by Heller, JB
Blue Beaver
Awkward Book Two
JB Heller
Copyright © 2019 by JB Heller
All rights reserved.
Published by- JB Heller
[email protected]
Cover Design by- JeBDesigns
Editing by- Lauren Clark Editing
Proofreading by- Jenn Lockwood Editing
Formatted by – JeBDesigns
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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Created with Vellum
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Epilogue
What if it’s Right?
Acknowledgments
About the Author
I like to think of my reproductive system as an abyss where happiness goes to die a slow, excruciating, bloody, and torturous death.
My lack of a fulfilled sex life is all her fault. She has deprived me of the ability to have sex whenever I want. And I love sex. I’m not unattractive, and I don’t lack confidence. No, I have the uterine tissue from hell. She and her friends are possessed by the demon known as Endometriosis.
It’s because of her that I grab life by the balls and live it as fully as I can when I am able.
Having a debilitating yet invisible disease is the worst. For one, people think I’m making up the constant horrendous pain I live with. Why would anyone do that? Yes, I’m a creative person. I have a flare for the dramatic, it’s true, but not even I could conjure the crippling pain that grabs me by the vagina each and every month.
It’s also hard to maintain friendships when you bail on plans all the time due to the unforeseen flare-ups that bring you to your knees.
Reagan is the only real friend I have these days. She is the sweetest person I know, and she’d never let my disease ruin our friendship.
When I’m in the throes of a Uteruses Gone Rogue episode, I don’t want to see or speak to anyone. Give me a handful of painkillers, a heat pack or two, paired with Netflix or a romance audiobook, and I’m set.
But Reagan always shows up armed with wine, chocolate, and stories of her sexcapades with her new boyfriend, Rhett. Her hilarious antics distract me from the discomfort that persists even after consuming Endone by the bucket load. Reagan is a true friend in every sense of the word. She’s always there for me, no matter what is going on with her.
She scrutinises me from her place on the purple beanbag next to my sofa. “Do you want me to warm up your heat packs again?”
I grimace as I shift forward to pull one out from behind my back and hand it to her, then grab the one that’s covering my bloated stomach all the way down to my stabby vagina. “Thanks. Two minutes on high should do it.”
She takes them from me, concern etched in her features. “The painkillers should have kicked in by now, shouldn’t they?”
Wrapping my arms around my middle, I nod. “Yeah, but I’m becoming resistant again. I think it’s time to switch it up. I’ll go see my doctor next week, and we’ll find a new one to try.”
That’s the thing about chronic pain; you build up a resistance to the pills after a while. Ones that worked like magic only six months ago now don’t have any effect unless I take a double dose. And that’s just playing with fire.
I can feel Reagan’s eyes on me from the kitchen as she waits for the heat packs to warm. She strums her manicured purple nails on the benchtop as she watches me. “Maybe it’s time we find you a new doctor. This one seems to be more interested in covering up your pain than actually treating the disease.”
She’s right. But I’ve seen so many doctors that I’ve lost hope of finding one that will actually help me. There is no cure for endo, only management. And I do everything I can to help my situation. I haven’t eaten a bite of gluten in more than two years, and my sugar intake is minimal and strictly reserved for days when the pain is so bad I need a pick-me-up.
I’ve learnt more from other women with the same condition than I have from a list of quacks as long as my leg. I’ve managed to bring my pain levels down to mere discomfort during the weeks surrounding the shedding. But once it begins, it’s no longer in my hands.
Reagan runs to me, juggling the heat packs in her hands as she goes. “These things are scalding; you’ll burn yourself if you put them on straight away.”
I snatch them from her. “I’m used to it. The hotter the better.”
She pulls a face—one that says I’ve lost my damn mind—and hands them to me. I arrange them quickly—one at my lower back, the other at my front. My eyelids flutter as sweet relief seeps into my muscles as the heat penetrates my skin.
When I open my eyes again, Reagan is pulling yet another face. “That looks like your come face.”
I snort. “How would you know what my come face looks like?”
Placing her hands on her narrow hips, she arches a perfectly shaped brow. “Remember that one time I walked in on you polishing your pearl after school in the twelfth grade? Or when I let myself in here when you had a backpacker all up in your business?” She pauses. “I could continue, but the point is, you just did that eye-flutter thing, and that’s your O face.”
I grin. “Oh yeah. My bad. The heat feels so amazing. I’d say almost as good as an orgasm.”
Reagan scrunches up her nose. “No, just, no. You’re clearly not getting quality O’s if you think a heat pack can deliver that kind of satisfaction. I’d lend you Rhett, but I don’t like sharing.”
Now it’s my nose that scrunches. “Rhett is hot and all, but he’s a grease monkey. No way I’d let him touch me. He’d ruin my clothes.”
A devilish glint twinkles in Reagan’s blue eyes. “That’s why I don’t wear any clothes when he’s around.” She waggles her brows and thrusts her hips, making me choke on the sip of water I just took, spraying it all over her.
“You’ve turned into a nympho, Reags.”
“It’s all the quality O’s I’m getting.”
I roll my eyes. “Pour a little salt in the wound and rub it in, why don’t you.”
Her shoulders drop, and she sits on the edge of the sofa I’m curled up on. “How long’s it been?”
“Three months,” I tell her.
Her eyes widen. “That’s a freaking long time for you, Char. Why so long? What happened? Something happened, didn’t it? I know you pull in the guys when you’re not”—she gestures up and down my prone body—“like this.”
I release a deep sigh and brace myself to tell my best friend about the most awkward sexual experience I’ve ever had. “Okay. So I met this guy from a hook-up app. He was smokin’ hot and packing a python in his pants. I was so freaking excited to get that thing inside of me. The foreplay was phenomenal. He went down on me for like fifteen minutes and didn’t stop until I’d come three times.
“Everything was super slippery around there because
of all the coming, and when he flipped me over to go in from behind, he kinda … slipped …”
Reagan is blinking at me. Long, slow, drawn-out blinks. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”
I nod. “Yeah. He breached the one-way canal, and I screeched, ‘Wrong hole, wrong hole!’ He pulled out immediately and was super apologetic, but the moment was over. Soiled. Ruined. And my butt hurt. I’ve been too scared to hook up again since.”
Sympathy fills my bestie’s eyes as she takes one of my hands and cradles it between hers. “I am so sorry that happened to you, babe. I completely understand and support your temporary celibacy.”
This is just one of the many reasons I love this girl so much. “Thank you. It was time I put Betty on a leash. The break has been good for her. She’s not happy about it, but she’s dealing. No more sex for us until I’m no longer suffering from untimely flashbacks.”
Even if Betty turns blue, we will prevail.
You’d think after getting up at four-thirty every morning for the last ten years, I’d be used to it. But no. I am still not a morning person.
Delilah snuggles deeper into my side, and I shove her over a little. I don’t like to be touched when I’m sleeping, but she won’t take the damn hint. We do this push-pull thing every morning.
“Goddammit, Delilah, stop smothering me! I swear if you didn’t need the warmth, I’d kick your little arse into the barn,” I grumble at her when she burrows against me again.
Don’t get me wrong, I do love her. She’s the cutest damn thing I’ve ever seen. But a man needs his space. Especially when he’s forced to get up before the bloody sun every day.
Throwing the covers back, I roll out of bed and out of Delilah’s reach, then trudge to the bathroom across the hall. The one good thing about getting up this early is I don’t have to fight anyone for the shower. After slamming the door shut behind me, I slip out of my flannel pyjama bottoms and turn on the hot water.
Five minutes later, I’m running a towel through my hair when I hear Delilah knocking on the door. I sigh and swing it open. She looks up at me with her big, adorable, brown eyes, and I can’t stay mad at her for being a bed hog. “Hey, baby, sorry I’m such a grumpy fucker.”
I crouch down and rub behind her ears as she nuzzles into my throat. Running my hands over her long neck, I give her a good scratch, and she mewls in delight. “Come on, let’s go get some breakfast,” I tell her, and she prances along the hallway after me.
Delilah does laps around the kitchen counter as I prepare our breakfasts. Her spindly little legs move too fast for her, and she ends up sliding into the cabinet beside me. She looks up at me and shakes her head, then wobbles back to her feet and stands by my side. I smile at her. She’s got so much personality it’s hard not to love her.
“Oh my god, Eli, would you stop looking at that llama like that? That’s how you’re supposed to look at a woman, not a bloody animal.”
I roll my eyes at my baby brother, Juda, as he enters the kitchen. “Don’t listen to him, baby. You’re the only woman I need in my life,” I tell Delilah as I drop a kiss on her silky little head.
“That’s fucked up, E. You need to get laid,” he says, snatching a rasher of bacon off my plate.
Using the spatula, I smack the back of his hand when he tries to steal another. “No, what’s fucked up is the train of women you parade through this house. Mum would beat your arse. She didn’t raise us to be man-whores.”
It’s his turn to roll his eyes at me. “Definitely need to get laid,” he mutters as he starts making us coffees.
This is our morning ritual. I get up first and start cooking breakfast. Half an hour later, Juda generally emerges and gets the coffees going, then Asher rolls out of bed when it’s chow time, which means his lazy arse has to do the dishes before he starts his chores for the day.
When Delilah’s bottle is at the right temperature, I remove it from the pot of hot water then take the eggs out of the pan. She nudges my thigh and mewls at me again, wanting her bottle, but I’ve got to finish buttering the toast first.
Juda shoves me away from the toaster. “I’ll do it. Go feed your woman.”
“Thanks,” I mumble then snatch Dilly’s bottle from the counter and make my way to the dining table. She trots after me with so much enthusiasm she can’t stop in time when I take my seat. She skids past me then falls as she tries to turn around too quickly on the slippery timber floors.
Juda bursts out laughing. “I think she’s hangry.”
I chuckle. “She’s always hangry.”
Dilly is back in an instant, eyeing my hands for the bottle I just hid behind my back. Her beady little eyes narrow, and she butts her head against my empty palms, demanding I produce the goods. I snicker.
“You tormenting my baby again?” Asher’s deep, sleep-filled voice comes from behind me.
I scoff. “Your baby? Whose bed does she sleep in every night? Mine, that’s whose. Get your own damn woman.”
Juda cringes as he places the plates of food on the table. “You both have issues. You know there’s such a thing as real-life women. Ones with boobs and puss—”
My hand shoots out, slapping him in the back of the head before he can finish his statement. “Language! We don’t talk like that in front of ladies.”
He glares at me while rubbing his head. “She’s a fucking llama. Not a lady. You need to get off this farm more, experience what the world has to offer once in a while.”
“And why would I want to do that? I have everything I need right here,” I say, smiling down at Delilah as she discovers the bottle.
This farm is my life. Has been since our parents died ten years ago and I had to step up to keep things running or risk losing everything they’d built.
Even though Juda might have a slight point, I’ll never admit to him that I’d more than enjoy the company of a woman. I just don’t have time for it. When my day is done, I’ve got nothing left.
At thirty-one, I’ve started questioning if I’ll ever find a partner to share my life with. If I can’t make the time to even try meeting someone, what chance do I have? There’s also the fact that I’m currently sharing my bed with a llama. And I’m pretty sure balls bluer than the sky on a midsummer’s day are not exactly a turn-on.
This day has gone to shit and it’s barely even started.
The battery on the truck is flat because Juda left the light on inside the cab last night. Dipshit. After jump-starting it, I wipe my hands on my jeans and put the cables back in the toolbox on the side of the truck. Just fucking great. Now I’m running thirty minutes late for this morning’s egg deliveries.
Pulling up by the back entrance to Buck’s Big Burgers, I round the tray and grab Buck’s daily order. I grit my teeth when I notice him stomping his fat arse up to the truck. I hated this guy in high school, and I still do, but I try everything I can to keep things between us professional. While he does everything he can to be a dick.
“Mornin’, Buck,” I say politely.
He curls his hands around his wide hips. “So nice of you to show up. I’m running a business here.”
I tune him out as he continues to berate me for the next three minutes straight.
Maybe it’s because Juda is right and I am severely sexually frustrated, or maybe I’m done with Buck’s superiority complex, but when he mentions how unprofessional this is for the fifth time, I lose my shit. “For fuck’s sake, Buck, I’ve got other stops to make. As you’ve pointed out, I’m already behind schedule, so would you just take your fucking eggs and let me get on with it?”
His upper lip curls in an ugly sneer. “How dare you talk to me like that? I’m a paying customer. Don’t you know anything about customer service, you moron? The customer is always right! And you’re fucking late. So what are you going to do to make it up to me?”
Over his shit, I pick up his crate of eggs and drop them at his feet. “I’m going to let you find a new supplier. That’s what I’m going to do
, Buck.”
I can see his blood boiling in his veins. His face reddens so much I’m sure he’s on the verge of busting a vessel. Before he can get another word out, I stroll back around the truck, hoist myself into the cab, then send him a one-fingered salute out the window as I pull away.
That felt fucking amazing. I grin to myself as I make my way to my next stop.
* * *
Delilah trundles along at my side as I head out to the birthing paddocks to check on a couple of llamas that should be dropping a bundle any day now. She likes doing the rounds with me, and it’s good for her to get out and about with her own kind.
Some days, I’m sure she thinks she’s a human. That girl is going to get a rude awakening when she’s strong enough to be out in the paddocks full-time. I ruffle her soft coat as she trots along at my side.
“Yo, I’m goin’ into town. You need anything?” Juda calls out to me, leaning on the timber railings around the paddock.
I shake my head. “Nah, I’m good. What are you going in for?”
His mouth kicks up in a smirk. “To let off a little steam.” He winks. “Then I’ll drop ’round to Aunty K’s and pick up this week’s treats.”
Nodding, I shift my attention back to the llama I currently have my entire arm inserted in.
Juda calls out again. “I was serious this morning. You spend too much time with animals and not enough with females of the human variety. Mona has a sister.”
“Fuck off,” I grumble. I hear his laughter as he makes his way to his car. Then he tears down the dirt drive, flicking rocks and dust all over the side of the damn house and pissing me the hell off.
Genie must sense the tension in my body and stiffens up. I stroke her back with my free hand. “It’s okay, honey, shhh.” I soothe her as best I can. It can’t be comfortable having someone’s arm up your arse end, but it had to be done. She had issues with her last cria, so I’m keeping an extra close eye on her this time around. “Baby’s doing fine, girl. I think you’ll be able to meet her tomorrow,” I say as my arm slides out of her.