My eyes continue to follow Connor’s warpath where I find a trail of strong, Italian coffee on the floor. I know it’s strong, Italian coffee because it leads up to my fucking coveted coffee machine! I import the coffee beans specially!
I take a deep breath, and continue the trail. I cringe at the sight; it’s one of our other roommate’s inventory lists for his bar. Flint’s once nice and organized list is now covered in my beautiful morning brew and water. The ink is so smudged I can’t make out a single word. I definitely won’t be sticking around to see Flint’s reaction to this.
“Connor! What the hell?” I bellow out while picking up the handle to my coffee pot, only to have the glass bowl fall to the ground at my feet; shattering on impact. I just barely manage to jump out of the way to avoid getting cut. The shards would have hurt like a bitch.
“You’ve got to be kidding me!” I moan as I grit my teeth. I try to take calming breaths through my nose.
Happy thoughts think happy thoughts! Sunsets, the beach, kite boarding, fuck! Nothing seemed to help the ever-growing aggravation.
Saying I am barely tolerable before my first cup of my b-e-a-u-t-i-f-u-l coffee would be putting it mildly; I simply don’t function at the required level of adulting until at least my third cup. As of right now, I have no cups in my system. Hell, I don’t even have a cup to put my brew in! I’m barely hanging on by a thread.
Don’t kill Connor. Do NOT kill Connor. I mentally chant while I try to loosen my balled-up fists.
“Aw, I am sorry Tucky, Tuck-a-roo, but you should have seen them!” Connor stands before me frantically twisting up his chin length hair, which is sopping wet, and adding to the puddle at our feet. “I just walked in to get a glass of OJ, minding my own damn business when I shut the fridge door and bam! There they were! Three of those demons were staring me down, ready to eat me alive!” he proclaims, throwing his arms out in a gesture that said I should be on his side and understand his reaction.
Yeah, as if!
“Con, I don’t think it would be possible for them,” I stop for a split second, trying to get a grip on my temper. I need to choose my words wisely, “to eat you.”
“Look, I tried to back away and respect them like Everett suggested. But as soon as I got close to the sink, the mob boss jumped from the counter and I lost sight of all of them. I am sorry but shit hit the fan at that point. Every man for himself.” He ends on a huff of frustration, throwing his arms wide again and flinging his hair out in the process. The action sends a mass of water droplets flying towards my face.
I will not yell. I will not yell.
I grit my teeth again as I shut my eyes, desperately trying to hold on to the last threads of my temper.
Breathe. Count to five and everything will be okay. One. Two. Three.
Connor side steps my poor shattered coffee pot, approaches me, and then proceeds to wipe his wet hand across my face in a vain attempt to dry it.
Screw it.
“Connor! It was a fucking spider! Step on the damn thing, hit it with a spatula, smash it with toilet paper. I don’t care. But this,” I throw my hand out and motion to the chaos in our kitchen, “is a tad bit overboard, don’t you think?” I bellow out, breathing in heavy pants once I’ve finished.
“Overboard? This was overboard? Tucker, it is not right for anything to have that many eyes to watch you or be able to disappear at will. I am sorry for this mess, but I am not sorry for trying to save my life.” When he finishes, I notice for the first time the sweat covering his brow.
I take a deep breath to clear my head, starting to pick up on the smaller things I missed.
He has crazy eyes, darting back and forth as if he is trying to spot his dime sized demons. He has a nervous twitch in his cheek, keeps wiping his hands on his shorts, and his face is pale to such an extent that the only color left is his flushed cheeks.
On another breath, I let my mental wall down. With the force of a tidal wave, I can feel his heavy emotions rolling through me. He’s scared, panicking, unsure, and if I concentrate hard enough I can even sense he feels like his skin is crawling. His actions, although extreme are triggering due to his phobia. It quickly fizzles my anger out.
I just can’t keep a hold of it when I can feel the true terror flowing off of him. In all honesty, no one ever chooses to have a phobia, how they will react to it, and what it will be. As weird as it might be to others, it is an absolute living nightmare with the person who is plagued by it.
I deal with it on a daily basis when I feel these same emotions rolling within other people. Take myself for example, I have to have things done in a precise manner, and I loathe being off my schedule. Some call it OCD, I call it hell. I don’t desire to be this way; I just am. I’ve accepted my little quirk and it makes me more empathetic to his situation.
“Okay, man. But seriously, clean some of this shit up before Flint wakes up. I can’t deal with you and him bouncing off my radar; especially when I don’t have my coffee.”
Connor’s shoulders relax just a fraction. He finally realizes that my anger has fizzled, and I’m not going to blow another gasket on him. He really should know me better by now. I usually get my feelings off my chest pretty quickly and move on.
“I’ll get you a new coffee pot today,” he replies, looking down at the shattered one in pieces near our feet and then to his ceramic chaos all across our kitchen. I can feel the guilt settle down on his shoulders.
“No worries, I’ll bring the one from my office home. I like it better anyway.”
He cracks a small smile, knowing I’m full of it.
That pot brews disgusting sludge-like coffee. I just really don’t want to push him more right now.
“Dude, I might have gone a little bit overboard.”
“You think?” I laugh a bit internally, feeling him being overwhelmed through the bond at the sight of the mess his mafia war caused. “But, hey at least you showed the mob boss and his lackeys who the true boss is.”
“What do you mean?” His head snaps up and stares intently into my eyes. I see his face start to drain once more as he once again darts his eyes around the kitchen.
“Well, you killed them so that should teach all of the spiders in the house a lesson.” I smile at him, hoping it would re-instill a small amount of his confidence.
“I never killed them.” His eyes grow large, his body freezes, and the same terror-filled emotions from earlier start to trickle back into his being. “That’s why I called out for backup! Dude, you were supposed to have my six I thought you finished them when you got down here.”
“When was I supposed to do that? While I was trying to figure out what was going on?” I throw back at him. I can see the nervous tick in his cheek and the crease of worry was forming on his brow again.
“So, they are still alive!!” He begins to hyperventilate as his crazed eyes continue to scan the kitchen.
“Well, I assume so.” I say in a calm voice, trying to figure out which way his emotions are about to send him. He keeps looking around and his face keeps growing paler, until he gulps loudly.
“What am I going to do?” Connor refuses to make eye contact with me in fear of missing another oncoming mafia attack.
“Well, if I were you I would start cleaning up this mess before the others wake up”
“But the spiders...” he all but whimpers.
“Are probably hiding from your crazy ass; I think you are good.”
“Fuck my life,” he mumbles as he edges backwards towards the small, white closet where we keep all the cleaning supplies. I tilt my face down, trying to conceal my laughter. I pat his shoulder in encouragement as I head back upstairs to get ready for work.
“I will step on you and end your life if you even show your ugly, fuzzy faces around here again!!” his voice rings out as I reach my bedroom door.
I should have taken this as a sign to how my day would progress, but I have no idea the amount of chaos I would be trying to wrap my mind around just
a few short hours later.
CHAPTER FOUR
“Alright, but I am telling you this, popcorn better be involved.” – Connor
Tucker
I hate being late. No... Hate might be too strong of a word, more so I find discomfort in being the slightest bit tardy. You can call me weird, but I tend to get this nervous twitch in my eye. I blame it on the added pressure of not having things aligned, but it usually upsets the flow of my day and today seems to be working against me in all ways possible.
I make it to work only ten minutes late. This, in all honesty, is not too bad with how the morning started. It doesn’t mean I’m happy; no, I am actually far beyond that. I have settled down from this morning’s excitement, but I’m having trouble trying to convince my brain that yes, it is okay we are a few minutes off. It’s not taking too well to my message.
I have a follow up on a relative related adoption and I refuse to let my issues frazzle me and throw my balance off. The client deserves more than that. I take in a deep breath and set my shoulders.
“I am so sorry, Miss …” I trail off as I make a hasty apology for being late for the appointment.
“Miss Danvers, actually it’s Dillon. Please, just call me Dillon.” Says a petite woman, round five feet eight inches with the most alluring lips I have ever seen.
She stands nervously, trying to pass herself off as confident. I have to force myself away from her alluring cupid’s bow. What I see next, startles me so much it feels as if the blood in my veins freezes. Her eyes, so big and innocent reflect such pain and fear. But that’s not what throws me off, it’s the color.
They are an iridescent pearl absorbing all colors and I can imagine they would reflect different shades in different lighting. In my office’s fluorescent light, they are showing a light shade of brown with a rosy pink undertone and a splash of gold in part of one of her irises.
They are beautiful, and match mine exactly. I let out a shaky breath as I take a seat behind my desk. I can’t seem to be able to stop staring.
Women with these eyes are unheard of. Maybe she’s a distant relative of mine. That can’t be right, either. I can’t recall if there has ever been a woman who has the matching characteristic to a coterie. The woman in question shifts in her seat, starting to look the slightest bit uncomfortable. I cough and shake my head, trying to dislodge my current train of thought.
“Miss Dillon, umm, ah, yeah, I apologize for being late. It has been quite an eventful morning for me.” I say, as I catch a glimpse of her perky cleavage. Even under her shirt I can tell her breasts are natural and full.
Damn it!
I shake my head and I drop my eyes down to her case folder lying on top of my desk. It’s safer that way.
I have to get it together. It’s not like I haven’t seen a beautiful girl with hypnotizing eyes before. But, her eyes match mine. They are unique. They are…
“Please, just Dillon. And it’s not a problem, Mister...?” She inquires, interrupting my thoughts before I get carried away. I cough awkwardly again, probably causing her to think I have an illness. I really need to get it together.
“How rude of me, Petrov. Tucker Petrov.” I smile at her and watch her cheeks tinge slightly pink.
Beautiful.
Straightening my posture, I open her file.
“Dillon, today is just a formality. I am here to go over what the case workers have mentioned and see how Lyon is adapting.”
I feel, more than see, her anxiety spikes up a notch. She is good at keeping her emotions from roaming over her face. I am what you would call a human lie detector. There is not much that gets past me. This can be a blessing and a curse.
“Yes sir, I understand,” She looks me dead in the eyes as she responds. I like that in a woman. Someone bold and confident, or if they were nervous they have the knowledge to cover it up. Maintaining eye contact while talking is also a sign of respect, and in my book, you give the respect you get. So, while I continue on I maintain eye contact as well.
“Sir?” I chuckle, which sends her cheeks rosy again. “No offense, but you don’t have to call me sir. That title is reserved for my father.” She giggles from my attempt at a lame joke, and the sound short circuits my brain for a minute. After the brief lapse, it finally decides to wake up and jump on board with what my eyes are seeing. I completely blame that on Connor, my five shots of espresso from the coffee shop seems to just be kicking in.
“Dude! Do I have to apologize again?” Connor shouts through our alliance. I jump, flinching a little, not expecting him to be tuned in. My abrupt action makes Dillon jump as well, which sends the files that she moved to her lap crashing to the ground.
I stand up, rushing around the corner of my desk to help her. She bends down from her seat, shoving the papers roughly back into her lap.
“I’m so sorry. I, uh, thought I saw a bee.” I kneel down, starting to help her pick up the files.
“Well, aren’t we having a bug-tastic adventure of a day.” Connor says sarcastically.
“Connor, cut it out. I am in a meeting and I just frightened the poor women when you popped in. Where are you, anyways? You have to be close?” I force my thoughts back to him as I continue to try and help gather the remaining papers.
“I’m up front talking to Patty. Did you know she hates spiders, too? She said she would have done exactly as I did. See man, no overreaction.”
“No, I didn’t know and go figure.” I internally roll my eyes. “Moron!”
“I heard that! Don’t be a meanie you no Italian coffee beany! Oh, and I wanted to swing by and grab your coffee pot so I know what I need to get to replace it.”
“You were supposed to hear it! And I thought I told you not to worry about it.”
“I also know you were full of crap when you said that.” He chuckles. “It’s no big deal. I will hush my mush until you’re done.”
“Gee, thanks.”
No matter how many small smiles I throw Miss Dillon’s way while we gather her papers, I can feel her unease and awkwardness claw at my stomach. She keeps angling her body as far away as she can from me, and allowing her satin soft looking hair to hide her face. This in turn, flips my unease and awkward switch.
“I am so sorry again.” I look at her sheepishly, using my softer tone of voice.
She must think I am an idiot; I know I feel like one.
I hand her the rest of the papers and straighten up.
“It’s no problem, I probably would have reacted the same.” She gives me a reassuring smile.
When I’m about to turn and go back to my chair, I notice her shirt. It’s on backwards; not only backwards, but inside out as well. My lips twitch, struggling to stifle my laughter.
“Ah, Dillon...” I say pointing to the neck line of her sweater.
“What? What is it?” She looks down, a little frantic. “Is it the bee? Oh go-gos, please tell me it’s not the bee. I’m allergic!” she says as she attempts to swat my imaginary bee away.
Go-gos? What the hell?
I smirk at her words. “No, ah, it’s your sweater. It’s inside out.” She stops her flailing arms, and looks down towards her sleeve to see the seam stitch showing.
“Oh, great,” she deflates and hangs her head. I don’t miss the color again returning to her cheeks and her shoulders droop. I feel like an ass.
Way to go, Tucker.
“And, it’s backwards.” I add unnecessarily, unable to stop myself. I reach to point out her tag on the front of her shirt. Her hand flies up colliding with mine, and my world freezes.
Not literally, but several things happen at once and my brain struggles to keep up. A ripple of vibration flows from her hand and into my body. It feels as if my body is vibrating from inside out. I clench my teeth, wincing as a sharp pinch of something; or rather, someone forcefully shoves their essence into my brain. I rub my forehead, trying to dispel the burning sensation.
Shit, shit, shit! Out of all days to royally screw up, today had
to be the day! Dillon’s sexy, raspy lull floats through mind.
What? How?
“Tucker, who is that? Why does it feel like someone just took a bat to my head?” Connor calls out.
He can hear her too?
I immediately freeze, waiting for her reaction to Connor’s voice. She still seems to be immersed in her embarrassment, at least that’s the only emotion I’m drawing from her. I frown. Didn’t she hear him?
“Hello?” I call out to her.
“Hi! Now answer me, who is that?” Connor demands in a baffled tone.
“You can hear her?”
“Well, yes. Unless I just heard you sound like a chick. Oh shit, do you have something to tell me? Have you been putting on a deep voice all this time?” He deadpans. I can practically feel him rolling his eyes at me, but I choose to ignore him.
“I don’t know what just happened, but it seems my nine o’clock appointment just infiltrated our link.”
“What? How?” Connors’ voice sounds hesitant as if he isn’t sure what is happening.
Well that makes two of us.
“I don’t know, Con!” I lash out at him with my own uncertainty. I take a deep breath to try and regain my control. I seem to be doing that a lot today. “It seems she can’t hear us.”
“Do you want me to call Everett?” he asks and I hesitate.
“No, not just yet, it’s probably some fluke.”
“Whatever you say, Tucky.”
I throw up my energy, blocking him, needing just a moment to process this without any disturbances.
Dillon sits there in the chair, trying to cover up the tag with her hand and play it off as a minor infraction, but I can tell she is at a breaking point.
“If you would like, you can use my restroom and get situated.” I gesture to the door behind her. She nods, but keeps her head down in what seems like shame.
“If you don’t mind,” she gets up, placing the folder from her lap onto her chair, and walks towards my restroom without looking in my direction.
Controlling the Elements (The Manipulator Series Book 1) Page 3