For several long seconds I sit there wondering if maybe this is all just some bad dream. That’s got to be it. I’m having a Wonderland moment. Anytime now I will wake up and be nice and snuggly warm in my bed with a man who adores me. Not soaking wet, covered in mud, shoeless, braless, and flat on my ass on my granddaddy’s front porch. Nope. I just have to wake up.
Closing my eyes, I will myself to wake. For the nightmare to be over. Another loud crack of thunder startles me and I screech like a girl. It’s official, this is my life and it fucking sucks. Brushing my hair off my face with my now mud coated hands the reality of my situation cuts through the fury I’ve been holding onto since the ones who shall not be named did the thing that I can’t bear to think of another moment. My nose stings and my eyes are quickly filling with moisture that I can’t blame on the rain.
“Damn it, Blake, buck the fuck up. You will not break down.” My little pep talk chases away the initial onslaught of tears, but fate, being an even bigger bitch than Mother Nature, decides she was having none of that. My phone, which has been without signal for the last two hours, decides to miraculously find half a bar of signal and starts playing Nine Inch Nails, Closer. That asshat just won’t catch the point. I haven’t answered a single one of his calls or texts, but the bitch-beast is raging right now, which is why I find myself swiping my muddy finger across the screen.
“What?” I practically scream into his ear.
“Holy Christ, Blake, baby where are you?” Shane sounds frantic. Good.
“It doesn’t matter where I am, Shane. Where’s my best friend, huh?” Contempt is dripping from each word as I speak slowly, making sure he gets just how much he fucked up.
After a loud, dramatic sigh, he says, “Baby, this is all just a misunderstanding. It means nothing. Really, just come home.”
I’m not sure what pisses me off more, his placating tone or the words he speaks. “You motherfucking douche canoe! Are you fucking kidding me?” I screech into the phone.
“Ending up in the wrong restaurant for a dinner date is a misunderstanding. Fucking my best friend in our bed, on our anniversary, is not a ‘misunderstanding.’” Even though he can’t see it, I emphasize misunderstanding with little air quotes. I’m on a roll now. “Oh, and it means nothing? Really? Are you kidding me with that shit? It means everything!”
When I’m finished, I’m breathing heavily and my heart is pounding. I might have a freaking stroke and die here on the porch.
“You know I only love you, Blakey. Come on home and we’ll celebrate our anniversary and everything will be just fine.”
“Ohmigod, you are so fucking lucky I’m not there right now, Shane. I would take that condescending tone of yours and shove it so far up your ass you’d be tasting ball sweat for the rest of your life.” I rage, “I’m not coming back. I’ll send someone for my shit.”
“Now, now. Don’t be irrational. Is it that time of month again already? You know how you get when you’re PMS’ing.”
That’s it. The last straw. Consider this camel’s back broken.
I scream out an incoherent rant of curses and maybe even a hex or two. I’m possibly speaking in tongues, who knows, but it’s an ugly, vicious diatribe. Just to be sure the point has gotten across, I throw my phone at the door and send it crashing in a satisfying crunch of broken plastic and glass.
I pull myself up off of the ground and continue ranting as I pace in tight circles. I have only made a couple of laps before the door to my cabin swings open startling me. Again, I slip on the wet tiles and end up unceremoniously on the ground. This time, I land flat on my back and have the wind knocked out of me. I lay still for a moment trying to catch my breath.
Fuck me.
“What the hell is going on out here?”
Brushing the hair out of my eyes, I look up, and up some more, at the tall stranger standing half-naked on the porch of my cabin.
“None of your fucking business. Who the hell are you and what are you doing in my cabin?” I snap. Okay, to be honest it was more of a wheeze than a snap, but attitude is kind of hard to manage when you’re flat on your back, soaked to the bone, covered in mud, with your skirt up around your coochie. I was lucky to get the breathless wheeze out of my voice box.
Much to my disbelief, he shakes his head before bursting out in laughter. I’m torn between embarrassment and rage. Since rage has been working out so well for me, I opt to go that route and let loose with a slew of curses as I slip and slide on the tiles, trying to get back to my feet.
“I’m going to kill him. Yeah, that’s it. I shouldn’t have been the one to leave. He should have gone and crawled back into the hole he came from. This is all his fault. Stupid motherfucking cunt-faced dick-weasel…” I’m not even talking to the laughing hyena at this point, I’m back to ranting to myself.
I nearly get back to my feet when I slip again, fully expecting to fall flat on my ass. Imagine my shock when my arm is engulfed by a big, strong hand and I’m pulled against a rock solid body instead.
“Easy there, sweet cheeks.” His voice is a deep baritone, with a hint of a southern accent. I’m torn between shoving him away and dry humping his leg. That sweet, southern twang is hot, but then I remember men are scum so I choose to push him away.
“Don’t touch me,” I mutter.
“Sorry, my mama raised me to help a lady in distress, not watch her fall on her face,” he answers, his eyes raking up and down my body salaciously.
“My ass.”
“Excuse me?”
“I wasn’t going to fall on my face, it was my ass you saved. So thanks, I guess. Now would you mind telling me who you are and what you’re doing in my house?” I punctuate my statement by popping my hip out and crossing my arms over my chest in the true ‘I am a pissed off woman’ stance.
His eyes wander back down my body, stopping to ogle my boobs before moving downward. He is staring at my hips and I feel a bit put out. I know I’m not the typical thin model type. I have largish tits and my ass reflects my love for maple-iced donuts.
Then I realize the skirt of my dress is pulled up so far he can clearly see the landscaping I had done in order to surprise the douche. I quickly pull the wet material of my dress down over my hips and blush. From the look on his face, I can tell he’s barely holding back laughter. The fact that a sexy as sin man is seeing me at my worst is almost more humiliating than catching the cheating bastard going to pound town on my best friend. The stinging is back in my nose and my eyes are brimming with tears. This time there will be no holding back, the rage that has been carrying me through these last hours finally dropped me on my ass and now I’m left to deal with the fallout. I feel one traitorous tear slip past my lashes followed by another and another.
“Hey, don’t cry.” He reaches for me and I pull away. I definitely don’t need comfort from a stranger who quite obviously finds my situation hilarious. “Look, my name is Hutch. I’m here for a little solitude and some R&R. This is my buddy’s cabin.”
My eyes are wide like saucers at the revelation of who is standing in front me. Lt. Hutchinson—Hutch as his friends call him—was stationed in Afghanistan with my brother and he saved his life many times over. Every time I spoke with Drake, he raved about Hutch and how he was a true hero. Without another moment of hesitation, I fling my arms around Hutch’s waist and hug him close.
“Thank you,” I manage between sobs. Instead of crying over the shit that my life has become, I’m crying because the man who kept my brother alive—and nearly died to do so—is standing right here. I can’t even begin to explain how much gratitude I have for this man.
“Uh... for?” He stutters. I’ve obviously confused him with my mercurial change in mood.
I look up and give him a watery smile, “For saving my brother.”
“Are you Blake?” He asks, dumbfounded. “Drake’s little sister?”
I can’t choke back the laughter, “Yep, by exactly two minutes. Did he not tell you we’re twins?”
“Um, no, the way he talks about you I assumed you were a kid with skinned knees and pigtails. Not…,” his eyes take me in again, “not a grown woman.”
Fuckin’ Drake. He always talks about me like I’m still chasing bugs and digging up worms with him and his goober friends. I never was a Barbie dolls and tea party kind of girl. Total tomboy, through and through.
Hell, sometimes with my name people completely forgot I even was a girl. Well, until I hit puberty that is. The boob fairy was very kind to me at a young age. Didn’t change my tomboy ways, much to my parents’ chagrin.
I have five brothers; I’m technically the youngest and the only girl out of six kids. Mom was excited to finally have an excuse to buy cute frilly dresses, pink everything, and other girly stuff. Instead, she got me. I wore my brothers’ hand-me-downs instead of those pretty pink dresses and every time momma tried to let my hair grow, I would shear it off as soon as I found the scissors. It wasn’t until I went away to college that I even considered the benefits of my feminine frame.
I smirk up at the handsome hero, “My brother likes to forget that I’m all grown up now, too. We haven’t seen each other in many, many years.” I sniffle at the thought. “He decided to enlist instead of heading off to college with me and he hasn’t been home since.”
Hutch’s arms flex around me. “The life we signed up for makes it difficult. This is the first time in a long while I’ve been stateside myself. It is a major adjustment for sure.”
I nod my head in understanding and slowly extract myself from his arms, realizing that I am pressing my very wet, and not so appropriately attired body up against him. Another loud crack of thunder makes me nearly jump out of my skin and I grab onto Hutch’s arm, causing him to chuckle.
“How about we go inside and get you cleaned up?” He suggests before looking out towards the drive then back at me a couple of times. Putting his hand low on my back he guides me to the door. “So where is your car?”
I can’t hold back my huff of frustration, “The stupid rental got a flat tire a few miles down the road and of course it didn’t come with a damn spare, so I walked.”
Looking down at my bare, muddy feet he raises his eyebrow in question.
“I was wearing fancy heels and after a mile or so my feet hurt. I may have thrown them into the woods.” I fold my arms over my chest in defense. “I’ve had a shitty day. I came here to get away from everything. And so far, nothing—and I mean nothing—is turning out like I anticipated.”
I braced myself for a lecture, knowing from what Drake has said about Hutch that he would never have been caught in half the situations I found myself in these last twenty-four hours. Of course, I was proven wrong yet again when he did the last thing I would have expected. He tilted his head back and let out a burst of laughter. The sound was like a warm brownie, fresh from the oven, delicious and forbidden. I could never pass up a warm brownie, so for the first time today I wasn’t surprised when I let go and laugh right along with him.
It was ridiculous. Never in a million years would I have pictured myself soaked to the bone, covered in mud, freshly scorned by both my fiancé and best friend, standing in the middle of nowhere with a virtual stranger, laughing my ass off at the absurdity of it all. It doesn’t take long for my laughter to turn into tears. I’m not even aware it happened, but there I am cuddled back into Hutch’s hard chest as I cry my eyes out.
I’m not one of those chicks that have cute little tears and make those quiet little noises. No, I cry so rarely that when I do it’s like my body is making up for lost time. Basically, I ugly cry—hiccupping sobs, red eyes, red face, complete with snot kind of ugly. Some first impression I’m making with this man who means so much to my brother. I try several times to pull away from him so I can go cry in private, but each time I pull away he pulls me closer and holds me tighter. Finally, I give in and let go of it all, while holding onto the man like he’s the last life preserver on a tumultuous sea.
At some point in my sob-fest Hutch moves us over to the couch and pulls me onto his lap, holding me close. His hands rub soothingly over my back while he murmurs words of encouragement. After one final shuddering breath, I pull back enough to look up at him, fully aware I’m tearstained and snot nosed. I offer a watery smile, hoping that maybe I don’t look as horrifying as I feel. “Thanks for that… I... um…” I struggle with what I want to say. What do you say to a man who just showed you more affection within the first ten minutes of meeting him, than the man you were supposed to marry? I don’t know either.
“Thanks,” I finally say. Lamely, I might add.
He brushes a chunk of my tangled, wet hair out of my eyes. “We all have to break sometimes, Blake. I’m just glad that you weren’t alone when it happened.”
His words are so kind that I nearly fall apart again. Instead, I pull up my big girl panties and choke it back. “Thanks.” I smile again. “Honestly, I came here for solitude, but I’m pretty glad you ruined my plans.”
Hutch chuckles, then taps my hip indicating I should stand up. “Let’s get you cleaned up and get you something to eat. Would you like some coffee?”
I scrunch my nose in disgust and stick my tongue out. “No coffee, but I could definitely go for getting cleaned up. Even I’m kind of disgusted with me right now,” I joke, holding out my arms and looking down at my disheveled state.
His eyes follow mine and I swear I see flash of desire in his eyes, but he quickly shutters his expression so I can’t be sure. He nods down the hall towards the bedrooms and bathrooms. “I’ll leave you to it then.”
“Okay.”
Shutting myself in the bathroom, I finally catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Let’s just say that the Swamp Thing ain’t got nothing on me baby.
Holy fuck.
My hair is in horrific clumps. My eyes are bloodshot from crying and the eyeliner that I had painstakingly applied around my lashes is smeared so badly it could be confused for the eye black that athletes wear. My cheeks are still pink from crying and I have a mud trail from the apple of my left cheek all the way down my neck. My dress is dripping wet and caked with mud from my falls on the porch. I can honestly say that I have never, ever looked this rough and that is saying a lot considering some of the shit I’ve gotten myself into before.
The old pipes creak and moan as I turn on the taps before water gurgles out of the faucet and into the tub. This was always one of my favorite parts of coming here. I may have been a tomboy growing up, but I loved baths. Granddaddy always spoiled me with getting bubbles and those fizzing bath balls. With there being eight of us at home we didn’t get the luxury of baths. We had timed showers so that we all got clean without running out of hot water. So, whenever I was here, it was a treat to take a bath and play in the water as long as I wanted.
I pull my ruined dress over my head and drop it into the sink so it won’t soak the floor. The jar of bath fizzers on the counter causes my heart to constrict. There isn’t a single day that passes where I don’t miss my Granddaddy.
I strip out of my black lace panties and toss them on top of the dress before stepping into the tub and closing the tattered shower curtain. The water pressure leaves something to be desired, but the heat from the water is heavenly. I work the shampoo into my hair and for the first time ever, I actually follow the wash, rinse, repeat instructions.
AVAILABLE NOW!
Acknowledgments
First of all, I have to thank my readers. You’re all fantastic. Even after a year of not publishing you’re still supporting and encouraging me. I can’t even put to words how amazing you are.
Juliebean… it’s the 5th so I love you most.
Angel, thank you so much for your words of encouragement. I couldn’t have done it without you!
Tara, Lee, Madison, Jane, and so many more THANK YOU!! You’ve been my daily and sometimes hourly support system. I couldn’t ask for a better group of ladies to have in my corner.
Penelope… that cover tho
ugh. Thank you for that and so much more.
Shay, I miss your face!
And even though none of my family will read this (and if one of you is… uhm… I apologize for saying cock so much!) I’m so very grateful for everything.
Other Books by Rory Reynolds
His Hellcat
Dirty Girl
About the Author
Rory Reynolds is a stay-at-home mom of two little monsters. She's a ravenous reader of romance and firmly believes that you can never have too many book boyfriends.
She writes feisty heroines, alpha heroes, and panty drenching smut with happily ever afters.
Stalk Rory…
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Email: [email protected]
http://roryreynoldsromance.com
Just Married Page 9