by Ivy Asher
Of course she can’t just let me go, she has to peck like the hen she is, so she follows behind me. “I’ve never had such an irresponsible employee before you, Medley. It’s a wonder you lasted this long. I was warned that you’d be trouble, what with your history of violence and propensity for whorin’. I mean, you even dropped out of college, for Pete’s sake. But I thought it’d be the good Christian thing to do to give you a chance to make right in life.”
My flip-flops snap with every aggressive step I take through the warehouse, and I start breathin’ deeply and countin’ my exhales in seconds just like my daddy taught me when I was young.
Don’t react, Medley. She ain’t worth it.
“You may think you’re hot shit, missy, with your cotton candy green hair and your short shorts, but you’re nothin’, always have been and always will be. Nothin’ but no-good, dropout, trailer trash.”
I spin on my heel, ready to dole out a little tongue lashin’ of my own and show Patty that I’m done with her shit, but just then, I spot a familiar face past the conveyor belts, and a different plan forms.
I let a smile spread across my face, ignorin’ Patty’s pursed lips and cantankerous glare. “Hey there, Bob Grace!” I call out with a wave.
Patricia goes rigid, and her head snaps in the direction of the person she’s practically pissed a circle around. Yet the man doesn’t want her. The forty-somethin’ mechanic looks over from where he’s standin’ by the bulletin board, takin’ notes on his tablet of all the truck stats to see what repairs and checks he needs to do. When he sees me, his face splits into a grin. “Well, hey there, Medley.”
I can practically feel Patricia vibratin’ with enough anger to shake a tectonic plate. Oh yeah, this is way better than any swear word or cut down I could ever throw her way.
“How you doin’?” Bob asks.
“Oh, you know, just gettin’ fired,” I joke, and his happy expression falters, his eyes skatin’ over to Patricia. I walk over to him, a little extra swing in my hips, and Patricia stomps after me, makin’ sure that when we stop, she’s a step closer to him than I am.
“How are things lookin’, Bob?” she asks, all friendly smiles.
“Um, just fine,” he says before his attention comes right back to me. That pisses Patricia off even more, and my smile grows wider. “I’m sorry to hear that, Medley. You need anythin’?”
“I’ll be alright,” I assure him before I give him a slight pat on the shoulder. A nice friendly pat, nothin’ scandalous, since I don’t actually like Bob, but the touch alone will have Patricia seethin’ for weeks.
“You’ll be missed around here, Medley, that’s for sure,” Bob offers kindly.
“I’ll be sure to keep in touch, don’t you worry,” I tell him, and I know that statement will have Patricia up at night, wonderin’ if my whorin’ ways are robbin’ her of the man of her dreams.
Game, set, match, bitch.
“Y’all have a nice day, now,” I chirp, like I’m dipped all in sugar, and then with a wave and a wink for good measure, I leave the nasty forked-tongued Patricia in my wake as I walk through the open bay doors and head for my Jeep.
I let out the tense breath in my chest when I get into my Jeep and shut the door behind me, takin’ a moment to calm myself. With sweaty hands, I start the engine, lookin’ in the rearview mirror once more at the place that ran me ragged and just spat me out.
I should be glad that I’m free of the place, that I never have to subject myself to Patricia and her venomous ways again, but instead, her words cling to my sides like the barbed stinger of a bee.
“You’re nothin’, always have been and always will be.”
Well, damn if that doesn’t just call to my deepest worries and insecurities and invite them to come out and dance, robbin’ me of my brave and makin’ me feel vulnerable.
It’s not the first time I’ve heard it, and in this moment, I’m terrified it won’t be the last.
I put the Jeep in gear and start the drive back toward my parents’ house. Maybe it’s time I sever whatever hold this town has on me and move on. There has to be more out there for me than shitty jobs that pay too little, men who can’t love enough, and tribulations that sneak up on me when I least expect it.
I turn my A/C off and roll down my windows as I decide to take my sweet time and use the back roads to get home. The wind coaxes my hair to tickle my face before ridin’ the current back behind me, and soon, the rush of air all around drowns out my contentious thoughts. I hum along to Garth Brooks’s “Ain’t Goin’ Down” on the radio and try to not think about what’s next.
The turn that will take me home is comin’ up, and for a moment, I’m tempted to drive past it. Maybe I’ll drive out to that bar and see if I can piece together what happened. But just as soon as that thought starts to bloom in my mind, I swat it away.
Retracin’ my steps before a tribulation hit has never helped before. And just in case someone is lookin’ for me to even whatever score I may have started last night, or to drop a bill for damage at my feet, it’s better to stay away. By some miracle, I managed to drop my work truck off and find my way home, so I’ll just be grateful for that and keep on movin’. I can’t have done anythin’ too bad if it wasn’t on the news, right?
I take the turn that leads home, chucklin’ at the sign at the entrance for the Sunshine Trailer Park that now has the word sunshine crossed out with fresh spray paint and a more festive shithole sprayed underneath. Changin’ the name of that sign is like a rite of passage in this town. I wonder if we’ll ever see a day where the owner just gives up and lets the vandalism be.
There are so many cameras and floodlights on that sign by now that I bet it can be seen from space, and yet somehow, someone still manages to mess with it.
I turn into my parents’ humble neighborhood where the trailers are small but neat and the lawns are tidy and green. Well, all except ours. Daddy is in some kind of argument with the neighbors catty-corner to us, and he’s refused to cut the grass ever since. I couldn’t tell you why, and he won’t talk about it. These days, Mama and I just shrug it off and gently offer to trim the blades of green down ourselves, and hopefully the subsequent animosity, but Daddy just ain’t there yet. I’m givin’ it another month or so.
Pullin’ up, I park behind a gray SUV that’s too nice to belong to anyone in this part of town, and I wonder if the neighbors are bein’ investigated by the feds again or if maybe someone around here has some well-to-do relative that stopped by to see how the other side lives.
I turn the Jeep off and climb out, cussin’ at the swelterin’ heat and humidity as it tries to cling to me on my walk from my car to the front door of my parents’ trailer.
“I’m home,” I say as I pull open the screen door and hang my keys on the hook next to the front door. “Don’t worry, Mama, your second favorite church hat is safe, because I handled Patty the Prat in my own special little way,” I call out with a mischievous smile.
I look over and freeze in my tracks at who I see sittin’ at the table.
My startled gray gaze lands on yellow hair and a chiseled body with lavender-colored skin, the watercolor tattoos of flowers runnin’ up his arms and dippin’ into the sleeves of his T-shirt and peekin’ out on the sides of his neck. Butterscotch eyes take me in as movement to his right catches my eyes next. White and gray skin, black hair, and ash-colored eyes brighten as they settle on mine, and every alarm bell inside of me rings in warnin’.
They’re here.
And from the looks of things, I’ve either officially lost my mind, or somehow, they spiked my mama’s lemonade from breakfast, because they look just as strange as before. Sexy as hell, yeah, but strange.
No matter what, I’m screwed two ways to Sunday.
6
“Medley, you’re back!”
My eyes swing to my mama. She’s sittin’ at the kitchen table with both men, and to say that they don’t fit in this trailer is an understatement. The small space se
ems even smaller now with them propped against the Formica table, surrounded by pale yellow walls and the smell of Mama’s favorite citrus cleaner.
Protective instincts immediately kick in. Snappin’ out of my shocked stupor, I hurry over to my mama and take a protective stance in front of her as I glare down at the pair that I really hoped I would never see again. I may not remember what went down at the bar, but somethin’ did, and this ain’t right.
Another thing that ain’t right? The fact that they still look the way I remember last night, one like a watercolor paintin’ and the other like a kitchen countertop, and yet...I can’t deny that they’re checkin’ off all the boxes in the sexy column.
Strong arms, angled jawlines, plush lips, bunched shoulders, and enough heat in their eyes to fire up the stove. I can’t seem to look away from them. Which is dangerous. Very, very dangerous. These two guys aren’t...normal, and I know that attraction should be the last thing I’m feelin’, but I can’t pump the brakes on it.
“What are you doin’ here?” I demand, my body poised in front of Mama, my emotions and worries all over the place.
I get a whack on the hip. “Medley Bell, where are your manners?” Mama scolds. “Sit down,” she orders, and I feel her get to her feet behind me.
“Mama—” I try to snag her arm and pull her back behind me, but she just swats at me again and heads to the fridge. “Sit down, HB, and I’ll pour you some sweet tea. You boys want some too?”
The marble-skinned man tips his chin, a friendly smile spreadin’ over his sculpted face. My eyes immediately take in his straight white teeth. I wonder idly what it would be like for those teeth to nibble my neck or scrape against my...nope. No. Stop thinkin’ about sex, Medley, and focus on Marble Man. Flint, I recall, my memories filterin’ in. His name is Flint.
“No, ma’am, I wouldn’t want to trouble ya.”
“Nonsense, I insist,” Mama gushes.
Flint grins at my mutinous expression. He’s takin’ advantage of Mama’s Southern hospitality to get on friendly terms. “In that case, yes, I’d love some sweet tea, ma’am.”
Mama titters and then clangs around in the cupboards to pull out cups, but I keep a stony-eyed glare on the men.
“I asked you a question,” I say, keepin’ my voice as low as a whisper so Mama doesn’t interrupt to harp on me about manners again. “What are you doin’ here?”
The man who signed for the delivery yesterday, Alder, drags his butterscotch eyes up my exposed legs, all the way to the short hem of my shorts before he looks up and finds my face.
My cheeks warm from his obvious perusal, and I try to think about cold things like ice and snow in an effort to keep a blush from spreadin’, but I fail miserably, even goin’ so far as to peruse them right back. I can’t help it. I’ve never been so magnetically attracted to someone before, and I’m feelin’ the pull with both of them. I have never seen anyone as sexy, and there are two of them!
As my eyes graze over these two...whatever they are, I don’t see any signs of a fight or bruises or anythin’ like that, so things must not have moved into a physical altercation last night. Although, that doesn’t make me feel better, because I still have no clue what did happen.
“We were hoping we could talk,” Alder announces, his eyes flickin’ over to my mama for a minute.
Wait...was that a threat? Or a hint that they’d like to talk alone?
I cross my arms, still refusin’ to sit down. Worry and unease boil in my belly. “Look, if I did somethin’ last night…” I trail off, because it’s probably not a good idea to let them know that I can’t remember it. I don’t wanna make myself even more vulnerable than I already am.
“What do you want?” I say instead, hatin’ the fact that I’m in a situation where they have the upper hand.
“Medley!” Mama scolds again, my voice pitched too loudly that time.
“Mama, these men are the owners of the bar,” I tell her pointedly.
But instead of her growin’ concerned, she just waves me off. “I know that, Heavenly Bell, they already told me as much.”
“They did?” My gray eyes dart back to them, but the pair of them look perfectly content to just watch how it’s all playin’ out. In fact, I’d go so far as to say they look...smug. Like they enjoy watchin’ me squirm. Like every reaction I have is interestin’ to them and they’re just happy to be sittin’ here in my presence.
I don’t like the feelin’ that they’re studyin’ me, but they are. Their eyes ain’t missin’ a thing. “Well, did they also tell you that I’m pretty sure their bartender spiked my drink?” I challenge, because I need to get Mama’s hackles up, and I wanna take these two down a peg.
It’s dangerous for Mama to be so relaxed around them, and it’s equally bad for me to be attracted to them. The last thing I wanna do is slip up. They tracked me down—not just my name, but where I live. They came into my parents’ home, without me here. I don’t like this one bit. I don’t care how hot they are, I need to be careful.
“They assured me that they checked and made sure everythin’ was fine,” Mama says as she makes her way to the table and plops glasses full of ice down in front of everyone, then grabs her pitcher and pours sweet tea for everyone.
“Mama, where’s Daddy?” I ask, still not takin’ my eyes off the unwelcome visitors.
“Drove down to the corner store to pick up some things,” she tells me.
Just before she sits down at the table again, her phone rings from the other room. “Oh, excuse me,” she says before hustlin’ off to answer it in her bedroom at the back of the trailer.
I wait until I hear her chirp a hello before I immediately round on them. “What the hell do you think you’re doin’?” I hiss. “How dare you come down here to my parents’ home. If you two think for two seconds that you’re gonna use them to get to me, you’re in for a rude awakenin’. You have no idea what I’m capable of,” I threaten, but instead of it havin’ the desired effect, they both appear to be surprised and...excited.
Well, crap.
“We’re not trying to get to ya,” Flint starts, “...well, we are technically, but not like that. We’re here because of those things that you’re capable of,” he finishes cryptically.
“Like I said before, we wanted to talk to you, that’s all. If you’re not interested in what we have to say, we’ll be on our way,” Alder adds before he picks up his cup and sips politely from it. Flint, on the other hand, has already downed his.
I watch them both for a beat, my hand wrapped around my own full and sweatin’ glass of ice-cold sweet tea. Normally, I’d pull a Flint and down this first glass and then follow Alder’s suit and sip the second, but I’m nervous to drink anythin’ around these two, even though that I was drugged theory is losin’ more and more momentum.
I should probably be more panicked than I am about the fact that they look so otherworldly, and not just upset over the fact that they’re here in my parents’ house, but oddly enough, I’m not.
I need to pinch myself every time I start checkin’ them out, but it’s real difficult. Flint has that slight Southern drawl every time he talks—nothin’ as thick as my own, but it’s still sexy as hell. There’s a playful flirtatiousness to him that makes my own inner flirt wanna come out and play. And then this Alder fella, he’s all cool and collected, with a strong quiet type of dominance that has me ready to sit up and pant. And every time he looks my way, I swear he’s strippin’ me naked with his eyes.
But...they’re somethin’ different, and strange stuff happened in that bar last night. I know I didn’t imagine it, and since these two look the way they did last night, there’s probably no logical way that I’m still drugged. Maybe some people would be screamin’ their heads off right about now in fear, but I just find myself wantin’ answers.
My reaction could be from a lifetime of growin’ up talkin’ about angels and things as if they were real that has me desensitized. Or maybe I’m in denial, just waitin’ to blink
and suddenly find them lookin’ normal again, like the contacts that make them look weird just slipped right off my eyes. To be honest, this could also just be an evolution of my tribulations. I do things I can’t remember, with no idea how I do them, so is it really a big leap to start seein’ people like the freaks they are?
Really hot freaks, my mind adds.
Not helpful, mind.
“Talk to me about what?” I finally ask, dismissin’ my thoughts and focusin’ on what they want. Maybe they’re just gonna slap me with a property damage bill and be on their way.
“You can relax, you know. We did tell you last night that we’d be stopping by,” Alder says, eyein’ me with interest.
Shit, they did?
“First off, tellin’ anyone that they can relax is only gonna cause them to do the exact opposite. Second, don’t boss me around. And third, well, I was a little preoccupied last night with gettin’ fired and then drugged and all, so you’ll have to forgive the fact that details are a little fuzzy,” I say.
“We can assure you, darlin’, no one drugged ya,” Flint defends in that soft twang of his. The way he calls me darlin’ sets loose some butterflies in my belly. Which is stupid, because I’m sure he calls all the girls that.
“Then how else do you explain why you two and everyone in your bar looks like somethin’ out of a carnival sideshow?” I ask him, wavin’ a hand in the direction of Flint’s marble skin.
“Sideshow?” Flint drawls. “Surely we’re more of the main attraction. Right, darlin’?” he says with another teasin’ smirk that I really wish wouldn’t keep makin’ my nipples pebble.
I give him a glare just so that they don’t see they’re affectin’ me, glad that Mama’s still talkin’ away on the phone in the other room.
“Am I in some sort of trouble?” I ask, anxious to get the words out there and strung taut as I wait for their answer.
But to my relief, Alder shakes his head slowly. “No...”
