“Are you going to be ok?” Marshall inquired, pulling me from my reverie. “That guy…he won’t fuck with you, right?”
“No.” I would have laughed, but there was no humor in his expression. “No. Henry wouldn’t hurt a fly.”
“You did break his phone.”
“It was my phone, and he’s more likely to cry than hit me.”
“All right.” Satisfied with my assurance, he turned toward his employers, who were now safely in the cab of their SUV.
“Yeah, I should go. Thanks for that in there. It was unnecessary, but appreciated.”
“Look, if you want to get out tonight, a few of us will be heading to Funk 49.”
Was he asking me out? And of all places, Funk 49? Did he have any idea of what kind of place that was? I didn’t know firsthand, because I didn’t have access to the private rooms, but I’d heard the rumors. On second thought, I gave myself a mental smack on the forehead. He was the bodyguard for a rock band. I’m sure they knew all the hardcore bars and clubs.
“No no no no,” he quickly backtracked. “I’m not coming onto your or anything. I just meant to get out. Instead of sulking over that schmuck. Friends. Nothing more.”
“Wow, two rejections in one day,” I teased. “Way to bolster a girl’s esteem.”
“Sorry. I feel like a jerk now.” His face was red. I’d never seen a guy blush. Reaching up, he scrubbed the color from his face. “But the last thing you need is a rebound.”
“You’re a good guy, Marshall.”
“I had a sister.”
Had. Lord, he really was a good guy. He was defending me in the name of his deceased sister. I couldn’t receive a higher compliment.
Reaching into his pocket, he withdrew his wallet, and from it, a business card. “Think about it. Give me a call. I won’t let you do anything stupid.” He winked and climbed into the SUV. With a quick wave, they drove off into the harsh glare of the afternoon sun.
Blinking away the floaters in my vision, I glanced at the card in my hand. In a bold serif font, read ‘Marshall Lawe: Security Specialist.’ That small sliver of inanity was enough to bring a smile to my face. What parent in their right mind would punish their child to a life of ridicule like that? Mine. With a name like Paisley, it was good to see someone had it as bad as I did growing up. Possibly worse.
Slipping the card into my pocket, I returned the wheelchair to the lobby, and headed back though the revolving door. I paused half way through the parking lot, and craned my neck, looking up at the institution that had practically been a home. God knows, I spent more time there than at my apartment. I probably knew the employees as well as my own family.
Fuckers. Neither appreciated me.
I’d slaved for both. For as long as I can remember, I helped my mother raise my brothers and sisters. I did laundry. I cooked. I cleaned. I helped with homework. I helped get them off to school. I did everything a mother would do, but without the appreciation or respect a mother received. Ingrates.
Staring up at the hospital, I felt disappointment ache deep in my heart. I really needed to rethink my career choice. It seemed I was always getting screwed by the people I took care of.
Twenty minutes later, I pulled up to my condo. My day improved considerably when I spotted my older brother’s car two spaces away. Not. I loved my family, but they rarely came around unless they needed something. With Peter, it was usually his dirty laundry.
Sighing, I yanked the keys from the ignition and got out of my car. If I was smarter, I would’ve put it in reverse and circled the block a few times until he left, but I was too nice.
Peter was sitting on the floor with his back against the door. Two large laundry bags hid most of him except for his dirty blond hair and the toes of his feet. His head was tipped back, and a God awful racket was rumbling up his throat. The guy could sleep anywhere. No lie.
Most people would’ve woken him, but considering it was Peter and why he was here, I reached around him and unlocked the door. The door swung open. Peter fell backwards. His eyes thrust open as he scrambled to catch himself. “What the fuck, Paisley!”
“Sorry. I didn’t see you there.” Biting back a smile, I stepped over him and into my apartment. Peter rolled his eyes and picked himself up off the floor.
“Right.”
I kicked my shoes off by the door and wriggled my toes into the carpet. It was a long standing tradition, a sort of welcome home. “I’m not doing your laundry.”
“Have a bad day at work?”
“Something like that.”
“What’re you doing home so early?”
“Good thing for you, I did,” I replied, dodging the question. “Why were you sleeping in the hall? What happened to your key?”
“Powell dropped me off. Borrowed my car. I didn’t realize until after he left.” Heaving his two large laundry bags from the floor, he lugged them across the room to the double doors that concealed my washer and dryer. “Sorry there’s so much. Been awhile. I think the jeans I have on are ten years old.”
“All of your clothes are ten years old.”
“My socks are brand new.”
“Your underwear aren’t.”
“I stopped wearing ‘em.”
“Ew.” My nose wrinkled involuntarily. “I really didn’t need to know that.”
“You would’ve figured it out when you sorted.” Crossing the room to my fridge, he tugged open the door and peered inside. “Why can’t you ever buy real beer?” Yet, he grabbed one of my hard ciders and cracked it open on my counter. “All you ever have is this apple shit.”
“Don’t drink it.”
“It’s a chick’s drink.”
“I’m a chick. It’s my apartment. If you don’t like it, get the fuck out.”
Taking a long draw, he winced at the taste while staring down the bottle at me. “So what happened at work today?”
“I got fired.”
“What the fuck for?”
“I caught Henry fucking some girl in his call room yesterday.”
“Guy was a dweeb anyhow,” Peter observed. “Fucking nerd. You would’ve walked all over him.”
“And there’s something wrong with that?”
“You wouldn’t have respected him. It wouldn’t have lasted.”
I snorted. “You’re so sexist.”
“I’m not. Not at all. I’m just saying that you need someone who’ll take the reins on occasion. Someone who’ll take care of you, and not the other way around.”
“What would you know?” It wasn’t a question. It was an accusation. “You’re twenty-three and you’ve never had a serious relationship.”
“I know mom placed a lot of burden on you.”
Surprised, I glanced at my brother. No one had ever come close to admitting appreciation. I wasn’t sure if he was sucking up or completely serious. “Is that why you brought your laundry over again?”
“I bring my laundry here because I hate to think of my clothes inside a machine that thirty million other people have used. The last time I went to the laundromat, I found a soiled diaper in one and a fucking condom in another. Disgusting.”
“Since you only came to use my machines you won’t mind washing your clothes yourself.” Lowering his bottle, Peter quickly backtracked.
“Well…”
“No, Peter!”
“I’ll pay you!” Peter offered. “You could use the money now that you’re out of a job.”
“You’re an asshole.” I’d actually fallen for his bullshit. I’d taken him seriously when he’d acknowledged how much I’d helped Mom.
“Everything smells better when you do it!”
“Because I don’t let it sit in the washer for two days before putting it in the dryer. I don’t give time for black mold to set in.”
“You fold things nicer.”
“I fold them. Period.”
“Fine. Fine. I’ll do it myself.” As Peter passed by, I took my cider from his hand. His eyebrows shot u
p. “You’re showing no mercy today, pipsqueak.”
“Don’t call me that.” I hated it. They always called me that. Assholes.
Peter’s expression shifted. I turned away before I caved. He annoyed me, but I still loved him. He couldn’t help that my mother had raised him to be a moron.
“Just remember not to throw anything red in with the lights or you’ll be wearing pink drawers.”
“Told you I don’t wear drawers anymore.”
“You’re going to be sorry when you zip your pecker up in your pants.”
“It’ll be more action that I’ve seen in weeks.”
“Didn’t need to know that either.” While Peter began to throw his clothes into my washer machine, I picked up a stack of bills and began to sort through them. I was going to have to cut back. I had a little in savings for a vacation I was planning, but that was blown out of the water. I could cancel the cable. I streamed most of what I watched anyhow. And the phone. I’d cancel my landline, get a prepaid. Car payment and rent. That was going to hurt. Sighing, I dropped the mail onto the table and shoved a hand through my hair.
“You could move back home,” Peter suggested.
“I’d rather sell my organs.” My youngest brother was eleven. My mother would have me tutoring him in English and scrubbing the grass stains or something worse from his clothes.
No thanks.
“What are you going to do?”
“Find another job. I’m not completely helpless.”
“I didn’t say you were.” Peter looked up from studying the knobs and buttons on the washer machine. “We should go out,” he stated. “Run down to Trum’s and have a drink or six. You need to get drunk. Take the edge off.”
“I already have plans.”
Shrugging, he twisted a random knob and started the washer. With a hiss and sputter, it started to fill with water. “With who?”
“None of your business.” I was dying to tell him, but I dared not. Just as I was relegated as the house bitch, Peter was assigned to looking out for his little sister. He took his role seriously. If not to chase away my boyfriends, then to make my life a living hell. If he knew I was going out with anyone remotely connected to Hautboy, he’d never let me leave the house. They might’ve been his childhood idols, but they were also rock stars, and hardcore players.
“It’s always my business.”
“I’m an adult Peter. I don’t need you babysitting me anymore.”
“I’m still older than you. Now spill or I’ll tag along and play chaperone.” He would. He didn’t even have to ride in the same car. But he’d let it be known that he was watching. He’d pull up beside our car at a light and give a little wave. Or sit behind me in the movie theatre. It was embarrassing for me, and frightening for my dates.
“My friend Monica from work,” I lied.
“Liar. If you were going out with Monica, you would’ve said so in the first place.”
“Peter.”
“The last thing you need is a fucking rebound, Paisley.”
Oh. My. God. He sounded like Marshall. “It’s not like that. It’s not a date.”
“That’s the oldest line in the book. You fell for that?”
“I’m not arguing with you.” Turning on my heel, I walked away. Peter’s voice rang out behind me. My blood pressure skyrocketed at the sound of his words.
“Feel like going out tonight? Pipsqueak has a date.”
I whirled, found him talking into his phone with a haughty grin. He’d called the other older brother. The worse one. Like I had dozens of times before, I charged him and tried to grab the phone from his hand. Peter was a head taller, and I always failed, but it didn’t stop me from trying. He simply turned at the waist and blocked me with his free hand.
“It’s not a date!” I insisted.
“I don’t know. She’s being secretive,” Peter continued, ignoring me. “She’s on the rebound. The nerd cheated on her.”
“I’m not on the rebound!”
“Do what you need. I’ll be here making sure she doesn’t leave without us.” Peter stared at me, his deep blue eyes twinkling with conceit.
“I hate you.”
Hanging up his phone, Peter clucked his tongue. “That’s no way to be. I’m only looking out for you.”
“We’re not kids anymore!”
“You want to go out and get trashed with some stranger! That doesn’t sound very mature or responsible to me!”
Backing up, I poked him in the chest. “Fuck. You.”
“You further my point, pipsqueak.”
“I’m cutting you off. I want my key back.” I was completely serious. I might feel differently in the morning, but at this moment, I meant every word. “I’m not joking. I want it back.”
“I don’t have it right now. You let me in.”
He wasn’t taking me seriously. He never did. Actually, he just didn’t care. He truly thought he was responsible for me. It was insulting. I’d been on my own for the better part of two years and he thought that I was immature and irresponsible. He really had no idea.
“I want my key back,” I repeated, before turning and walking to my room.
Chapter 3
My phone rang. I left my spot by the window, where I had watched two black Escalades roll to a stop before the main entrance to my condominium. I had offered—no, insisted—that I could drive, but Marshall had—with equal adamancy—insisted that they pick me up.
Lifting the receiver to my antiquated hard line, I answered with a contrived tone of pleasantry. “Hi, I’ll be right out.”
“What’s wrong?” Marshall asked in a tone that implied my acting was horrible. I wasn’t hiding anything. My eyes dropped to the pale beige carpet at my feet. I couldn’t even lie on the phone without diverting my gaze.
“Nothing. Nothing. I’ll be right down. Just give me a minute.”
“I’m coming up.” The line went dead. Wonderful. This was going to go over really well. Grabbing my wristlet from the bed, I smoothed out my dress and opened my bedroom door. I’d been hiding in it all afternoon, avoiding my brother who’d taken up residence in my living room.
As I emerged from the living room, Peter looked up from staring out the front window. “Who the fuck is that?”
“None of your business.” I stepped to go around him so that I could escape before Marshall made it up the stairs, but I had no such luck. He grabbed my arm before I could get through the door. He was going to embarrass me. I just knew it.
“There’s no way I’m letting you get in that car. What’ve you gotten yourself involved in? They’ve got bodyguards for God’s sake!” Peter’s grasp tightened on my arm. I slapped at his hand.
“Ow, Peter!”
“Why’s the fucking mafia parked outside your house, Paisley?”
“Let go of my arm, asshole! You’re gonna give me a freakin’ bruise!” Next thing I know; he was going to be ruffling my hair. He always did that before my dates. He embarrassed me in front of them. He made sure they knew I was his kid sister. Not that it was a date. This was much bigger. I was hanging with Hautboy, which made it ten times worse.
“I’m gonna give you much worse if you don’t tell start talking.”
Twisting my arm, I tried to wrench it from his grasp. Suddenly, Peter eased his grip, his gaze focused at the bottom of the stairs. I glanced behind me. Standing at the bottom of the stairs was the lean, distinguished bodyguard with crewcut hair. His calm demeanor made him all the more intimidating. Peter looked like he was going to shit a brick.
“Is there a problem, ma’am?”
And there I had it. Just as expected, Peter embarrassed me. Flushing, I cleared my throat to answer. The outer door opened. Outside, stood Marshall, the brunette girl that I’d met in the hospital earlier today, three other bodyguards, a boy in dark glasses, and half of the band.
Great. Just fucking great.
“No,” I croaked. “My brother was just being an idiot.”
“You’re
sure?” He sounded doubtful.
“Sure that he’s my brother?” I quipped, forcing a smile. I knew that wasn’t what he meant. “There’s no question about it. Unfortunately, we’re related.”
“Whatever,” said Carter Strickland, if I wasn’t mistaken. He was the band’s bass guitarist. “Let’s get this fuckin show on the road so we can see some real action.”
“Were you gonna take another cap in the ass?” Jake Whalen gibed. “Oh, that’s right. You didn’t the first time. Your phone did.” He laughed raucously and dodged a swing from Carter.
“Fuck you, man. It hurt.” The two walked back to the truck, bantering lightheartedly. Just before they vanished behind the door, Jake glanced over his shoulder, his gaze flitting over me.
Most women swooned over Tate Watkins, but Jake was more my type. I’d never fantasized over him or anything like that, but I could appreciate him in the flesh. He had this head of sun bleached waves that I wanted to coil around my fingers. And those eyes…while my siblings and I had predominantly dark blue eyes, Jake’s were pale, almost grey in color. Yet, his skin was tanned as if he’d just stepped off the beach. If I hadn’t known he’d grown up in Seattle, I’d have sworn he was a Cali boy. He wasn’t beautiful. He was handsome, with the start of a beard that was slightly darker than his hair, and crow’s feet that spread from the corners of his eyes when he smiled. Unlike Henry, Jake was a man, and I bet he fucked like one too.
“Whenever you’re ready, ma’am,” prompted the scary bodyguard.
“Oh. Sure. Sorry.” Idiot! I was such an idiot! I smoothed out my dress and descended the stairs, avoiding my brother’s stare like the plague. I wasn’t going to give him the chance to boss me around, or ask if he could come with me. I was making a swift escape.
Baby Did a Bad Bad Thing (Hautboy Series Book 3) Page 3
