positioning, you had a
clear view of the bar, clear view of the door, and, for the nights
they had bands play, a clear view of the small stage. Unless people
start a mosh pit in the middle of the floor, but I try to avoid
those nights.
When I got to the booth, I pulled up short
because it was occupied. Then I got a clear look at who it was and
my night just got even better.
“Calland Andrew Jensen,” I drawled. “Imagine
finding you here, little brother.” I slid into the booth beside
him, effectively blocking him in. Well, as much as I could because
we both knew he could get past me if he wanted. He could slide out
under the table, or, frankly, could bodily shove me out of the way.
And he’s done both before, so…
“Emma, how many times do I have to tell you?
Younger brother, youn-ger. I’m bigger than you. I’m stronger than
you. Do we need to have this conversation again?” Calland
asked.
Calland is 27, the only boy, and, well,
there’s no way around it. He’s a spoiled rotten little asshole. But
he’s a gorgeous spoiled rotten little asshole. He’s tall, topping
out at six-two, and he’s built. He has thick, dark brown hair cut
almost in a high and tight, but his hair is a little longer on top.
It always looks like he just ran his hands through it, but its
actually styled like that. Weird, but it works for him, I
guess.
His eyes are the same jade green as all of
ours, rimmed in thick, long dark lashes that should have made him
look feminine, but did no such thing, and his skin is nicely
tanned. (Makes me sick because I generally just burn; which is why
he’s always so kindly telling me that I was adopted. Asshole,
see?)
“Asshole,” I muttered under my breath before
saying, “So. You owe me so big for Monday night. You barge into my
house, where I’m clearly busy, and then if that’s not bad
enough, you left our sister passed out, not three sheets to the
wind, but like six sheets to the wind, on my living room
floor. I didn’t get laid because of you, jerkwad!”
Eek! I realized as soon as the words left my
mouth that I had yelled that last part. And, of course, the song
playing on the jukebox had just ended, so my words echoed in the
sudden silence of the bar. The whole bar. Ugh. I hate my life
sometimes.
Willy, a regular at the bar who, more often
than not, was drunk by two turned my way and hollered, “I’ll do ya,
sweet cheeks! Won’t leave ya hangin’, either!” Yikes.
I chose to ignore Willy (he hits on
everything that walks by with long hair and two legs. Caused a few
tiffs, that’s for sure, especially when it’s a poor unsuspecting
dude with long hair.)
I turned back to Calland, opened my mouth to
say something, and he punched my arm.
“Don’t call me names!” he smirked.
Rubbing my arm (it stung !) I replied,
“What are you, five? Cheese and rice, man!”
Allie, fortunately or unfortunately, however
you want to look at it, chose that moment to barrel up to the
table, throw herself into the booth, and yell, “Go!”
I shook my head at her, knowing she was
giving me my cue to spill. So I started telling her, relishing the
horror that flashed over Calland’s face before he shoved me out of
the booth in front of him and took off, waving and hollering,
“Later!” over his shoulder.
When I finished telling Allie every last
little detail, she blinked for a second before saying, “I just have
one question.”
Uh oh, I mentally groaned.
“Please, please tell me you had mowed the
lawn. You did, right?” she asked, a pained expression on her
face.
Really? She had to go there? “Yes, Allie.
Mowed down to the dirt. Bare floors. However you want to call it,
there’s nothing there. Are you satisfied? Can we forget about that
for once?”
“Well, Em, you have to admit it’s a valid
question. I mean, you did look like you were smuggling Side Show
Bob in your bikini bottoms. Bushzilla, baby!” She cracked up like
she was the funniest thing alive.
I glared at her.
clear view of the bar, clear view of the door, and, for the nights
they had bands play, a clear view of the small stage. Unless people
start a mosh pit in the middle of the floor, but I try to avoid
those nights.
When I got to the booth, I pulled up short
because it was occupied. Then I got a clear look at who it was and
my night just got even better.
“Calland Andrew Jensen,” I drawled. “Imagine
finding you here, little brother.” I slid into the booth beside
him, effectively blocking him in. Well, as much as I could because
we both knew he could get past me if he wanted. He could slide out
under the table, or, frankly, could bodily shove me out of the way.
And he’s done both before, so…
“Emma, how many times do I have to tell you?
Younger brother, youn-ger. I’m bigger than you. I’m stronger than
you. Do we need to have this conversation again?” Calland
asked.
Calland is 27, the only boy, and, well,
there’s no way around it. He’s a spoiled rotten little asshole. But
he’s a gorgeous spoiled rotten little asshole. He’s tall, topping
out at six-two, and he’s built. He has thick, dark brown hair cut
almost in a high and tight, but his hair is a little longer on top.
It always looks like he just ran his hands through it, but its
actually styled like that. Weird, but it works for him, I
guess.
His eyes are the same jade green as all of
ours, rimmed in thick, long dark lashes that should have made him
look feminine, but did no such thing, and his skin is nicely
tanned. (Makes me sick because I generally just burn; which is why
he’s always so kindly telling me that I was adopted. Asshole,
see?)
“Asshole,” I muttered under my breath before
saying, “So. You owe me so big for Monday night. You barge into my
house, where I’m clearly busy, and then if that’s not bad
enough, you left our sister passed out, not three sheets to the
wind, but like six sheets to the wind, on my living room
floor. I didn’t get laid because of you, jerkwad!”
Eek! I realized as soon as the words left my
mouth that I had yelled that last part. And, of course, the song
playing on the jukebox had just ended, so my words echoed in the
sudden silence of the bar. The whole bar. Ugh. I hate my life
sometimes.
Willy, a regular at the bar who, more often
than not, was drunk by two turned my way and hollered, “I’ll do ya,
sweet cheeks! Won’t leave ya hangin’, either!” Yikes.
I chose to ignore Willy (he hits on
everything that walks by with long hair and two legs. Caused a few
tiffs, that’s for sure, especially when it’s a poor unsuspecting
dude with long hair.)
I turned back to Calland, opened my mouth to
say something, and he punched my arm.
“Don’t call me names!” he smirked.
Rubbing my arm (it stung !) I replied,
“What are you, five? Cheese and rice, man!”
Allie, fortunately or unfortunately, however
you want to look at it, chose that moment to barrel up to the
table, throw herself into the booth, and yell, “Go!”
I shook my head at her, knowing she was
giving me my cue to spill. So I started telling her, relishing the
horror that flashed over Calland’s face before he shoved me out of
the booth in front of him and took off, waving and hollering,
“Later!” over his shoulder.
When I finished telling Allie every last
little detail, she blinked for a second before saying, “I just have
one question.”
Uh oh, I mentally groaned.
“Please, please tell me you had mowed the
lawn. You did, right?” she asked, a pained expression on her
face.
Really? She had to go there? “Yes, Allie.
Mowed down to the dirt. Bare floors. However you want to call it,
there’s nothing there. Are you satisfied? Can we forget about that
for once?”
“Well, Em, you have to admit it’s a valid
question. I mean, you did look like you were smuggling Side Show
Bob in your bikini bottoms. Bushzilla, baby!” She cracked up like
she was the funniest thing alive.
I glared at her.
Similar Books
