by Tate James
The fact that I wasn't shitting my pants over this did not speak well to my sanity.
“So you're …” I took a pause to gulp my wine again and frowned when I saw it was almost all gone. “Dragons?”
Because … why the hell not? Either I was crazy or dragons actually existed. I'd fucking seen them—or at least I thought I had.
The three of them all snickered a laugh before the bronzed one responded, scooting closer and leaning forward until his face was inches from mine. “No. Those assholes just happen to share a physical likeness with us; we're elementals.”
Silence weighed heavy on the room while I waited for him to continue, or someone else to pick up the explanation, but no one spoke.
“Sorry, fucking what now?” I squinted at the man in front of me, like perhaps he had just escaped from a mental facility. Then again, I was the one seeing magical creatures fixing my blocked up toilet so really, who was I to throw stones here?
“Well, technically we're nymphs …” Bronze God continued, and Reg snorted.
“More like nymphos,” he chuckled, and both Shane and the bronze one glared at him to shut up.
“I thought nymphs were beautiful girls who like … hung out in forests and streams and shit?” Yes, that was the extent of my knowledge on the subject. I was a barista, damn it, not a mythology professor!
“That's how pop culture portrays us, sugar,” Shane snarled, looking particularly pissed off at the description. Guess I couldn't blame him. Pop culture would also have you believe that actual humans liked Justin Bieber's music. “Which is why we go by elementals now. George,” he nodded at the bronze god, “is an earth elemental, and Reg is a water one. Which makes plumbing a pretty easy job for us, you know?”
“Uh-huh,” I murmured. “Sure, yeah, I can imagine. Was there any more wine left?”
I was gonna need it if I planned on continuing what was probably an LSD induced trip talking to three hot plumbers about elemental dragons or whatever the fuck.
Shane thankfully took my empty glass from my hand and went to fill it up.
“So, George?” I asked Captain Bronze, who nodded, “and Reg?”
“That's right, sugar tits,” Reg purred into my ear, his lips brushing my lobe and sending insane spikes of arousal through my body. How the hell is he doing that? Maybe I need more wine …
If there was ever a moment to guiltlessly indulge in alcohol, this was it.
“Reg, seriously, lay off. You really are a nympho.” George leaned forward to smack Reg in the arm and I took the opportunity to scoot further along the couch away from the horny plumber in order to gather my thoughts.
“Okay, so you're … nymphs?” I was processing out loud, but George corrected me.
“Elementals would be the preferred term nowadays.” He smiled, then nodded at me to continue.
“Right. Elementals. And Shane is …?” I raised an eyebrow, remembering he had said we when explaining what they were.
“Air,” George replied, his warm, woody brown eyes watching me intently, like he thought I might faint again.
“And our buddy, Billy, is fire, but he had to teach a karate class today. Also, his element isn't really any use on these plumbing jobs until we get everything cleared and fixed, then he can solder all the pipes and shit back together.” Shane finished the explanation as he came back into the room with a full glass of wine for me. It wasn't even midday yet, but I figured it was five p.m. somewhere in the world!
As I eyed my glass and wondered how fast I could down it without appearing like I had a problem, George cleared his throat. All that sound did was draw my eyes to the bronzed perfection of his throat, his Adam’s apple bobbing with the movement. What would it be like to trace my lips down his skin, find my way to one of his rock-hard nipples, and …
Wine. More wine. I needed more fucking wine.
“Don’t worry about drinking too much,” George said, gesturing at Shane to bring the whole bottle into the living room. He reached out and tucked it between my thighs, making me unsure as to whether I wanted to punch him … or invite other things between my thighs. “You’re going to need it.”
“Am I?” I asked skeptically, fighting back a hysterical laugh. My best friend, Britt, was due over any second, and well, I didn’t want to say she was a floozy because I don’t use words like that—misogyny and slut shaming aren’t really my things—but, fuck, she was a floozy. She’d jump these men like a starving wolf attacking its prey. “And why is that?”
“Because you’re a shimmer now,” George said, and I snorted so badly that wine came out of my nose and dribbled down the front of my shirt.
That was sexy.
“A shimmer?” I asked because nymphs and dragons and elementals weren’t stupid enough. “What the hell is a shimmer?”
I downed the rest of my wine—a nice, tart California grape that Gram had probably kept in her wine cellar since before I was born—and then just went straight for the bottle. Why not? If there was ever a reason to drink, this was it.
“A shimmer is a human who’s stumbled across the supernatural world,” George continued as Reg slouched back on the couch like he thought he was all that and a bag of chips. He kind of was though, which was the frustrating part of the whole thing. He had an entire sleeve of Sailor Jerry style tattoos on his left arm and a few carefully placed finger tats on the other side.
“Okay, great. I’m a shimmer. Now, can you please get out of my house?” I paused, took a second to rephrase. “Can you please fix my plumbing and then get out of my house?”
“Arizona, was it?” Reg asked, grinning like an asshole. “You’re not getting it—once a shimmer, always a shimmer.”
“Yeah, cool, I didn’t ask you to go all Men In Black on me and flash away my memories. I just want you to go.” Another pause. “I want you to fix my pipes and then go.”
The three men exchanged looks that I really didn’t like.
“Listen, sweet thing,” Shane said, kneeling down next to me and pursing his lips. “Now that you’re a shimmer, you’ll have a target on your back.”
“Yup. Rules state that once a human stumbles into our world, they’re fair game.” Reg’s smile twisted up at one corner, giving him this sexy, crooked little grin that I wanted to slap right off his face. “Usually, your kind would be protected under supernatural law. Not so much now that you’re involved.”
“Involved?!” I asked, leaning forward and pointing at the three men with the neck of the wine bottle. “How am I involved? You idiots were the ones doing … magic or whatever the fuck it is in my bathroom in the middle of the day with the door open!”
I cursed myself for trying to have Southern hospitality. I should’ve just stayed a frigid, angry Yank and been done with it.
“Yeah, well,” George started, and when he sighed, I swore I could smell the soft, damp scent of the earth, wildflowers and growing things. The heady scent of night jasmine curled around me and made me shiver. “However it happened, it’s too late. Once a human becomes a shimmer, there are only two options …” He glanced over at Shane like he couldn’t bear to say it.
“Sugar, you’re either going to be executed …” he began, nice and slow and careful.
“More like chased, hunted, run down,” Reg added as the color drained out of my face and I tried not to pass out again.
“Or the supernatural who brought you into this world has to make you their mate.”
“The word is boyfriend now, I think,” Reg said, looking up at the ceiling. “Or is it paramour? Concubine? Wife?”
“Those have completely different meanings,” I shrieked, and then I wished I’d never moved out of Oregon and away from all those wonderful completely legal pot dispensaries. I could really use a special brownie right about now.
Maybe I did have a problem?
I set the wine bottle on the coffee table next to George and tried not to admire his sculpted abs. There were at least eight of them there—eight. Not to mention one of
those yummy little 'V' shapes tracing his hips.
“I either die or marry all three of you, that’s cute,” I said, rising to my feet. “Real cute. I’ve changed my mind—I’ll deal with the pipes myself. Now get the fuck out.”
“Actually, you only have to mate with Reg and George,” Shane continued with a sexy as hell little smile. He was a sweetie. The other two, well screw them. “You didn’t see me in my elemental form.” Somehow I sensed an implied yet dangling in the air like a fart.
“Right, mm-hmm,” I said, moving past him and heading to the front door. I opened it nice and wide and stood back against the wall. “You can go now!” I shouted around the corner and into the living room, hoping to get these weirdos out of my house so that I could then have a nervous breakdown.
“Get out?” Britt asked, coming up the steps in fishnets and a smile. “But I brought vodka.” She waved the bottle in the air and waltzed right on into the place like she owned it.
Crap.
“Britt,” I started, trying to grab her by the arm, but it was already too late. She was around the corner and gawking, her mouth hanging wide, her pink lipstick this perfect little ‘O’ on her face.
“Ari,” she said slowly, a clear note of warning in those two syllables. “Who are your friends?”
“They’re plumbers,” I said, gesturing at the boys and the empty wine bottle and … noticing her eyes had locked onto the fact that I was still dressed in a shirt with no bra and undies.
“You said you weren’t into group stuff,” she whispered, far too loudly for me to believe that the men hadn’t actually heard her.
“Oh my god, Britt. They’re the fucking plumbers, I swear.” I rolled my eyes and gave her my very best shut the fuck up look, which of course she ignored, pushing past me to get a better look at the guys. Striking a sexy pose in her red leather stiletto heels, fishnets and minidress, she arched her back a bit to stick out her tits.
“Sure they are, Ari,” she chuckled a throaty laugh, what I liked to call her sex-laugh, “because I see three very sexy men, with not many clothes on, empty wine bottles and you with a damp patch between your legs.”
“What?” I squawked, reflexively bending down to check my crotch.
“Made ya look,” she snickered, but I could feel three sets of supernatural eyes burning holes through my tiny shorts at her insinuation. “So, this is Gram's mansion huh? Kind of a dump, no?“ She looked around at the dilapidated décor and screwed up her nose. If she wasn't my best friend in the entire world, I'd have slapped the bitch many years ago, but she meant well.
“Um, yeah. The plumbing is all fucked too, which is why these plumbers are here to fix it.” I gave the three elementals a stern glare but the fuckers just grinned back at me. Reg even stepped it up a notch by reclining further into my couch and deliberately adjusting his junk before winking at me again.
“Huh, sure it is,” Britt shrugged. “Well?” She looked at me with raised eyebrows, like she was waiting for me to do something really obvious. “Girl, I just drove like three days straight to be here. You could have at least had some shot glasses ready!” She waved her bottle of vodka at me and I groaned.
“I'll get them,” George offered, oh so helpfully. “Hi, I'm George. I'm one of Arizona's new boyfriends.”
“What—” The shock at his announcement had just rendered me speechless and my bestie took full advantage of it.
“Really, one of them, you say?” Her grin looked like she was a hungry wolf that had just been served up a big old juicy steak. Which was, essentially, what any gossip about my love life was like. It had been a really long time since my drain had been snaked, so to speak, and Britt was practically bouncing with glee that I appeared to be getting some.
“Reginald,” Reg introduced himself, standing in a fluid movement and snatching up Britt's hand to kiss. “It is an absolute honor to meet Arizona's best friend so early in our relationship.”
“We're not—” My protests were cut short by Shane, shoving Reg aside to shake Britt's hand himself.
“I'm Shane, Ari's third boyfriend,” he announced, raising his eyebrow at me in a challenging sort of way.
“No. Whoa. Hold the fucking phone. You said those two!” I waved a hand at Reg and George, who had just returned from my kitchen holding shot glasses.
“Yeah, Skeeter,” Reg smirked, “just us two.”
Shane glared at his … er … magical friend, then strode over to me, snatching me by the hand and dragging me through to the kitchen.
“Shane, what the actual ever loving fuck?” I demanded, yanking my hand out of his grip and looking at him like he was the one who'd lost his marbles. Which made me giggle a bit, because I was still maybe half-convinced this was my inevitable liver failure messing with my brain.
Without a word of warning, Shane yanked his shirt over his head, then—thank the lord—dropped his pants, giving me a solid eyeful of his seriously impressive plunger before his whole body melted and rearranged into a glistening, almost see-through version of the dragons I had seen in the loo.
Pretty sure my jaw hit the fucking floor.
As quick as he had just shifted, he changed back into his human form, standing there in the middle of my Gram's kitchen in all his naked glory. A smug grin curved across his lush lips as I took a moment to appreciate the specimen before me.
“Oops,” he smirked, “guess you have to marry me now, too. Sorry, sug.“
“Shane!” I screeched, suddenly realizing what he had just done. “What the fuck are you thinking?”
“I think it's fairly obvious what I'm thinking …” he grinned, leveling some serious bedroom eyes at me while his … er … pipe started standing proudly at attention—did I mention it was inked. Like, all of it. Wrench, bolts and nuts alike.
With all the impeccable timing in the world, the door to the kitchen burst open and I heard my bestie suck in a gasp.
“Well, this is awfully rude of you to start the party in here without the rest of us!” She licked her bright red lips as her wide eyes trailed all over Shane's naked, chiseled flesh, and a sudden flare of jealousy spiked through me.
Whoa, where the hell did that come from? Why the fuck would I care if Britt is eye fucking this guy that I barely know?
“Oh, you asshole,” Reg snapped, following Britt into the kitchen with George close behind him.
“Seriously, Skeeter?” George sighed, running his hand through his soft, nut-brown hair. “And you took the time to strip, too?”
“Bite me, dickheads,” Shane replied, but the satisfied smile on his face spoke volumes to how pleased he was with his own actions.
“Jesus fucking Christ, give me that.” I held my hand out to Britt and she passed me the vodka. Twisting the cap off, I took a swig straight from the bottle then coughed as it burned its way down my throat. “Britt, what the shit?” I peered at the label of the lighter fluid she had just given me to drink—there was a naked girl on a bike which was, like, almost as weird as the dragons—and she giggled.
“It's a new brand I'm trying out. Totally hipster cool, made in Portland, Oregon!” She grinned and took the bottle back from me, swigging it herself and making it look like she was drinking water, not jet fuel. Damn that girl can drink. “The city's famous for its yearly World Naked Bike Ride, you know—did it myself just last month.”
I gave Britt a look and then decided to ignore her in favor of dealing with the naked weirdo standing in front of me. Girl could drink, but she could also talk. And talk. And talk. I had a half-erect tattooed cock to address.
“Okay, all of this insanity aside, are you all actually going to fix my plumbing before I throw you out on the street? Because I have had a lot to drink, and kind of really need to pee …” I grabbed a dish towel from the counter and tossed it over Shane’s, um, well, let’s just call it like it is—his hard-ass dick. “I’m off to the loo.”
“The loo!” Britt chortled, not nearly as disturbed by this whole scenario as I felt she should
be. “You are so cute and British, babe. It’s a bathroom.”
“First off, not every bathroom has a bath, so I’ll call it what I damn well please. And I’ve already explained to you about four thousand times over the last ten-or-so years of our friendship that I lived in Australia with my mom. Australia, bitch.”
“Same difference,” Britt said, totally and completely ignoring my pointed glare. Her attention was focused wholly on the studly Adonis standing in my Gram’s kitchen. “It’s like, a British penal colony or something, right?”
I just stared at her.
Britt wasn’t the smartest—or most tactful—human being in the world, but she was my ride or die bitch. She had my back. She had to be loyal because otherwise, there wasn’t a soul on heaven or earth that would put up with her shit.
“Excuse me,” I said, gritting my teeth and taking long, deep breaths to calm my nerves. I figured there were only two options here: I was crazy or magical dragon-elemental-nymphos had fixed my plumbing. Win-win, right?
I stormed past the (deliciously decadent) naked man and down the back hall—it used to be the servants’ hall back in the day—toward the loo/toilet/bathroom/water closet. Call it what you will—I had to piss.
“I wouldn’t go in there if I were you,” George said, standing at the other end of the hallway and watching me. “We’re done not yet.” He paused and for a second, his face softened. My steps faltered, one heel raised off the floor, my fingers brushing against the door to the downstairs bathroom.
Fuck my life.
I was going to have to put pants, boots, and a coat on and walk my ass down to the frigging antique store again.
So … magic dragons and still, no working toilets.
“Arizona,” George said as I glanced over at him and wondered for a moment there if he might apologize for trying to ruin my life. “Which bedroom should I move my stuff into?”
I just stared at him, kicked open the door to the bathroom, and slammed it shut behind me; the shitter might not work, but at least the lock still did.