by Abby Brooks
I barreled toward them, cocked back a fist, and clocked the asshole in the mouth. Pain exploded across my knuckles and I cursed louder than he did as I grabbed Nan and pulled her to safety.
“It’s okay.” I grimaced, shaking my hand as her attacker groaned and covered his lips. “It’s okay. I’ve got you. You’re safe now.”
I staggered as she pushed out of my arms.
“Kennedy Reagan Monroe!” Nan put her hands on her hips and dropped her jaw. “What on earth has gotten into you?” She turned to Captain Asshole and crossed the kitchen, gingerly inspecting his mouth as if he was her favorite grandchild.
“I thought—”
“You thought what? That you’d barge in here and attack my guest?”
The man stuck his tongue in his lip. His eyes hit mine and sparks shot forth. “You.” The word was part realization, part accusation, and one-hundred percent loathing.
He was even better looking up close, if you went for luscious dark hair, glittering blue eyes, and criminal intent. His personality stole the air from the room, and he’d only said one word. Which apparently my vagina found compelling. News to me, but, oh well.
Nan ping-ponged her attention between us. “I take it you two know each other?”
“If you consider her threatening to pepper spray me then following it up with a righteous right hook knowing each other, then yes. We’re well acquainted.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t loiter around old women’s houses like a walking criminal enterprise.”
“Kennedy! That is enough. Apologize to Joe this instant.”
Joe.
I expected something more along the lines of Damion.
Or Malachi.
Or Satan.
Captain Asshole didn’t look like a Joe. Not at all. Though I wasn’t exactly sure what I thought a Joe should look like.
An apology was warranted, I just couldn’t bring myself to give it. I winced at his swelling lip, then reached into the freezer for a bag of peas and tossed them his way. He caught them with a crinkle of plastic, smirked, then pressed the bag to his face. I’d taken an oath to heal people, not hurt them, though there had to be a clause in there for assholes who deserved to get clocked in the mouth.
Nan gave me a withering look. “My granddaughter is very sorry for punching you.”
“I saw him skulking around here yesterday. Then when I pulled up today and saw his truck in the driveway and your front door hanging open…I thought he was here to hurt you—especially after I found him with his arm around your throat. I’m sorry.”
It wasn’t my fault Joe gave off the “I’m an asshole who wants to kill you” vibe.
“Speaking of the door.” Joe pulled the bag of peas off his face and pointedly ignored me. “If you have any tools around here, I might be able to get that fixed before I head out.”
“You’re welcome to sort through what I have. George’s stuff is in the guesthouse.”
Careful to give me a wide berth, Joe left the room, muttering something about dirty pennies on his way. As soon as he was out of earshot, I whirled on Nan. “What in the world is going on here?” I hissed at the same time she said, “Did you really threaten to pepper spray him?”
I explained what happened yesterday. “He’s the reason I’m back.” I jabbed my thumb over my shoulder. “I thought he was gonna rob you.”
Nan’s lips quirked. “Instead, you show up and find him with me in a headlock.” Laughter shook her shoulders.
“I’m glad you find it funny, because I’m still wondering if I should stop by work for an EKG.” Only half-joking, I put a hand to my heart. “Why is he here, anyway?”
Through the window over the sink, I watched Joe amble toward the guesthouse. He’d ditched yesterday’s leather jacket in favor of a fitted V-neck tee. Ripped, black jeans hugged his trim frame. He ran his hands through his hair, then disappeared from view.
“He’s going to help me fix up the place.”
“Where’d you find him? Some random website online?” I smirked at my joke. Everyone knew not to hire strangers off the internet. My smile died on the vine as Nan nodded her agreement.
“He’s quite the find, isn’t he?” Her eyes sparkled as she rubbed her hands together. “And Delores assures me his tuchus is as ripe as it looks.”
I slow-blinked as that statement landed, opening my mouth to object as Nan strolled into the living room.
“You have time to stay?” she asked over her shoulder. “I made cookies.”
Chapter Five
Joe
Penny Dreadful had a name. And a fucking bell-ringer for a right hook.
Kennedy Reagan Monroe.
Two presidents and a blonde bombshell with a drug problem. Nothing to worry about there. Nope. Nothing to unpack at all. Definitely not a set of parents who beat success and leadership into her from a young age. Surely, those names were just a massive coincidence and gave no insight into why the woman had such a bitchy chip on her shoulder.
Sure. Let’s go with that.
Ignoring my throbbing face, I raked a hand through my hair and stormed into Maxine’s storage unit for her late husband’s things…also known as the guesthouse. Considering the place would be my home for the foreseeable future, the amount of stuff she’d crammed in there had me wondering where my things would go. A healthy coat of dust clung to everything, and the stale air tickled my lungs. I slid open a few windows in search of a deep breath.
The mountain of boxes loomed, daring me to dive into someone else’s past in search of power tools. I peered into a few, pinching the cardboard and pulling back the lid just enough to reveal the contents. Sneaking around the house the day before had barely registered on my creep scale, but digging through George Monroe’s stuff buried the needle. I pushed those thoughts to the side with a handful of his paintings.
Maxine was right. Her husband had been a terrible artist, but my respect for the man surged when I found his tools. Expensive. Well-organized. Clearly used, but cared for. I grabbed what I needed and Jumanji’d my way through the backyard.
The Monroes had made their way to the living room. Kennedy perched on the couch, a travesty Maxine called a cookie in hand. I grinned as she brought it to her mouth and bit down, gnawing her teeth together until a resounding crunch rewarded her efforts. I didn’t know if it was the cookie or a tooth, but my grin widened.
Now we both had mouth injuries to nurse.
Ease up, Channing, I thought to myself then inwardly recoiled in shock.
When had I ever taken it easy on someone until they proved themselves worthy? Obviously, I needed a distraction, so I went to work sizing up the doorway. The repair didn’t look like it’d need much of my time, as long as I didn’t get too distracted. My gaze slipped to the duo in the living room. I reveled in the scowl on Penny Dreadful’s face as she pretended not to notice me.
Damn it. Focus man! Grabbing the hammer, I zeroed in on the project in front of me.
Kennedy wrinkled her nose as her jaws imitated tectonic plates, then audibly swallowed. “These are your best ones yet, Nan.”
Without taking my eyes off the door, I covered my mouth and coughed something that sounded strangely like, “Suck up.”
Maxine met my eyes and dropped me a wink as she patted her granddaughter’s hand. “Why, thank you, dear.”
Kennedy ignored me and crunched off another bite. “I know you hate it when I say this,” she said around a mouthful of gravel, “but are you even sure this house is worth fixing up?”
Hello?
Record fucking scratch, right there.
After less than an hour with Maxine, I knew the place was imprinted on her soul.
Me.
An internet killer with a heart of stone.
I scoffed, earning a scathing glance from Penny Dreadful. She popped the rest of the cookie into her mouth and went to work grinding it into submission. “I mean, think of all the time and energy you would save if you moved into an apartment. Or a retirem
ent village.”
Maxine’s brow twitched. She held eye contact with Kennedy long enough to make her granddaughter visibly nervous, then rolled her hand. “Go on. You were talking about moving me three steps closer to the morgue?”
Penny Dreadful ran a hand into her hair and I did everything I could to ignore the urge to walk over there and do the same. I’d never paid so much attention to a woman’s tresses before, but there was something about the color that fascinated me.
“A retirement village is not three steps closer to the morgue. But you don’t have to move into one of those. What about an apartment? I love mine.”
Maxine glanced my way and I pretended to be lost in my work. No one wanted a nosey handyman obsessed with their granddaughter’s hair. They were almost as bad as nosey neighbors who sexually violated their hoses.
“I’m not interested in paying for an apartment, Kennedy.”
There you go! Let her have it! Stand up for yourself!
“I could pay for it.”
“I’m not interested in your charity, either.”
“I just can’t stand the thought of you staying here. With shady individuals.” Kennedy turned a sly smile my way. “You might get hurt.”
I wasn’t sure if she was threatening me or insinuating I had malicious intent toward her grandmother, but my jaw throbbed as if to say, “Too late.”
I leaned against the door and met her eyes, such a light blue they seemed silver from a distance. “That's why Maxine hired me.”
Kennedy’s eyebrows launched into orbit. “Oh, you're on a first name basis now?”
“I think I earned it after being attacked by her overly aggressive granddaughter.”
“The man has a point.” Maxine held out the plate of baked goods. “Cookie?”
I swallowed a smirk as Kennedy dutifully took one. “I'll take care of your grandma.”
The cookie paused on its way to violently red lips. “If by ‘taking care of her’ you mean swindling her so you have a place to stay, then yeah. I totally feel better.”
“At least I’m not talking her into selling the house she raised her family in just when she found someone willing to fix it up.”
Kennedy scoffed and turned to Maxine who flared her hands. “The man continues to have a point.”
The cookie lowered to a pair of slender legs crossed primly at the ankles. “Whose team are you on, here?”
Maxine threw an arm over the back of the sofa. “Team Me. I love my house and don’t want to move.”
The conversation moved on and I entertained myself by hammering loudly every time Her Highness, Kennedy Reagan Monroe tried to make a point. Her glare burning holes in my temple felt like victory.
I couldn’t help myself. I gave her my full attention, gently cocking my head in good-natured confusion. “I’m sorry. Is there a problem?”
“Nothing a little patience won’t solve.” Her smile was sickly sweet and her eyes shot lasers. “I’m sure with enough time you’ll prove who you really are. Problem. Solved.”
“That’s enough, you two.” Maxine’s eyes went wide. “What are you? Six-years-old? Bickering isn’t going to change anything. Joe is still moving into the guesthouse and Kennedy is still my favorite granddaughter.”
“Into the guesthouse?” Kennedy squeaked. “Nan…no!”
I tried to tune out the arguments she presented. Hearing an alphabetized list of why Penny Dreadful thought I was skeezy didn’t rate high on my action items for the day. Most of her objections were as flimsy as the Tushy Tickler next door’s morals, but I did have to laugh when she called my wardrobe into question. She had a point. It took a special kind of man to parade around the Florida Keys in black boots. I tried to imagine myself in a floral print shirt, cargo shorts, and flipflops.
Nope.
Wasn’t gonna happen.
As Kennedy sighed in what I knew better than to believe was resignation, I swore to myself I’d turn the house into a masterpiece just to spite her. I took the job hoping to cut my teeth, but I’d finish the job to protect Maxine from apartments, retirement villages, and a granddaughter who showed love by making everything about herself.
Kennedy probably had a reason for wanting her Nan out of the house.
Maybe she was on the deed and would get a cut of the sales. Maybe she needed a roommate with questionable baking skills. I didn’t know what her motive was, but the more I thought about it, the more certain I became that she had one.
How did those two women share genes anyway?
Where Maxine was thoughtful and understanding, Kennedy was judgmental.
Pretentious.
Rude.
Witty.
Intelligent.
Beautiful.
Woah…
When did I start listing positive traits, while ranting about her? Penny Dreadful was a hateful witch without a good quality in sight.
Except maybe those lips.
Those lips were pretty fucking fantastic.
Chapter Six
Kennedy
I had never hated anyone as much as I hated Joe Channing. He'd been in Nana Maxine’s life all of five minutes. Somehow that qualified him to know what she needed better than she did. One look at her house reaffirmed what I’d known for years. It was falling down around her. Fond memories of Dad, Grandpa, and Aunt Nadia or not, Nan deserved to live somewhere safe.
Joe was putting his needs above hers. I couldn’t put my finger on why, maybe it was the shitty truck and shittier attitude, but something told me he made a habit of leeching off others. If she sold the place, he’d probably be homeless.
The door clicked shut with Joe standing on the porch. I hoped he’d stay out there, but the knob twisted and the door swung right back open without even a whisper of sound. A brilliant day sparkled over his shoulder, casting him in shadow. For half a second, I appreciated the breadth of his shoulders and fuck-the-world stance…
…then I realized I was ogling the asshole and fought the urge to make the sign of the cross to protect myself from evil.
Nan stood, her hands clasped in front of her chest as the villain stepped into her home and closed the door.
“Did you hear that?” she asked me.
“I didn’t hear a thing.”
“Exactly.” Crossing the room like she was afraid to wake herself from a dream, Nan stopped in front of the door and gave it a shove.
Nothing.
She rammed her shoulder into it and grunted in surprise.
With a flourish, Joe flipped the deadbolt into place and Nan slipped into his arms like he was her long-lost son. “I can close my door.” His chest muffled her voice.
What would it be like to have a cheek pressed against those pecs? Did he smell good? Manly? Like musk and mahogany? Would the muscles twitch as he threaded his fingers in my hair and tilted my face to his?
What the actual fuck?
Would he smell good? Not a chance. Obviously, he’d stink of sulfur and ash, like any loyal denizen of Hell.
Would the muscles twitch as he threaded his fingers in my hair? Sure. Right before he wrapped them around my throat.
Joe gave Nan an awkward pat on her back and stepped out of her embrace. “You can close your door.”
“See, Kiki? He’s a good find. I have such a good feeling about this.” Her eyes sparkled as she patted his bicep. Once out of affection, three more times because it surely felt as amazing as it looked.
“I’m glad your door works, Nan. I really am.” That didn’t sound too hateful, did it?
Joe beamed and I came to the conclusion he’d be handsome if he wasn’t so angry all the time. “As I’m a firm believer of leave ‘em wanting more, I’m gonna skedaddle. See ya Friday?”
Nan gave one last, lingering pat. “Friday it is.”
His smile slipped from his face as he caught me staring. I swore he would have flipped me the bird again if he didn’t like my grandma so much. I waited for the squeal of that blasted step so I could laugh at his
misfortune—did that make me a bad person? The question gave me pause. Did wishing harm on the man who might be swindling a helpless old woman mean I needed to cleanse myself of toxic energy? My subconscious heaved its shoulders. The thought was too deep and he didn’t deserve the time I’d need to follow it to conclusion.
“I am sorry I punched him in the face.” That much I could say with certainty. My hand hurt. I was sure his jaw did, too. As a doctor, it wasn’t my finest moment. As a person? That was still up for debate.
Nan chuckled. “It’ll make for a great story, won’t it? I can’t wait to tell Carl.”
We gossiped for a bit about her new, totally frivolous and fun relationship. I filled her in on the latest episode at work.
“You’re kidding me,” she said when I finished. “You’re being punished for caring too much? You’re a doctor for goodness sake!”
Which was pretty much my entire argument when my boss explained I was letting the practice down by spending too much time with my patients. Mira Dixon, the office manager who lived in pantsuits and pearls, had nodded in that understanding way of hers, but somehow my justification seemed to have fallen on deaf ears.
“They assigned me the bitchiest nurse whose last job was probably something like prison guard. Or drill sergeant. He’s this wall of a man named Emmanuel who doesn’t have a soft bone in his body.” Unless his belly counted. Then he was nothing but soft. “He scares the kids. Their parents, too. Who works in pediatrics and doesn’t make an effort to put people at ease? He sets a timer when I enter a room. A timer. The pay is good, but I like my days at the clinic way more and they don’t pay me anything.”
The mention of my second job had me checking the clock.
“Time for you to go?”
I nodded and considered apologizing for losing so much of our time to Captain Asshole. Nan seemed thrilled to know him, though, so I left it alone.
“Your grandpa would be proud of you for volunteering.” She gave me a soggy smile, nostalgia misting her eyes. “Too many people lose sight of the job in search of the dollars.”
