things, I really wanted to splatter them with watermelon.
Rory crowded up behind Zack and me and crossed his arms, so that we were all glowering at each other like… well, like two rival gangs. I expected them to offer some sort of congratulations, because that’s what people did when they went to a wedding, right? The Gang didn’t. They just glowered and shuffled backward when the line moved.
Okay, it was starting to get a little personal.
Caine finally broke the silence. “You never got that bear, did you?” he asked lazily.
“No, we didn’t,” Zack gritted out. And he’d seemed more content about that fact since the scoreboard had gotten lost in the wedding shuffle. Damn these assholes for bringing it up.
“Yeah,” Peter said. “You only managed to bag a tiny one, huh? Small as your…” his gaze flicked downward “…catapults.”
Rory started forward, just to be stopped by Dotty. “Gentlemen,” she said. “It’s Zack and Frances’s wedding day. Chill.”
The Trebuchet Gang backed off—until Dotty left. “That’s the Adderacks for you,” Caine said. “All tiny bears and—” his eyes flicked to me “—loose women.”
Angela tittered. “Who wears a red wedding dress, seriously?”
I think Zack was too stunned to react immediately, but then he stepped forward.
“It’s okay,” I said, grabbing his arm. I just wanted food. Any delays between me and those ribs were unacceptable.
“It’s not okay,” he snarled.
But the Trebuchet Gang was no longer paying attention. They’d made it to the grill, and laid out before them were heaps of burgers, piles of hot dogs, and a dwindling stack of ribs. I watched with horror—all three of us watched with horror—as they decimated the stack. When the Gang was done loading meat onto their plates, there were a measly three ribs left.
Then Caine snatched up those last three ribs and balanced them atop his heaping plate, leaving exactly none. Adding insult to injury, instead of making a clean break, he lingered, sucking off the tender, sauce-laced meat with a loud, lusty groan.
“Zack,” I rasped. “One of your gloves.” I held out a hand.
Wordlessly, he handed over his costume gauntlet.
What I did next seemed almost choreographed. I pulled my arm back, stepped forward, and brought the glove around in a powerful arc.
The sound of the supple leather impacting Caine’s cheek rang over nearby conversations. The rib flew out of his mouth, and the plate of ribs fell out of his hand.
With catlike reflexes, Zack caught the plate, single-handedly getting our marriage off to a marvelous start. The flying rib hit Angela right in the dress.
But it was neither my knight in shining armor, nor the poetic justice streaking Angela’s bodice that held my attention. It was Caine, the man who dared steal from me.
I crowded up to him until we were toe-to-toe, and said, “I challenge you… to a duel.”
Chapter Thirty-One
ZACK
Six Days Later
“No, you may not move.”
“But, Zack, I’ve been here foreeeveer.”
“It’s only been like half an hour. And all you have to do is lay there.”
“That sounds like something a rapist would say.”
I shook my head. “Frances, you have the attention span of a small bird.”
“That’s what I’ve been telling you,” she groaned. “Couldn’t you just take a picture?”
“Gah!” I grabbed my phone and snapped a picture of her. “Fuck,” I said upon inspecting it. “You were grinning. Hold still.”
Frances lay across her rumpled bed, naked and glowing. Her hair was in disarray, her cheeks flushed and eyes sparkling. The only thing she wore was a golden necklace whose giant ruby pendant nestled in the little hollow between
her collarbones.
Does that sound cliché? Her lying there naked, in nothing but a necklace, while I painted her? Yeah, well, I didn’t watch that movie—though J.D. probably has—and she’s the one who, giggling, put on the necklace. She’d said it would make her feel better about returning it.
I got another picture, then grumbled, “Okay, you can move.”
She flew off the bed and took up a position hovering at my shoulder. “Zack, my nose isn’t that big.”
“I’m not done yet,” I said, more distracted by her naked proximity than annoyed by her criticism. Yes, we’d had hot monkey sex sitting up against the headboard just a half hour ago, so no, she shouldn’t have been affecting me this way. But as my erection grew, there was no denying that she was.
I chucked my paintbrush into its cup of water and scrubbed at my face. “My god, you’re like crack,” I muttered.
With a little purr of amusement, she flicked her fingers across my shoulder, then crossed the bedroom. “Now,” she said, tapping her lip, “where did we put that envelope? Was it in the bottom drawer?” She bent, at the damn hips, and dug around, looking for an envelope amongst her socks. That ass…
I bit my lip, then snatched up the bubble wrap-lined envelope. “It’s here.”
She spun toward me, fingers over her open mouth in faux surprise. She approached as if in slow motion, hips swaying with each supple flex of those glorious legs. When she arrived, she leaned in close, making her pert breasts bob in my face.
I assumed she was going to take the envelope from me, but she bypassed it to run a finger down my nose. “You’re my hero,” she purred. “You find envelopes so fucking well.”
I nodded, agreeing.
Her finger wandered over my chin, and tripped down my throat. “As a matter of fact, you do lots of things well.” Her fingers combed through the blond hair on my chest, tugging as she held my gaze. “Pleasuring me,” she crooned. “Licking me—”
“Frances,” I said.
“Yes, lover?” God, she was sexy.
“Quit trying to get out of it. Take off the necklace, and put it in the envelope. Now.”
She made a face, and when she reached up to work the clasp, her nipple actually brushed my lips. Unable to resist, I flicked it with my tongue.
Frances guided my hand and the envelope upward. Holding my gaze, making sounds as if she were performing an insertion of an entirely different kind, she slipped the necklace into its manila sleeve.
“Good girl,” I said, and sealed it. I’d take it to Dotty’s tomorrow and mail it, and there’d be one less person in the world gunning for Frances.
…And then maybe I’d give her the necklace I’d bought to replace it.
We both jumped as someone pounded on the door. “Dudes! The Trebuchet Gang just left! We gotta go!” Poundpoundpound. “Guys!”
“Dammit, Rory, pipe down. We’re coming.”
“Phrasing,” he muttered through the door.
“We gotta get dressed,” I said.
Frances’s pout morphed into a big, bloodthirsty smile. “It’s that time?”
“Yup.” I watched with a grin as she jumped eagerly into her clothes. For my own part, I stuck my head out the door. “Hey, J.D., could I borrow some—” I suddenly had a mouth- and face-full of black cloth. “—sweats,” I finished as the wadded pants tumbled into my hands. Ducking back into Frances’s room, I tugged them on.
No shirts, no shoes. Them’s the rules.
We emerged in record time, and still Rory was dancing on his toes. “Come on,” he said from the door.
Frances and I followed him to the boat, tailed by J.D. and Thea. We took our seats, and Rory turned us toward the bar.
So, I’m guessing you’d like to know what happened when Frances challenged the Trebuchet Gang to a duel? They accepted. And we would have gone at it right there, Frances, me, and Rory taking on whoever cared to join…
But, Ed had butted in, and I’m gonna paraphrase a bit here: “No,” he’d said. “No, you can’t fight here. Not like this. You’ve gotta do it like civilized people. In the fight club. On Wednesday, because that’s when we have group fights.”
Guess what day it is. That’s right. Wed-nes-fucking-day. And I was gonna kick Trebuchet Gang ass and chew bubble gum… but I was all out of gum.
Frances and I ran into the bar hand-in-hand. She was giggling as we descended the stairs to the fight club, our feet pounding on the metal grating.
There was a big crowd tonight and the smell of beer and fish and excitement filled the air. Excitement smells like sweat, if you were wondering.
I pushed our way through the press, and there was Ed, turning to look at us from the top of the cage steps. “And here are our challengers!” he announced.
Frances and I ran up to meet him with Rory trailing after. Only at the top did we falter.
“What…” Red. The octagon was red, and shiny, and sort of… translucent. No, wait. That wasn’t the octagon itself. That was… that was…
“Jell-O,” Rory said, his eyes gleaming. Pushing us aside and stripping out of his shirt, he slipped through the chain-link gate and dove in head-first. Seconds later, he came up with a huge smile on his shiny face, stained faintly red and with quivering chunks of the stuff dripping and rolling down his naked chest and belly. Turning, he fell backward, splashing Frances and me and Ed.
“Dammit, Rory,” Ed muttered, brushing at a red chunk clinging to his flannel shirt.
“Really, Ed?” Frances said. “Jell-O?”
Ed smiled a naughty little smile that made it perfectly clear why Suzy had married him. “See, guys, it’s like J.D. said. I saw my opportunity to fuck with you a little.”
“We’re actually fighting in that?”
“Unless you chicken out,” Ed said. “You can always scratch. I would say no one would ever know, but that’s not really true, considering I replaced the bear scoreboard that somebody misplaced—” he shot Frances a look “—with a Jell-O fight scoreboard. If you scratch, you go straight to the bottom, and… the Trebuchet Gang goes straight to the top.”
I glanced down at Frances.
She cracked her knuckles. “Let’s kick some college student ass.”
So, now you know how I found myself in a Jell-O pit on a Wednesday night.
Epilogue
ZACK
J.D.’s girly shriek cut across the rumble of the hot tub’s jets.
“J.D., for the last time,” I yelled over my shoulder. “The beer is in the fridge in the house. The fridge in the yard is an ermine habitat, and as such, it does not contain beer.”
Frances snickered, then scratched one of her Rottweilers’ ears when it jumped up against the side of the tub. “Hey, Daisy,” she murmured. “Where’d Puck go, hmm? Are you watching him?”
I hadn’t realized Frances came with four man-eating Rottweilers. When I’d pointed out that it was unreasonable of her to expect me to just accept them without bitching even a little, she’d pointed out that she and the dogs were a package deal—just like me and Rory. And yeah, that’d shut me up.
Introducing them to Puck had been an adventure. But then they—Daisy, especially—had taken the little goat under their wing, had shown him the ropes, and now I had a bona fide attack goat of my very own. Frances was still working on getting the Rottweilers to not eat visitors, but considering we had precious few of those anyway…
“There’s just one thing that bothers me,” Gary said.
“Oh, yeah? What’s that?” I asked, lazily drifting my fingertips over Frances’s wet shoulder.
Rory and I’d gotten the big hot tub, the ten-seater, which Suzy had charged us a premium for because it barely fit in her boat. Along with us guys—Rory, Gary, J.D., Ed and me—Frances, Helly, Thea, and Suzy were all in attendance.
“Your dad,” Gary said, looking at Frances, “did some dastardly things. He crashed Ed’s wedding, forced you to marry, and held me and Dotty and everybody else at gunpoint.” He squinted. “When
we went up to his place, I was expecting we’d storm in there, shoot the place up, capture George and lock him in a dark room until he was really, really sorry. But instead…” He took a swig of his beer, appearing contemplative. “…you just talked. The man got no comeuppance. Not even a slap on the wrist. It was very disappointing.”
“Yeah,” Helly sighed, leaning against his shoulder. “Very disappointing.” Poor girl couldn’t hold her liquor. One and a half beers in, she appeared to be mostly asleep. Gary relieved her of her drooping bottle.
“We don’t want to exacerbate the situation,” Ed said. “He agreed to cease hostilities, and that’s enough for me.”
“Exacer—what?” I asked.
Frances patted me on the arm. “He’s saying revenge on my father would’ve only made the situation worse.”
“Ah.” I scratched my head. “But it didn’t.”
The occupants of the hot tub, flushed and relaxed, focused on me. “What’s that you said?” Suzy asked, squinting past the wafting steam.
“I said, it didn’t.”
“What are you talking about?” Gary asked.
Rory glanced my way. “Want me to take this one?”
I gave him the go-ahead with my bottle of beer.
Rory straightened and cleared his throat. “So, Frances recently introduced us to the concepts of breaking-and-entering, sabotage, and gas-lighting.”
He’d gotten Ed’s attention. J.D., who’d clambered back into the tub, looked amused.
“And J.D., when you stayed with us last summer,” Rory said, “you really helped us refine our definition of manliness. And so, armed only with a lockpick set, Frances’s way with animals, and knowledge of J.D.’s twinkish ways, we went on up to George’s.”
“You went up to George’s?” Suzy asked.
“We did. Have. A few times,” Rory said, looking smug.
“What did you do?” J.D. asked.
“What have you done?” Ed asked.
“Oh, don’t get your panties in a twist. We just did a few little things. A tweak here, a plant there…”
Gary was smiling. “Tell us more.”