Wow.
“Looks like someone is catching The Merman Virus,” Heidi whispers to me. A lovey-dovey deadly illness which symptoms don’t involve the guy Lucas previously saw her with. Turns out, he was an old, gay friend and the constant 75 calls Lucas made to her were of him reciting sappy love poems. I’m happy to see she’s finally lowering her shields around him.
But of course, by the swift administrative glare from Yas to Heidi and I, the tigress heard every word of the witch’s comment and in no time soon would admit her slow growing feelings aloud.
We blew her kisses.
“Hey, Kokoa, what’s taking them so long?” Onyx asks, nodding to the closed French deck doors.
“Not sure.” I shrug. A twinge of worry wavers as I stare where outside, Jonathan and Gavin were currently with Adrian. Interrogating. Jonathan wanted to do so, once he’d returned from Africa. I’m chalking it up as an annoying guy thing.
Or they’d done what Piper predicted; banding together to form an alliance—The Kokoa Trouble Prevention Organization.
“I don’t hear the deck being destroyed or see fire scorching the windows, so that must be a good sign,” she says. Trevor, her gargoyle cop honey, snorted beside her, shoving a handful of popcorn in his mouth.
“If shit goes left, call the station. I’m off duty.”
“Does that mean your handcuffs are off duty too?” Her voice seductive, Piper traces his lips with a red fingernail. He smirks.
“Absolutely. We can pretend I’m arresting you for the illegal possession of pixie dust that’s hidden in your closet, you think I’m not aware of.”
“Aw, you’re one fine ass officer.” Smiling, she nuzzles his neck.
I was smiling too. This week had begun... well, you’re quite aware. Using Trevor’s word: shit had gone left. But as Tuesday then Wednesday, passed, the Viper Spit with all its problems, including never seeing Sammy since, began to finally clear the air. Lucas and I had shaken it off— compromising details remained buried and forever will.
I made up with Devin.
In the most humiliating way. But it was necessary.
With the help of Ma and Uncle Liam, I’d gotten my ass on stage in the middle of the Grill and sung a song about slaughtered pigs, having the best big brother, and how so, so sorry I am.
Since I was not blessed with Celine Dion vocals, my horrendous, yet enduring, performance got the crowd cringing and hollering, yet importantly, Devin had forgiven me.
All my younger lies and mischief were out, except for one final act I managed to keep mum—putting ground up sidewalk gum in Tyler’s protein shakes for four months—was going to the grave.
Let’s see... oh, obviously, things are smoothed over with Gavin and his Many Faces of Kokoa room. I’d say, it’s brought he and I closer than ever—so in all I guess it had to go down the way it did.
I'’ not complaining. He’s still my Vamp Man. And now, along with Jonny and Adrian, I officially have three guys that keep me on my toes. Each with their own qualities, best features inside and out.
Gavin—the bad boy who carries a tender heart, beating or not, it doesn’t matter.
Jonathan—the giant lion, my kitty, a male version of myself, is back to nipping at my tail.
And Adrian—suave, smooth talking, is the level headed crutch I need, who in return needs my wackiness.
I stride to the deck doors. One’s ajar. I feel the balmy night air touch my skin and hear frogs and crickets chirp through the darkness beyond the wooden platform. A wall lantern bathes the three men in a yellow glow, showing muscular forms under t-shirts and jeans that lean against the railing. Relaxed in pose, I’m glad the cops won’t be needed to separate a lion from a dragon’s neck. Gods, they’re sexy. Beers in hands, their soft voiced conversation stops as I step out, closing the door behind me. I tip my head up to the full moon. My wolf’s heart. So pristine, stunning, I feel it pulse along with every wolf’s life, and glow brighter as their soulful howls feeds it energy.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” I whisper, then return to look at the guys.
They all grin.
Looking suspicious.
“What are y’all up to?” Hands placed at my hips.
“Oh, nothing.” Gavin smirks, eyeing me up and down. Jonny winks.
“Yeah, nothing at all... Cheeks.”
“ADRIAN! YOU TOLD!” I shout at the clearly guilty dragon. For a second he pretends to appear shocked.
“In my defense, darling—“ He then abruptly stops to laugh.
He’s now labeled Asshole #1. I glare at Assholes #2 and #3 who hold each other up, while busting their guts.
“For fuck’s sake! The marker came off!” Along with layers of red, blotchy skin. “Stop it! There’s nothing to laugh about—oh, screw it!” There’s no point. Jonny was belly down on the deck, red faced, fists pounding the wood, bellowing laughs. Adrian was har-haring hard enough, a vein protruded from his forehead. And Gavin, fuck him too, was pointing at me while he held his midsection adding to the cackling bunch.
“Babe, if you needed something to draw on, you could’ve asked me for a blank sketchbook.”
Jonny slapped his knee, rolling side to side. “Dude, she used the one she already had!” His eyes started to water.
On cue, Adrian replied— “Darling, it’s my fault... I should have had your ass notarized when I had the chance.” The laughs he and his now two little buddies went up in volume. My huffs and growls were practically mute as they lit up the night.
Damn.
Forget what I said earlier.
This is prime barbeque rib example of why it’s never safe to get involved with three guys.
They’ll team up and start cracking ass jokes...
Get it? Cracking? Ass crack?
Forget it.
The end...for now.
Psst... Kokoa, here. Want to know how Gavin and I met? Proceed on and witness even more fuckery.
June, 2016.
I was blindsided by a spontaneous, cheddar chip craving. It’s a real thing, people. A serious condition that unfortunately (well, sorta since I didn’t have any on hand) gets the best of us. In this case study, I’m victim 2073B. Another soul struck by the sudden urge to climb out of bed at three in the morning, decked out in duck patterned jammies and sneakers and ninja rolled out of the bedroom window–because going out the front door lacked all types of fun.
I was a woman on a mission towards the 24/7 mini market slash gas station that was one of the many littered throughout the neighbourly Forest of Vida. I knew the closest location to my cabin by heart.
Also a woman who carried exactly two dollars and seventy five cents and proper ID.
I don’t want my terrifying appearance to make anyone think I escaped from an asylum.
The near morning break shrouded in slight humidity, a product of a heavy Summer. Crickets and frogs sang, better than me, together. The station came into view, I rat-like scurried on to its perimeter. Surely, about to meet Stevie Watson, the senior clerk and owl-shifter, was always pleasant and who gave a secretive knowing look each time I made these desperate visits. And who thankfully, couldn’t care less about eye-twitching attire.
The gas station portion, encased in shadow, was vacant. As usual the small building spilled fluorescent light across the cracked pavement. Only one car parked neared the entrance.
Another sad, sad folk like thyself?
I quickly sprinted inside. Eyes immediately adjusted, I zeroed in on the aisle I knew held my cheddar babies captive. But before, I also noticed the clerk standing behind the gum and taser display counter. Ah, gotta love convenient stores.
The person in question wasn’t so lovable. Nor was it Stevie.
A wendigo. Wearing the store’s button down uniform. Wendigos were a nasty looking lot and bad mannered. Hunched over, he knocked off two feet than standing straight to its nine foot height. Wendigos have elongated skeletal faces, antlers, and thin, long bony limbs. Underneath the shirt, his torso
would reveal actual bones–the sternum and ribcage.
Not the best company to be with at three o’clock in the morning.
I awkwardly waved and hurried along, then stopped short, catching a glimpse at his nametag.
It read Stevie.
“You’re not Stevie,” I say.
The wendigo blinked. Nothing more.
“May I ask where Stevie is?”
Again, creepy silence.
“Alight. Did you eat Stevie–?”
“Want no trouble,” he grumbled.
“Fine, no problemo.” I went down the favored aisle of boxed and plastic wrapped junk, still in close range from looming newbie clerk. I would’ve normally partaken in debating and considering restocked items, new stuff, and would it be wise to scrounge the floor for any fallen coins, but the piercing stare by the wendigo really affected this very happy time.
I received suspicious vibes.
I turned.
The wendigo now stood in front of the counter. Long, talon hands and arms crossed. What’s his deal? Surely a tiny chick in ducky pjs didn’t come here to start an issue.
“Is there a problem?” The cheese doodles’ bag crunched as I waved it. I came here for the doodles, no extra quarters on the tile floor allowed anything else. I can only blame myself.
Irritation sparked when the wendigo didn’t speak. You know what, I don’t even want to deal with this–screw it. I shoved the doodles back on the shelf. I just wanted to go back home. Tomorrow, I’d find Stevie and file a damn complaint. Screw you, wendigo, you won. I’m now a doodle-less woman.
In a huff, I was gone, stomping past the creature. The doorbell chimed in my departure.
A couple steps on to the pavement, the door bangs open and he shouts, “THIEF!”
I freeze, the she-wolf showing teeth. What in the world? I spin towards the cretin and point to my chest.
“I know damn well you aren’t talking about me.”
“You indicate to where you have hidden the stolen merchandise.” He points a talon to where I point to myself. Specifically, my chest. What?
“The artificial cheese flavored puffs. You hide in bosom,” he says.
“Excuse me?” I screech and look around. Was I really the only one to witness this ridiculous shit?
“You sneak, wolf.” The wendigo makes a gurgling sound. “You take when I did not look.”
“Impossible! You were always looking. Really, man, the staring and the glaring–it’s just weird. You need new hospitality lessons.”
The wendigo paces forwards. I arch a brow at that. Dude isn’t kidding.
Well, alright, I fling off my slippers. The she-wolf growls as I hike up my sleeves.
“I didn’t take anything! Every move I made your creepy ass was watching.”
“I will call authorities,” he threatens. He stands his full height then. His over stretched arms no longer drag. Yet that didn’t dilute the crooked, ugly aurora he produced.
“The authorities? Do it! Call the cops! Call the damn federal agents! Take as much time as you need. I’ve got nowhere to be. I’m temporarily banned from my job and my Jeep is still in the shop.” Extra cleaning was needed due to an unidentifiable odor coming from the seats “So I’m not needed elsewhere in the near future. I also don’t have anything to lose out of this fucked up situation.”
“Your dignity.”
“Ha! I’ve already lost that. Try again.” Specifically, I’d lost that in the fifth grade when I was tricked by the bitch Rachel Sterling into hanging upside at recess and inadvertently forgot I’d been wearing a skirt. Everyone saw my underpants. Most were boys in our class who had hidden waiting for the show. Luckily, for me, and bad for Rachel–I contained the disease of “No Fucks given” and had showed these symptoms at that young age and flipped the script. Each boy received coveted first kisses by Kokoa “Kermit the Frog Panty” Lovell and Rachel received rocket launched turds through her bedroom window.
Revenge stewed in broth with mischievous carrots is a consequential recipe for lovely disaster.
From there, middle school became an interesting, hormone driven experience...
I was a problematic child. Happy. But problematic.
The wendigo clicked his talons, squinting at me oddly.
“Where did you go? You’ve been blank for five minutes.”
“I spaced out. It happens.” I shrug.
“You require medical help.” The wendigo snapped open and closed his protruding jaw. “First, hand over the cheesy abominations.”
I blanched. Really? They may not be healthy but come on. It was an unfair assumption by the creep who preferred snacking on flesh. A fact. Wendigos like it boiled and gelatinous.
And not a speck of seasoning. Shame.
Next in our exchange came rocks crunching underfoot. However, not from either of us. It made heads swivel to the right. My right. The wendigo’s left, towards the building corner, half in shadow. A street light flickered, casting orange glow. Like a freakish, clichéd scary movie flick, a black cat darted from behind a dumpster.
Couldn’t ease after that. Something else was still there.
Then a male form stepped forward, followed by a powerful whiff of gum-tingling magic.
The tall man’s features materialized. I’m puzzled, let’s get that straight, even more so when the wendigo had the sudden need to bow his head. Not the she-wolf, although she recognized a predator, a way bigger threat than the wendigo, had entered the premises.
An evenly matched, once adversary centuries before.
Red eyes connected from its distance.
Vampire.
Wonderful.
He strode closer carrying natural swagger, suave and utter bad. Toe to shoulders he was clad in black and leather. Neck, tattoo covered. A pale face. Sharp jawline. Model like hollowed cheekbones. Midnight hair, shaved on the sides, longer and slicked back in the middle.
Then he smiled. Fangs were thin and razor sharp–their appearance becoming clearer as he joined our little group.
He had a lazy, effortlessly sexy edge to him.
And here I wore a multitude of ducks. Fuck.
I’m not shy when it comes to guys, new acquaintances at that, but the vampire–Vamp Man, I shall call him–was different. For starters, despite having been the first time I’ve seen him, I know exactly who he is and it explained why the wendigo showed respect.
My blood and wolf magic responded, hummed, to an ancient alliance, carried down to me. A bondship already established by my great grandfather and his grandfather.
This was Gavin Vanwrath. Descendant, as am I, of Grimstone island founders.
Despite our sharing that, he was to be taken a lot more seriously, obviously by the wendigo which ticked me off–but then again, I am wearing cartoon birds.
“What’s the problem here?” he asks, assuming the role of unexpected referee to the standoff.
The wendigo directed an accusatory, wretched gnarled finger at me. “Doodle thief!” Gavin raised his dark brows, amused.
“Ahh, the most offensive of all doodle status.”
Har, har, the undead and their jokes. I rolled my eyes and rehashed what actually happened. He could either believe me or not, who knows–maybe even help. Either way, I meant it when I said I had nothing else to do. I could go until the damn sun rose. I’d get my lost time to sleep again. I was labelled many things in life. Thief? No. Well, unless it belonged to a family member, then yeah I swiped a number of things. Store stuff, nuh uh.
Gavin addressed me.
Don’t get lost in his ruby eyes.
But they’re like cherry lollipops!
“Did you take the chips?”
I quickly snapped into the present. “No,” I say firmly.
“And hide them...” He wiggled a finger at the girls.
Was he for real? “NO!” Did my boobs look like wrinkled chip bags? Seriously?
“See.” I slap, grab, shimmy-shake my boobs. Not a single bag flopped out. Not
even crunchiness sounds. I was fucking clean.
The wendigo didn’t look convinced. Gavin appeared joyful to witness my little dance before his eyes shot to his boots, unashamedly grinning.
I groan loudly. “I’m sure as hell not taking off my top. So I told him to call the cops.”
“Hold it.” Gavin held up his hands. Loopy curved tattooed text was printed on the backs of his knuckles and hands. “It doesn’t need to come to that... Ms.?” Gavin inclined his head at me, a prompt look.
“Kokoa. No Ms. Just Kokoa,” I say.
“Kokoa.” His irises shined. I like the way he said it. All husky and like a whisper. “Right. I’m sure there’s security cameras that dispute any false claims. Hm?” He looks to the wendigo.
I’ve already played his silent game. Gavin does too but thinks better and shakes his head. “You know, this should work better.” He took out his wallet, fwip. Behold, a fifty dollar bill. I gape.
“But–”
“It’s okay,” he insists, stepping closer, enveloping me in sweet peppermint and now close enough, I detect brown sugar–my, he’s delicious. The proximity provided sheer temptation to slide my palms down his pec-tacular torso. Don’t. Don’t. Don’t.
I but my lip, drawing his eyes there.
“Really, you don’t have to give–”
“It’s not a problem.” A cocky grin emerged. “It’s a win.”
“How?” Do you know how many doodles, ding-dongs and choco-ball duds I can get with fifty bucks? And yet, here I was without one–again, how was this a win?
“Because...” The bill holding hand shot up and over his shoulder, in a flash, the wendigo snatched it with talon fingers and clumped inside the market. “Because now we’re alone.”
True... very true.
The vampire stuck out his hand. I shook it.
“Gavin–”
“VanWrath,” I finish, causing him to smile, something I was falling for.
“A Lovell wolf,” he acknowledged. “A pleasure.”
“Don’t see how in this particular moment. But I’ll take it.”
After which, we lingered a bit longer during the shake, Gavin returned his hands in his pocket and rocked on his heels.
He meant to reply but chuckled instead, absently licking his lips. Now I was drawn to the minor act. And the undead man. I openly appraised him, as he did me–ducks forgotten, tingles cascading through my gut and thighs, I shivered. Gavin’s eyelids drooped. Interest speckled in his gaze casted down his perfect nose.
Mistakes, Fried Chicken and Unlucky Mermen Page 8
