My Kinda Mess - eBook Page 5

  The cute little silver flats are stylish, but not so great when you’re on your feet eleven hours a day. Sure, I was able to steal a few moments to rest my feet between clients, and lest we forget my quick lunch with Linkin, where I was able to sit down for twenty whole, uninterrupted minutes.

  Linkin. I’m not sure what to think of him. He has that bad boy persona down pat, but every once in a while, I catch glimpses of a sweeter side with manners and charisma. I don’t hate him, that’s for sure. In fact, I find myself drawn to him, which is just crazy talk because I don’t even know him.

  I don’t know his last name. I don’t know where he’s from. And I definitely don’t even know how he takes his coffee. Though, if I had to guess, I’d say black. Definitely tall, dark, and rich. (And now I’m thinking about him drinking coffee. In my kitchen. Naked.)

  The elevator drudges up to the third floor, my shoes already off and in my left hand. I don’t even care at this point that the floors are probably super gross. I’m that exhausted. And hungry. My stomach is loudly reminding me that I haven’t eaten since my lunch date with Linkin.

  No. Not a date.

  Just lunch.

  When the door opens, a plastic sword is thrust in my face. “Halt, my fair maiden! Hand over the pizza or die by my sword!”

  I’m so startled in place that the elevator doors almost close–with me still inside.

  Loud giggles erupt as I slowly step off the elevator. Two little boys stare up at me with matching mischievous grins and twinkling brown eyes. Both train their plastic battle weapons at my body, their own bodies covered in some sort of tin foil armor.

  “Where’s the pizza?” one asks real low and menacing like. Of course, the giggle that follows kills the threatening appearance he’s shooting for.

  “Pizza?” I ask, looking between the two boys who are obviously twins.

  “Hand it over,” the other growls.

  “I didn’t bring any pizza.” It’s hard to hide the smile threatening to spread across my face as I gaze down at these two boys ready to do battle for a pizza.

  “What?! No pizza?! Off with her head!” the one on the left shouts just before fake swords are thrust at my face.

  I start to laugh as the two boys attack, causing me to drop my shoes in the process. Reaching out, I use the only weapon I have at my disposal: my hands. Grabbing the closest one to me, I start to tickle his waist, while he thrashes and squeals against my assault.

  “You’ll never take my brother,” the other yells, swinging his sword around and nearly taking my head off for real. Thank God those things are fake.

  I grab the other boy and start to tickle. He kicks his feet outward, swinging around and yelling like a banshee. He ends up dropping his plastic sword as I really dig my fingers into his side. The first brother I tickled picks up both dropped toys and raises them above his head. Just as he lets out a war cry that’s a spot-on depiction from the movie Braveheart, he thrusts one sword into my side.

  Dramatically, in what could be my best Oscar award winning performance to date, I let go of the captured boy and swagger around in the hall, disoriented and dazed. My arms drop and my legs buckle beneath the weight of my body. I slowly fall to my knees, then completely onto the ground, gasping for my last breath.

  As I die, the boys stand over me, triumphantly, with their swords held over their heads. “We got her!” one twin says to his brother, who’s bending down and feeling for my pulse in my elbow.

  “Hey, knuckleheads? Why did you kill my neighbor?”

  I’d know that voice anywhere. Cracking my eyes open, I see Linkin standing in his doorway, a broad smile on his lips and his arms casually crossed over his expansive chest, the tattoos on his arms on full display.

  “She didn’t bring the pizza,” the one checking my pulse answers, crossing his arms over his little chest to mimic the stance of the man before him.

  There’s a strong resemblance, from the dark hair to the brown eyes. If these are his sons, he’s older than I thought. That or he started earlier than most. I can just picture a young Linkin, sweet-talking and charming the panties off all the girls in high school.

  “She’s not the pizza delivery person, Jack.”

  “Well, how were we supposed to know?” he says looking down at me. That’s when I realize I’m still sprawled out on the floor, body posed perfectly for the chalk outline.

  “Yeah, you told us to watch for the pizza.”

  “I meant from inside my apartment. You’re not supposed to open the door without me, right?” Linkin asks with a firm voice. Both boys look down, nodding their heads. Linkin points inside his place, and the twins take off, a whole mess of noise in their wake.

  “Sorry ‘bout that,” Linkin says, towering over me. “They were supposed to listen for the pizza delivery guy while I took a quick shower,” he adds, extending his hand down to me.

  “It’s okay. I haven’t taken a sword to the gut in a while. It was nice to brush up on my dying skills,” I reply, shaking the nastiness off my pants. Glancing around I find my flats and purse that I dropped on the floor right before the tickling commenced.

  As I turn around to face him, my personal belongings clutched in my hands, I finally get a good look at the man before me. His hair is still wet from his shower and his beard is trimmed neatly. His jeans are well worn and faded, and hang dangerously low on his hips. His blue shirt is tight and wet around his neck–probably from not being fully dried before throwing on the garment–and his feet are bare.

  He’s positively edible.

  And I want him.

  No, no I don’t.

  But I do. I really do.

  “Yeah, they’re going through a gladiator phase. Ever since we watched that movie, they’ve been obsessed with fighting to the death.”

  “Sounds like fun,” I say with a smile.

  “I go through so much aluminum foil,” he responds with a matching grin.

  I’m about to excuse myself to my apartment when the elevator opens. The delivery kid from the local pizzeria steps out, two large boxes in hand. “Uh, I’m looking for Stone?”

  “That’s me,” Linkin says, digging his wallet out of his pocket.

  “Twenty-seven fifty.”

  Linkin hands him a handful of bills and takes the boxes. “Thanks,” he tells the kid just before he slips into the elevator and disappears.

  “I should get going. I’d hate for your boys to behead you. It would make an awful mess on the carpet,” I say, stepping towards my place.

  “Wait.” Unable to resist the pull I feel, I slowly turn to face him. “They’re not mine.”

  “What?”

  “Jack and Jeff. They’re my brothers.”

  “Oh.” That’s all I’ve got; I have no idea what to say. Instead of speaking, I grab my keys and take another step towards my door.

  “Lexi?” Again, I turn. My breath catches in my throat at how truly gorgeous this man really is.

  “Yeah?” My voice doesn’t even sound like my own. It’s breathy, husky, and just plain embarrassing.

  “Want some pizza?”

  “Oh, no, I shouldn’t.”

  “You should,” he insists, taking a step towards me. “Well, if you don’t mind watching The Gladiator while two eight-year-olds jump on the couch and pretend to duel it out to the death.” The left corner of his lip curls upward and my heart skips a beat.

  I just start to open my mouth, ready to politely decline, when he interrupts. “Please. I’ve got plenty, and this way you don’t have to cook anything. Plus, you’d be doing me a favor, actually, because your dying skills are far superior to my own and it would make their evening to be able to slice and dice you, piece by piece.”

  My eyebrow shoots into my hairline. “That might be the worst dinner invitation I’ve ever received,” I quip.

  “I aim to please, Lexi. Come on,” he says, nodding towards his open doorway.

  As if my leg
s had minds of their own, I follow behind him as he steps through the opening, holding the door until I pass, and securing it tightly behind me. Stepping into his place, I notice that the layout is identical to mine. The furniture is older, worn, and mismatched and the floor littered with toys and Nerf bullets.

  “Knuckleheads, the pizza’s here,” Linkin says, setting the pizza boxes down on the counter. Two heads fly by me at Mach 10 and dive in to the two pizzas as if they haven’t seen food in days.

  “Hungry?” I say aloud to no one in particular.

  “Mom said she fed them before I picked them up. They’re like human garbage disposals. They eat nonstop,” Linkin says as he places plates in front of them to place their food on, instead of in their hands. My stomach growls again as Linkin hands me a plate of my own. “Eat up before the twins take all the food.”

  Stealing two slices of pepperoni, I slowly make my way into the living room. The boys are eating at the coffee table, swords lying on the carpet beside them, and their eyes are glued to the screen. As soon as I take a seat on the couch, one of them notices my presence and moves to join me on the couch.

  “What are you doing?” Linkin asks when he comes into the living room, sitting on the chair. He’s so big that the chair is child sized in comparison to his large frame.

  “Sittin’ by the pretty lady,” the boy says with a shrug.

  “That’s Jack. You gotta watch him. He’s the charmer,” Linkin says with humor and fondness laced in his eyes.

  “Do you like The Gladiator?” the boy I now know as Jack asks.

  “It’s okay,” I answer before taking a bite of pizza.

  “It’s the best,” he says, shaking his head and leaning towards me. “If you get scared, you can hold my hand.” He’s so serious that I can’t help but smile.

  “I’ll keep that in mind.” My smile is genuine and my body is relaxing for the first time in I don’t even know how long.

  “Keep your hands to yourself,” Linkin reminds his little brother.

  “Whatever, man. If I kiss her first, she’s mine. You snooze, you lose.” Jack’s eyes are burning into his older brother’s, but I can see the laughter in Linkin’s. He’s trying not to smile as he stares down his little eight-year-old brother.

  “Noted,” Linkin replies, shoving a piece of pizza into his mouth. As he slowly chews, that smirk that I’m becoming quite fond of, is still plastered on his face. He throws me a wink before turning his attention towards the television.

  After, when there’s nothing left of the pizzas but crumbs and the movie is nearing the dramatic ending, both boys are showing no signs of slowing down. They’re acting out the movie, scene by scene, as they gear up for the big finale. Someone’s going to die; I just can’t decide which one of them will fall under the other’s big plastic sword.

  That’s when they make their move.

  Both boys attack their older brother sitting in the chair. Jeff, in the blue shirt, jumps on the back of the chair to cover his arms, while Jack works to secure Linkin’s legs. The noise reaches deafening levels as the boys screech and wail with each thrust of their swords and grab with their hands. I’m laughing as Linkin pretends to be overtaken by the hellions, but it’s clear that he’s just playing along for their sake.

  “Pretty lady, help us! We can beat him and take over the castle. Then we’ll order pizza every night!” Jack yells.

  “And ice cream!” Jeff adds.

  Unable to keep myself on the couch, I move to the chair where the boys are attacking their older brother. Seeing a window of opportunity where they have Link’s arms and legs occupied, I dive into his ribs, digging in and giving him a full force tickle. His eyes widen as he squirms beneath us. The boys laugh as they watch him wiggle, my fingers refusing to lighten up their assault.

  Suddenly, he moves. With two boys attached to him, he gets up and sets them down on the ground. Then he starts to tickle. They scream in protest, begging for mercy, for him to stop. When he concedes to let them breathe, I feel the air in the room shift. Then, just as quickly as he stood, I’m sprawled out on the carpet, Linkin’s body pressed firmly over mine. My eyes must widen bigger than the plate we just ate dinner off of, and it isn’t until his small smile turns into a big wolfish one, that I realize what’s about to happen.

  “No, no, no,” I beg just before his hands wrap around my ribs and he starts to tickle. “Oh my God!” I squeal, wiggling and gasping for air. The boys both jump up and down, cheering and encouraging their big brother.

  When I’m two seconds away from peeing my pants (yeah, wouldn’t that be awesome), Linkin lets up on his wicked assault. It’s then, panting and gasping for breath, that I realize he’s practically laying on top of me, one of his hands pinning both of mine above my head, and my legs wrapped around his waist.

  How in the hell did that happen? Bad legs!

  “You asked for it,” he quips, most likely referring to the tickling. Yet, my mind is focused on the erection he’s pressing into the V of my legs, and all I can think now is that yes, I’m asking for it.

  Begging, actually.

  “Did not,” I retort, lifting my chin.

  “You did. It’s in your eyes.” I’m suddenly wondering if we’re actually talking about the same thing.

  “I should go. The boys probably need to get ready for bed,” I tell him, neither of us moving. Not that I could move anyway. I’m still pinned beneath two hundred pounds of solid muscle.

  “They do,” he replies, seemingly reluctant to move.

  “If you kiss her first, you get to keep her,” Jeff says, bending down and getting right in our faces.

  “Dang it!” Jack pouts, making both Linkin and I laugh.

  Linkin’s face moves closer, his breath fanning across my forehead. “What are you doing?” I whisper, conflicted between wanting him to kiss me and knowing that he shouldn’t.

  “He said I get to keep you if I kiss you first. I can’t let my little eight-year-old brother win, now can I?” he whispers. My body sparks to life and burns with a fierce need that seems to be associated with only him.

  “Is that a good idea?” I ask aloud. I’m not really sure if I’m asking him or myself.

  “It’s the best idea in the history of all ideas, Lexi. But when I kiss you, there won’t be an audience. There won’t be anything holding me back from taking what I want.”

  “What do you want?”

  “You.” That one word sends shivers up and down my spine. His conviction is written plainly in the depths of his dark chocolate eyes.

  He blinks before offering me a small smile. Then places a tender kiss in the middle of my forehead.

  “There! Now she’s yours!” Jeff declares to his brother with a pat on the back.

  And I’m afraid he might not be that far off base. There’s something pulling me, some invisible force that’s drawing me towards the man I’m still wrapped around like a cat climbing a tree.

  It’s something that I’ll continue to think about as I head back to my lonely apartment, crawl into my cold bed, and dream about the way those brown orbs looked down at me, seemingly undressing me with his eyes and ravishing me alive. Oh, there’ll be no sleeping tonight. Not with dreams of a certain neighbor who makes me feel more alive than I’ve ever felt before.

  Chapter Six

  Linkin

  Thanksgiving came and went in a flurry of food and work. Mom was called in to work extra shifts in light of the influx of people back in Jupiter Bay for the holiday. She was more than willing to grab the extra shifts, which translates into extra cash in her pocket. There’s no way I could begrudge her that, considering she’s still working her ass off to dig her family out of the hole he created.

  He would be my asshole former stepfather.

  I picked up extra shifts, too, in the evenings. The night before Thanksgiving is what is known as Black Wednesday, where all of the locals hit the bars and tie one on, making sure they’re hungover
and miserable when they stuff their bellies with food on Thanksgiving.

  Mom worked Thanksgiving at the Café. The knuckleheads and I spend time watching football before heading up there at lunch for their traditional Turkey Day feast. Then, when she got off at four, I had a small roast with potatoes in the oven already cooking for dinner. The last thing I wanted was for her to have to come home and cook a big meal after serving them all day.

  Friday night was packed at Lucky’s. We had the local band that Levi plays in, and the bar was wall-to-wall with partiers. It was a damn good tip night for me, which I tucked away in the coffee can in my kitchen cabinet with the rest of my extra cash. I’m close to hitting my next goal, and can’t wait to see another payment done and fucking gone.

  Tonight, however, was a different story at the bar. The Beaver hosted their annual Thanksgiving bash. Where we were busting at the seams last night, we were practically dead tonight. Hell, even the few regulars only stopped by for one, before heading over to The Beaver.

  Bossman ended up letting me go at eight, which sucks balls, but there was no point in me hanging around and competing for what very little tips were being offered by the two men left at the bar.

  That brings me to now.

  I’ve heard doors opening and closing for the last thirty minutes, and I’m wondering if there’s a party somewhere on my floor. Hell, maybe I should crash it. Might be a good night to go out and make the acquaintance of the female variety. It’s been a while since I’ve spent the night with a woman, and I’m definitely feeling the need to scratch that particular itch.

  But my mind only pictures one woman.

  My body responds anytime she’s near, and over the last few weeks, my need for her has only increased. That night she ate pizza with us and I ended up nestled snuggly between her thighs? Had to jack off twice that night just to get any sleep. And that was with my brothers sleeping in their room across the hall, so that’s telling right there just how deep she’s wormed her way into my mind…and my pants.