Defensible Space: An Everyday Heroes World Novel (The Everyday Heroes World)

by Lane Martin

  It was nice coming home to a house full of people. That never happened at my parents' house. Friends didn't stop by for no other reason than to say hello. When they had people over, it was after months of planning, formal invitations by mail, and RSVPs received and counted. The holiday event they’d hosted after my last return home had over two hundred of their best friends and valet parking. I hadn't known anyone besides my immediate family. At least it had been a very successful fundraiser for the children's hospital. My mother would have been appalled to know I’d allowed anyone to see my house in its current state. Not to mention I didn't have a caterer on speed dial—the nerve!

  I rounded the corner of the house and was shocked. What should have caught my eye was the dumpster full of the carpet and padding that had been ripped out. Or the much brighter color of my pool. But no, I couldn't take my eyes off the men standing in a semi-circle counting as a shirtless Carson St. James did push-ups. "One forty-nine. One hundred fifty," they chanted.

  Carson popped up from the grass like what he’d just done was nothing. He was glistening with sweat and my mouth gaped open. Yes, I had felt his muscles, but that was the first time I’d seen his bare chest. I had seen male bodies before—I wasn't that virtuous—but I had never seen anything like him. He looked like he belonged in one of those sexy fireman calendars. Of course, I'd want him to be featured in March because he would make an excellent birthday gift. He had an actual six-pack, and he didn't have one of those gross hair shirts like the last man I had been with. He also had a tattoo on his chest over his heart. From across the yard, it was hard to make it out. Jesus, I didn't know men looked like him. I had assumed, based on the men I had seen in real life, that all the men on magazine covers, television shows, and movie screens were airbrushed beyond belief. But Carson was one hundred percent real. I was burning up, and the day's high was only supposed to be sixty-eight.

  "Hey, beautiful," Carson said with a wink when he caught me standing at the edge of the grass, ogling him. If I hadn’t already been tomato red, getting caught staring at him had done it for sure.

  I snapped my mouth shut, but relaxed before lamely saying, "I brought beer," and holding up said beverages.

  "I knew I liked you," the man with the kind eyes and the salt and pepper hair responded as he took the beer off my hands. "'I'm Rick Bowman. We met briefly at Grady and Dylan's party. Everyone calls me Bowie."

  "Yes, thank you for coming over to help, Mr. Bowman." I was so grateful for the help any of them gave. I would need to talk to Carson about paying them with more than beer. The work they were doing had value.

  "Just Bowie," he corrected me.

  "Okay, Bowie. You're the one who's going to tell me if I can tear down the wall between the living room and the kitchen?”

  "Uhm yeah, about the wall." He looked sheepishly at Carson, who sadly had put his shirt back on before I could get a closer look at the ink on his chest. Don't get me wrong; he was still gorgeous, even fully clothed.

  "What about the wall?" I hadn't considered what I would do if he told me it couldn't come down. My vision for an open floor plan depended on it.

  “A little help, Saint?" Bowie looked between Carson and me. Concern was evident on his face. It made me wonder if something had happened while they were removing the carpets today.

  "Maybe I should show her," Carson offered with a shrug to the man I could tell he respected. Show me what? I didn't like the sound of this.

  "Good idea. I'm going to get home to the missus and kids. I'll see you soon, Penny. Later, guys." The four other men took the beers and moved over to the pool area where the raggedy picnic table that used to sit under the covered back patio had ended up. I hadn't planned on keeping it. Honestly, I was afraid I would land on my ass if I attempted to sit at it. Seemed my concerns had been unfounded, because four large men sat at it drinking beers and sharing stories.

  They offered salutes in place of waves to the departing Bowie, leaving Carson and me standing pretty much alone in the back yard. I glanced back at the table. "A few new boards and a bunch of screws and it’s good as new." My mouth dropped open again. Could the damn man read my mind? He took a step forward and put his thumb under my chin and lifted my jaw closed. "It's no big deal, Penny. You're helping Brody, so we're helping you. It's kind of what we do." He grabbed my hand before I could tell him that this was so much more.

  He led me by the hand and we stepped inside my house. It was almost unrecognizable. The wall I hated was gone. All the kitchen cabinets had been torn out. The linoleum was even off the floors. The ugly rocks on the fireplace were about the only eyesore left. It already smelled so much better with the god-awful carpet gone.

  "You did all of this today?" Duh. I got ready for work in my room this morning. I knew what it looked like when I left. How was it possible? I wanted to kiss him so badly, but I wasn’t sure how he would take it. Public displays of affections simply weren’t done in my family. What the hell? They aren’t here. I flew at Carson and he caught me easily in his arms. My lips crushed his. I tangled my fingers in his hair as he tightened his arms around me. He licked the seam of my mouth and I opened for him. I loved the way Carson kissed—like he had all the time in the world and nowhere else he would rather be. Carson slowly ran his tongue over the tip of my tongue before pulling back and breaking the kiss. He lifted his hands to the sides of my face, then gently pressed his lips to the end of my nose. He kissed me on my forehead before moving his lips to the side of my head, right next to my ear.

  "You always taste like cinnamon." His whispered words rippled through me. He kissed down my jawline before he returned his lips to mine once again. All too soon, Carson took one step back, and my arms fell from the back of his neck. He grabbed one of my hands and laced our fingers together, then lifted our joined hands to his mouth and kissed my knuckles. "Let's go see the rest." What? Was there more? He opened the door to the hall bath. All my toiletries were arranged exactly like they had been before in the master bath.

  "I moved all your stuff in here and the guestroom. We'll do this room after the master bath is finished. That way you always have a working restroom in the house." I could tell my things had been moved with care. "Your clothes won't all fit in my trailer, but according to your plans, all we need to do in the two guest rooms is new flooring and paint, so they should be safe in those closets for now.” Wait, he actually considered putting my clothes in his space? I was tempted to tackle him again. “I wasn't sure what exactly ‘make it fabulous’ meant on your list for the master closet, and honestly I'm a little afraid to ask with the budget line you have listed, but I learned a long time ago never to mess with a woman's purse or closet. I figured it needed to be empty to accomplish the task."

  I let go of his hand. The thought of how he had learned those lessons bothered me. The idea that it bothered me so much only pissed me off, which was crazy. I had no right to feel that way. If someone had asked me a minute ago what music was playing in my head when it came to Carson, I would have answered Salome’s “Dance of the Seven Veils” by Strauss, it was intense but uplifting. But now all I could hear was “Allegro con Brio” from Beethoven’s 5th Symphony, because it was dark, edgy, and more than a little angry. I needed some space.

  "Thank you for all your work. I need to talk to you about payment, but I need to start getting ready. I'm going out tonight." Until the words came out of my mouth, I had no intention of going to ladies' night at Hooligan's. Now I couldn't wait to go.

  “Yeah, okay. Well, we left you some demo in the master bath. I know you were itching to hit something." He looked like it was him I had just hit. "You don't owe us anything, Penelope." I guess I deserved the use of my full name.

  "We can talk about that later." I wasn't going to allow him or the others to work without pay.

  "There is nothing to discuss. I'll leave you to get ready." Before I could argue the point, he stomped out the back door. “The Tempest” by Beethoven played on a loop in my head.

  "W
here are you going dressed like that?" Carson was sitting on my front step petting Rascal when I walked out the door to wait for Cathy a few minutes before seven. Was that anger in his tone? What reason did he have to be mad? I was wearing my go-to outfit: a black pencil skirt and a crisp white long sleeve shirt with a cute ruffle and a pair of nude suede heels. It was probably a little dressy for a place called Hooligan’s, but it was what I was most comfortable in. I might have joked that the outfit was my uniform, but in all honesty, it was more like armor.

  He stood, but because I was still on the step and he was on the ground, I was taller than him. "Excuse me?" I had calmed down while I was getting ready, but his attitude brought my irritation back full force. The entire thing was frustrating, and now he was acting like a complete jackass. "I already told you I'm going to Hooligan's, but I don't need to explain anything to you."

  I heard a car door slam behind him. "You're not going to Hooligan's dressed like that," Cathy and Carson stated in unison. If it weren't so rude, I would have flipped them both off, stormed back inside and gone to bed. With the carpet out, the house already smelled one hundred times better. Sure, the air mattress still sucked, and nothing could have been better than Carson's bed. Though at that point, it was the last place I would ever be again—with or without him in it with me.

  "Oh shit," Cathy muttered as she quickly came toward me and pulled me back inside the house without saying a word to Carson.

  "I swear you new girls come to town and we instantly lose another one." Cathy chuckled as she continued to pull me through the house. "Ah ha." She sounded in victory when she found what she was looking for. I dug in my heels when she got to the guest room with most of my clothes. I wasn't about to let her keep dragging me around.

  She dropped my hand and made her way to the closet. I watched her as she shook her head in disbelief. "Good lord, how many black pencil skirts do you own?"

  "That one isn't black," I muttered as she pushed a charcoal skirt aside. She eyed me skeptically before pushing the rest of my skirts aside. Next were my trousers. "What did you mean about losing another one?" I demanded, my hands in fists at my hips. She continued to dig through my wardrobe.

  "Black. Black. Navy. Oh look—more charcoal!" She slid the door closed and moved to the other side of the closet. "Jackpot!" Wearing a look of triumph, she held up a hanger with a pair of jeans I never wore, then tossed them onto my mattress and went back to looking through my stuff. "This will work with this." She pulled out a white cami bodysuit with black lace trim along the deep v-neckline and a black moto style leather jacket that I’d worn for a Halloween costume two years ago and laid them on the bed before turning around to look at me again. "The shoes can stay. The rest goes."

  "I can't wear that," I huffed. Not going anywhere was sounding better and better.

  "No, you can't wear that." She pointed at my current outfit. "You're not wearing your uniform to a bar on a Friday night, Penny. You're not performing at the Met. We're going out to have some fun. You need to lighten up. I told you to let your hair down." Fun? Did I even know how? The Met was a museum anyway. Why would I be performing there?

  I lifted my hand to the back of my head where I had braided my long brown hair into an intricate chignon at the base of my neck. Thinking I was being playful, I had placed a glittery flower pin in the center. I turned my back to her. "Isn't this fun enough?"

  “Not even close. Now change while you tell me how you snagged the hottie so quickly. You haven't even been here a week. Carson looked like he wanted to start a fire, not put one out, when he was looking at you." Cathy fanned herself and I blushed scarlet.

  "How did you know he was a fireman?" Cathy pointed at the outfit before she crossed her arms over her chest as if daring me. Okay, I guess I was changing.

  “It’s Sunnyville.” Was the only answer Cathy supplied with a look that conveyed an unsaid duh. I took off my shirt and lowered my skirt, exposing my matching pale pink bra and panty set. Cathy wolf-whistled at me. Okay, I knew the undergarments were a little over the top. I wouldn't call myself spoiled—though I knew I lived a privileged life—because I worked hard for my money. And the only thing I ever spent it on was kitchen gadgets and undergarments. Plus, part of me wore the delicate lace because I couldn’t help thinking about Carson seeing me in it. Maybe even peeling away the skimpy lingerie from my body even if I was still a little pissed off at him.

  “Yeah, we would have gone up in smoke if he had seen that."

  I gave myself a mental pat on the back. Good. He deserved to get hot and bothered. I grabbed the bodysuit off the bed and sauntered across the hallway to the bathroom in my lace and heels with a sense of pride. I had never felt so compelled to make a man crazy before. He deserved it with the way he had made me feel. I shut the door behind me and removed the bra and underwear to put on the one-piece bodysuit before taking the pins out of my hair and letting it fall.

  "Much better," Cathy declared when I came back into the room. I sat down on the air mattress and took off my heels before shimmying into the snug jeans.

  "Are you sure about this?" I asked as I shrugged into the leather jacket. The room didn't have a mirror. I made a mental note to ask Carson what he thought about adding mirrored closet doors to this room. Ugh, Carson’s opinion doesn’t matter. I didn’t want to be the girl who needed someone else to validate her decisions and yet I valued Carson’s opinion.

  "Do you want me to go out first and record the smoke that comes out of his ears when he sees you?" Okay, Cathy talked a lot, but I liked the way she thought. I would pay money to see that video.

  Sadly, I wouldn't get to see it. When we left, Carson and his truck were gone. Cathy talked the entire drive to the bar. I couldn't recall a darn thing she said because I couldn't stop thinking about him. Was he sharing a milkshake with someone else? As a result of that mental spiral, I was mad at him and myself. I wasn't in Sunnyville for Carson St. James. I was there for me. What he thought of my ass in these jeans shouldn't have mattered.

  "This night is going to be legendary!" Cathy shrieked as she put the car in park and turned off her engine.

  "Why is that?" The bar didn't look like anything special.

  “Because that’s your boy's truck." She pointed at Carson's truck with a mischievous smile on her face. “And that one belongs to Desi Whitman. She owns Doggie Style; you're going to love her." I wondered if I should be more worried about Cathy calling Carson “my boy” or a place called Doggie Style.

  Chapter Twelve

  CARSON

  I couldn't sit there when all I wanted to do was get rid of Cathy and get those clothes off Penny. I put Rascal in the backyard and shot off a message to the guys in our group chat.

  Me: Heading to Hooligan's

  I didn't need to remind them it was ladies' night. Every single guy in a fifty-mile radius knew, and no way in hell was I going to let some douche like Wes Winters take advantage of my Penny. My Penny? I had never felt so protective of Kara and she had been my frickin' fiancée. Kara could take care of herself, I reasoned. Not that Penny couldn't, but she was different—worldly, yet naive at the same time. Hell, she’d just experienced her first trip to the home improvement store. I’d wanted to murder that scumbag who looked like he wanted to make a move on her in the appliance aisle, but she’d quickly put him in his place. Tonight was different, though; alcohol would be in the mix and I needed to make sure she was safe. Keep telling yourself that.

  I was tempted to report them for being over occupancy to shut that shit down before it got started. But then I remembered Penny's face when she tried my shake the other night, and I realized I wanted to see her experience new things. From what I’d gathered, going out with a bunch of girls and cutting loose was new to her too. She deserved to have some fun. It didn't mean I couldn't be nearby to make sure she was safe.

  "Holy shit," Collins blurted out as he gawked at the entrance of the crowded hangout. I turned to see what Collins was staring at. Sweet baby Jesus! And
I thought the naughty librarian look she was wearing before had been hot. She was wearing jeans with strategically placed rips and had just shrugged out of a black leather jacket. Her thick brown hair curled in soft waves past her shoulders. As she threw her head back in a hoot at something Cathy said, her bare shoulders and plunging neckline were revealed. I slammed my bottle down so hard on the table, I was surprised it didn't shatter into a million pieces. She didn't have a fucking bra on! I was off my barstool in a half second.

  "What the hell do you think you're doing?" I yelled over the noise of the bar. Penny stood next to Cathy and Desi, the local pet groomer, as they waited at the bar for their drinks. The men were already circling and they had only been here for a few minutes.

  "Waiting for my Lady's Bluff," she answered without acknowledging the anger that I knew radiated off me as I wedged my body between her and the closest prick. Not going to happen, buddy, I told him with a look over my shoulder, and he quickly moved away. Cathy and Desi laughed as they handed Penny two martini glasses. Nothing about this was funny. I'm not sure if they were laughing at me and my possessive behavior or at Penny for acting so oblivious.

  Jerry, the bartender, was well known for his cocktail creations. "It looks delicious. What's in it again?" Penny asked innocently, which was a far cry from the way she appeared tonight.

  "Grapefruit juice, lime juice, pink moscato champagne and clementine vodka," Desi recited over the rim of her glass as she eyed me suspiciously. She watched Rascal for me from time to time, and he loved going over to Doggie Style to get a bath. My dog had good taste in women. As I stood next to Penny, I was thankful that Desi and I never hooked up. It wouldn't have been difficult; the woman had a not so secret motto: no strings, no rings, and just your ding. Even though I wasn't interested in anything serious, casual hookups weren't my thing. Desi knew the score and she was fine only being friends and having me as a client.