Repercussions (The Hot Mess Duet Book 1)

by B. L. Olson

  "Annie!" He visibly relaxes and angles himself towards me, "How's work treating you today?"

  So we are doing small talk now apparently. I shrug my shoulders trying to act normal for once around this man, "Just another day of dealing with other peoples demon spawn. You having a fun-filled day as well?" I nonchalantly cock my head at the older woman with him. From the corner of my eye, I see her stiffen at my apparent snub.

  He glances at her before giving me a strained smile, "Ah, yes. My coworker and I are just picking up some lunch before heading back to the job site." Coworker my ass, at least if the woman with him has anything to say about it. She honestly reminds me a bit of Cruella De Ville, with her crazy hair and the apparent need to try too hard.

  The hostess returns to the stand, their order in hand and puts it on the counter in front of them with a friendly smile. Wyatt looks relieved, to get away from me or the woman with him I am not really sure, and grabs for the bag.

  The cougar decides to speak up and insert herself into the conversation, wanting to lay her mark all over Wyatt, "I'm sorry, but are you here alone? I can stay and dine with you if you don't want to look like a pathetic loser."

  My eyebrows raise just a fraction and I finally look at her, "I'm not the one who should be worried about looking like a pathetic loser." Gesturing at her chest I grind out, "If you inflate those knockers anymore we will all have to duck and cover when they explode."

  Her eyes narrow, a clear sign I pushed the exact right button and tries to take a step at me but Wyatt puts an arm out to stop her. The weariness in his eyes is slowly being replaced with a twinkle at the sudden change in conversation, and I am glad to help get rid of it even just a little.

  Not able to pummel me like she wants the cougar decides to use the only thing she can, her words, "You don't need to be such a bitch just because I am more woman than you are." Her hand grazes the side of her boobs and down her liposuctioned body, trying to show off but only accomplishes making herself look more ridiculous, "Just because Wyatt prefers the company of a real fine piece of ass instead of whatever disaster you got going on today, doesn't mean you need to start shit with me."

  Crossing my arms over my chest and broadening my stance, I narrow my eyes at her. Who the fuck is this woman, "I think grandma would be a more appropriate term than woman. You're past your prime honey and if I am the first person to tell ya that, then you need to cut some liars out of your life." Risking a glance at Wyatt I can see him struggling not to laugh, which only angers the grandma even more.

  Before either of us can react, she leaps at me and grabs hold of my drug dealer messy bun I'm sporting due to my haste to get out the door this morning. Why do women always go for the hair? Is this some ingrained instinct? I am already having a shit storm of a day, fuck my entire life has gone to hell in a handbasket, and I have nothing left to lose. Grandma wants a fight? I will gladly give her one.

  She might have a strong grasp on my hair, but she leaves some important womanly features of hers exposed and vulnerable. Punching outwards my fist connects with her boobs which causes her to loosen her grip enough for me to land a swift kick straight to her vagina.

  She lets go of my hair really fast after that. Before I can do any more damage to her aging body, one of Wyatt's arms snakes around my waist and hauls me in the direction of the door. I am fighting hard to get out of his grip so I can return back to the catfight, but can't help but notice that I was right when I thought he could pick me up with ease.

  We make it out of the building and Wyatt slowly drops me down onto the sidewalk, the cougar close on his heels. Still, with an arm around me, he unlocks his vehicle and gestures to the other woman, "Charlene get the fuck in the truck. I told you I didn't want you coming with me and now you gave the entire town something to gossip about." Pouting her lips and batting her eyelashes, Charlene does as she is told. Maybe she isn't completely stupid.

  Walking me a ways down the sidewalk, and out of earshot of the woman in his truck, Wyatt finally speaks to me, "Why is it every time we run into each other there is always a fight, Stormy?"

  "I sure as hell didn't start that, she did!" The crazy in me is in fine form today. I don't even care that I sound like a petulant toddler, the attitude of others demon spawn wearing off on me apparently.

  "Yeah well, Charlene obviously has her issues. Thank you for giving me something to laugh over for the rest of the day though. My military trained sister would be impressed with your vaginal kick too. You sure know how to take someone down." Amusement is all over his face, but I am full of everything but. I am incensed over the woman who dared talk down to me, unsettled that I let her get to me both mentally and physically, and embarrassed that yet again the Gunslinger has witnessed me at one of my finer moments.

  I turn to walk away from Wyatt without another word, but he grabs my arm and stops me short, "Annie, I really am sorry for what she said. You know you're not pathetic, right?" The no-nonsense tone in his voice is back, and I stop being mad enough to sneak a glance at him, his hand on my arm still holding me close. He looks sincere, but I'm not having it. Not today.

  I grit out, "Are you sure about that? I got caught on the fence looking like I was pearl fishing, got set up on a date with Drunk Jesus with a wife and kids, and got into a fight with a cougar at one of my favorite restaurants. And those are just the moments you were around to witness." I shake off his hand and turn to walk back to the library, my hunger long forgotten, "Enjoy your company, Gunslinger."

  He watches me leave without another word, proof that he is just trying to make me feel better about the direction my life is continuously headed.

  Nowhere, and fast.

  It's a good thing I am used to life dealing me these blows on a regular basis because a normal person wouldn't even think about returning to work after getting in a catfight with a cougar. For me, it's just an average day.

  Chapter 7- Wyatt

  Repercussion #492: Don't ever let a woman have the last word. She will forever lord it over you and punish you in ways you never expected. And not the fun and kinky type of punishing either.

  Part of me knows that I shouldn't have allowed Annie to walk away like she did. While she is right when she said that she is always caught in embarrassing situations where I am concerned, I know that doesn't make her pathetic like Charlene so eloquently told her she is. I don't know what situation led her to live with her parents so late in the game, but seeing the fire in that woman I know there has to be a good reason for it.

  I made it through the rest of the workday without incident, dropping Charlene off at her trailer and demanding that she never try and sneak into my truck again. She was completely out of line and I told her as much. She was none too pleased but I'm not too concerned about her feelings. Why I am worried over Annie's is still a fucking mystery to me. That woman is an enigma, and I am spending too much time trying to figure her out.

  Throwing my tool belt back on my passenger seat, I pull myself up into the cab of my truck and turn over the engine. The Ellis family may have Sunday dinners, but mine have theirs on Mondays and I am going to be late if I don't haul ass. My mom isn't around to call me out for holding dinner, but my sister would have no problem stepping up to the plate.

  Heading toward my father's house, I try and mentally prepare myself for the usual topic of conversation. How I am moping about, not living up to my potential, or really living at all since that day when shit hit the fan. I love my family, but I am surviving the only way I can. Taking it one day at a time and only focusing on myself. Call me selfish, but the last time I focused on someone else I ended up losing everything. My heart and mind can't handle the loss of anymore loved ones.

  I pull my truck into my dad's driveway and place it into park. Turning the key in the ignition, I feel the rumbling and vibrations slowly die down. Dinner is always a spectacle at the house, and my two older brothers and their wives aren't even around to add to the chaos. My grandma is a complete nut and my sis
ter is dealing with her own demons after being discharged from the military. We all have our own problems, but for some reason, they like to focus on mine. Probably so they won't have to focus on their own.

  Unfolding my long legs from the truck, I arch my back to stretch it after a grueling day at work. My grandma peeks her head out from behind the curtains in the front window and I give her nod. I get a small wave in return and she presumably leaves to open the door for me, per our usual dinner ritual.

  Right on queue, my grandmother Hazel opens the door and I can do nothing but blink a few times in shock at her. Holy fuck, did she dye her hair with Pepto Bismol? Her normal steel gray perm is the brightest shade of pink I have ever seen, and paired with it is a pumpkin orange tracksuit.

  Yup, dinner is going to be enjoyable.

  I give her a tight smile before I stammer out, "Hey, uh, Grandma Hazel. Nice hair?" I say it as more of a question, not sure whether the pink is intentional or not. Fuck I really hope not and that she has an appointment to get it fixed. Like tomorrow.

  She moves away from the door frame so I can stoop into the entryway. She doesn't seem to notice my reaction to her pinky locks and exclaims, "Thanks, dear! Minnie and I went to the parlor for our usual perms today, and I saw this young girl getting her hair dyed and just knew I needed to freshen up my look a little to stay hip." She shimmies her hips at her statement.

  I feel my left eye start to twitch and reach up to rub it. Only my 87-year-old grandma would say things like staying hip or dye her freaking hair pink because she saw what was sure to be a teenager dye her hair a similar shade, "And you decided to pair the pink with orange?"

  She glances down at her tracksuit, gesturing for me to follow her into the dining room where dinner would be ready and waiting since I am cutting it so close, "Yes, doesn't it just look darling! Together they make me look twenty years younger!" More like she is senile, but I'm not about to tell her that.

  Trailing after my grandmother into the dining room, I take a quick scan and see that I was right in assuming dinner would be ready. My sister Maddie is in her last bit of culinary school and does most of the cooking around here. She says she finds the routine and smells soothing after being overseas and who am I to argue with finding something to ease the pain from a ripped up heart.

  The smell of her homemade chicken enchiladas permeates the air and my stomach growls. After the debacle at the restaurant, I didn't have much of an appetite for lunch and only ate a portion of it. The expression I am so hungry I could eat a horse is no longer applicable as I am capable of chowing down on a bus full of burly football players at this point.

  My dad resides at his usual spot at the head of the table and I nod my head at him in acknowledgment. My sister Maddie sits in her seat across from me, and I plop myself down in my own chair. I scoop out some salad from the bowl in front of me and pass it to my father sitting to my left when done. We have dinner down to a well-oiled machine, and we get to eating in silence.

  Before my family can choose their own topic to discuss, I decide to test the waters and point out the pink elephant in the room, "So uh, what do you two think of Grandma Hazel's new hair color?" Maddie rolls her eyes but continues shoveling food into her mouth, but my eyes are on my father anyway. Living with his mother-in-law without my mom around to buffer hasn't been the easiest for either of them. I am sure he about had a stroke when she walked in the door after the beauty parlor.

  I'm proven right when the grip on his fork tightens and his eyes blaze when he looks at the woman sitting at the other end of the table from him. My grandma self-consciously pats her new do and shrugs, "I don't give a flying patootie if you three like it or not. I already scored a new number from a hottie at the senior center!"

  My father mutters under his breath, "Jesus H. Christ…"

  I know I'm fanning the fire by bringing up her hair color, but I also know I can't deal with one more dinner discussing their favorite topic. Jumping on the Wyatt needs a new woman train. Despite my denial that I'm not ready for dating of any kind, my family seems to think otherwise. They think they know what is best for me and are a constant pain in my patootie.

  Grandma Hazel points her fork at my father and barks, "You're just jealous because I am getting hotties left and right, while you're still moping around the house years after Layla passed away." Okay, now we are starting to veer into dangerous territory.

  My father narrows his eyes at her and his own fork clatters to his plate. He growls out, "Drop it, Hazel, we aren't going there tonight."

  My grandmother retorts, "You need to get back out there and stop all this moping around. Maybe get under someone else and finally move on."

  Standing up and shoving back from the table he levels her with a stare and stamps out, "Layla was your daughter Hazel. You should know better than anyone what it's like to live without her."

  "I do know what it's like, but it has been almost fifteen years Jacob. You can't keep holding onto someone who is no longer here." I can feel Grandma Hazel's eyes beating into my head as I try to resume eating. Apparently I'm not as stealthy at steering the conversation as I thought, because here we are headed right to a discussion about me.

  My sister Maddie makes all of us jump when she pounds her first on the table, uttering her first words since I walked in the door, "Can we just have one peaceful dinner without arguing about loss and death?" Though I am no stranger to pain, what she endured during her time in the military is more than even I can fathom.

  My father ignores her as he shoves back from the table and stalks from the room. Clearly done with us, dinner, and the direction of this conversation. I knew tonight would be a cluster.

  I thought I was doing the right thing when I packed up my house and moved away from the town that had all my best and worst memories attached to it. Moving back home seems to mean that I am to be hounded and reminded again and again of what I lost, and what I need to do to get over it. The discussion may have been aimed at my father, but we all know it pertains to me, too.

  I'm not fully living or present in my life and I can't be bothered with the repercussions. I made all the strides I was supposed to, and yet here I am in my thirties and almost back to square one. I can't bring myself to care about my own life, and I'm certainly not going to move on like my grandmother is suggesting. There's not a snowball's chance in hell I am going to subject someone else to the pain in my heart, and it would always belong to someone else anyways.

  Shoving my plate away from me, I unfold my body from the table and give Maddie a regretful smile, "Thanks for dinner sis, but I think it might be time for me to go." Especially before Grandma decides to stop hinting that she is also referring to me and dives into her next victim.

  They don't need to know that there is someone out there that has jump started my heart and got my dick to react for the first time in over two years. Even I don't know what to make of this, or why Annie seems to creep into my thoughts even when I am thinking about everything I lost.

  I stalk out of my father's house without a backward glance at the two women I leave behind. I need a damn drink and I know just the place for one.

  Chapter 8- Annie

  Repercussion #816: Even though you may feel like you're doing the right thing by nicely turning down the sleazeball with the corny pickup lines, you might just be better off smiling and waving so you can get on with your life.

  The rest of my day went about how you would expect it. After dealing with bratty children all morning and a feisty cougar during lunch, I am ready to call it quitting time by one in the afternoon. Unfortunately, I have to suck it up for a few more hours and adult. Sometimes I really freaking wish I didn't have to.

  Then again, how adult can you be when you're pushing thirty and bunking down with your parents?

  By closing time, I am ready for a drink of epic proportions. Luckily Makayla and Jake opened up a bar in the empty space attached to the library that had been a museum at one point. The thing about
museums in small towns though is that nobody cares to see them. Lucky for the Lewis' duo because they purchased that half of the building for a steal.

  There was some flack from townspeople for opening a bar next to the library, think about the kids their battle cry. Luckily for Makayla and her husband, the want for one in town outweighed the people who thought it was shameful and exposing the children to unnecessary evils. In reality, they open for lunch and don't start serving alcohol until just before the library closes anyways.

  It might not be the best thing for a bar to be attached to my job though, especially when I get free drinks and have a fuckfest of a day like today. I don't care though, I just want a freaking long island iced tea and can't be bothered with anything or anyone else.

  Dumping my work bag in my car, I lock it up and turn to head into the bar. From the corner of my eye, I see a man approaching me. Not looking overly familiar, I peg him as a non-local and don't think anything else of him until he is so close I am practically trapped up against my car. Do you have no sense of personal boundaries, buddy?

  Apparently not because his arms cage me in as he grips my car on either side of my head, "Hey there, darling. What do you say we head to the bar and I buy you a drink?" His breath smells of cigarettes and his dark brown hair is so greasy I could use it as cooking oil.

  I am not having it, nope not today! I shove the stranger back and retort, "I get free drinks here, but thanks for invading my bubble dude." I walk into the bar without a backward glance at the man.