Just Her Luck (14 page)

"I didn't do it." I shrugged, giving him an innocent expression. "He tripped
himself
."

He stroked his facial hair, eyeing me thoughtfully as he fought a smile.

"Is that so?" His lips tipped up and he quirked a brow at me.

I wiggled mine back.

"It is so, so!" I shot back.

He burst out laughing, eyes twinkling down at me as he ran his fingers into the water and then flicked them at me.

I tried to put my hands up and ward him off, but was unsuccessful, pond water wetting my face and neck.

"Oh, yuck. Watch it, goat boy. I'm like a cat. Unless I'm bathing, I don't like water."

Grimacing, I flicked water back at him, making sure I aimed for the crotch of his pants.

"Hey, what are you doing?" he laughed, cupping himself over his jeans, trying to swipe it off as he batted my hands away.

"Making it look like you pissed yourself," I said honestly, smiling widely.

"Oh, is that so?" He snorted, shaking his head at me.

"Yes," I murmured dryly, "That
is
so. Didn't we just do this? The 'so, so' thing?"

"I've never met anyone like you," he admitted after a small pause, giving up on wiping his pants off to glance out over the water.

"I yam, who I yam," I joked, elbowing him.

I smiled and teased on the outside, but his admission caused a small flicker of unease within me.

Sawyer snorted as I attempted a second elbowing, the first one a sadly pathetic attempt on my part.

My second well-placed ribbing didn't do much to his oversized frame, just made him move a tiny bit, like a baby nudge.

It’s no use, the man’s a muscled lump.

A very big, blonde muscled lump.

He just smiled and shrugged as I gave up.

We sat there in companionable silence for a while, listening to the birds chirp and the bugs whiz by, fish making little ‘glop glop’ noises every so often as they poppped to the surface.

It was kind of nice.

Here we are, two people just enjoying the sunny day, feet dangling carelessly in a man-made pool of mysteriously murky water.

Note that I said 'kinda'.

Not too sure how I feel about the dirty water, but the rest is pretty sweet.

"Do you wanna talk about it?" he asked quietly, playing with a thin blade of green grass.

"About yams? Sure, why not," I shrugged, playing dumb, "always was partial to sweet potatoes myself."

He laughed, but gave me a look, letting me know that
he
knew that
I
knew what he meant.

"Don't hate, yams are delicious!" I huffed, affronted.

He ran his tongue along the inside of his cheek as he watched me, letting it poke out the skin along the side.

"You know what I mean, Vieve."

"No, I don't." I shifted slightly, distancing myself, staring off over the water.

"No, you don't want to talk about it? Or no, I'm still playing dumb?" he asked carefully.

"The first one." I leaned back on my elbows, letting the cool grass graze my skin, prickly yet soft underneath my fingertips.

"It might help if you did," he said lightly, tone belying his obstinate badgering.

"You're like a dog with a bone, aren't you," I muttered, plucking some grass up to toss it at him.

I didn’t like it, worried he might pick and prod it out of me.

And how does he know I need to talk?

What is he, psychic?

He leaned back on his elbows too, then rolled over onto his stomach until we were hip to hip, arms braced out in front of him.

"Ahwooooo!" he howled, throwing his head back and doing a perfect imitation of a coyote.

“Sawyer?” I gaped at him for a minute until amusement won out.

“What the hell are you doing?” I chuckled.

He paid me no mind.

And then it clicked.

Oh, good god.

I slapped my forehead and rolled my eyes.

I did say dog with a bone, but this wasn’t at all what I’d had in mind or what I’d meant.

“Sawyer. Sawyer? Sawyer! I get it, dude. Knock it off.” My voice was starting to crack as he ignored me in favor of his new calling.

I nudged him.

“Sawyer, you’ve made your point.”

Undeterred, he kept it up until I shoved him away and slapped my hand over his mouth.

"Stop! Stop!" I laughed, "I get it, alright! Enough!"

He grinned into my hand and paused.

"Does this mean you're gonna talk?" he ventured, voice muffled into my hand.

"No," I grinned, despite my annoyance, "Nice try, though."

"And why not?" he asked curiously, hearing the hesitancy in my voice.

I really wanna talk to someone right now, need to even, but can I trust him?

How do I know he's not the fink who's been ratting to Ruthie?

I must have hesitated too long, and he took that as me being willful, so he just started howling again, my hand muffling it.

"I don't know if I should trust you!" I finally admitted, shouting over the yowling ruckus.

He stopped and pulled my hand away, his keen eyes taking me in and scrutinizing me carefully.

"Hey, what's keeping you back? I know we don't know each other all that well, but I'd hope you'd know me well enough by now to know you can talk to me."

"That's just it," I sighed heavily, "I
know
that one of you is reporting to Ruthie. How can I talk to you if I don't know if you'll go and tell her?"

"So... this is about Ruthie, then?" he guessed.

Damn me and my fat mouth.

Damn. Damn. Damn.

Lips pursing as I snapped my mouth shut, I gave him a dark look.

His prying and my lack of filter made me mad.

The look on his face as I glared at him said he knew
exactly
what he’d just done.

He’d done it on purpose.

Which now made me feel stupid on top of everything else.

The jerk, he tricked it out of me.

My ire kicked up a notch.

"Why am I even wasting my breath?" I grumbled, hopping up to leave. "It probably
is
you. Or if I
do
talk to you, you'll just go and tell her anyways, try to 'fix' everything. 'Help'," I snickered sardonically.

"I don't do that!"

The second he said it, I know he saw my apt comparison, his expression quickly shifting.

I may not have been here for very long, but he's very easy to read, and I think he's just now realizing that.

A fact I used to my advantage, knowing him so well, irritating him so he’d back off.

"Butting in where you don't belong, making it even worse,” I went on, talking over him, grunting when he lunged at me, pulling me down with one good tug on my leg.

Okay-didn’t see that one coming.

Oomph.

"Where do you get off telling me what I do and don't do? Who I am and am not, and what I will and won't do?" His voice was clipped and deep, his much larger body towering over mine, arms braced on either side of my head as I lay huddled down in a particularly damp patch of ground, blinking up at him.

Big brown eyes flashed, shrewd and discerning as he glowered down at me, his thick full lips a firm, thin line.

He. Is.
Huge
, was my only thought for a solid minute as he rumbled on top of me.

I finally recovered, crossing my arms over my chest and glaring up at him stubbornly- the queen of belligerence.

Or maybe the pugnacious…

Either way, both titles fit.

Lifting my torso a little, ignoring the slimy feeling underneath me
- squish, yuck, ew-
as well as how uncomfortable his close proximity in this particular position made me, I let him think he wasn’t intimidating in the least, lifting my chin defiantly and staring him straight in the face.

"First off, don't pretend you aren't the resident 'fixer' in this house,” I air quoted, “Always trying to keep everything
copasetic
. I wouldn't put it past you to try and mend fences that shouldn't be messed with, against better judgment- all on your own. I bet you've even stirred the pot unintentionally a few times because of it.”

He scoffed in response but it was weak, terribly weak.

Good. He’s breaking.

Then maybe he’ll roll the hell off of me and be on his merry way.

“Hey,”
I mocked, imitating him,
"Can't we all just get along? Let's talk about this. No need to fight, guys. Love, peace and chicken grease."
I gave a goofy face and threw him a peace sign, anticipating his response.

It didn't take long.

"I don't sound like that!"

His face said 'I'm offended', but his voice was filled with laughter as he tried to huff at me.

"Mmm, hmmm," I argued, nodding my head, trying to keep my glare firmly in place.

It was harder than I thought, since this was all actually kinda funny.

Oh, how odd we must look.

Shoot.
I lost my train of thought, watching Sawyer’s frown waging a dying war with his twitching lips, losing quite horribly, completely fascinated by the sight.

Handsomely horribly losing it.

What was I mad about, again?
I thought, fighting a giggle when our eyes met and he pinched his lips shut to keep from flat out laughing.

They still kicked up at the corners, despite his will to smush them back into submission.

I felt my own smile slipping out a little and I mentally slapped myself for my lack of self-control.

Sucking my cheek between my teeth, I bit at it to quell the urge, clearing the laughter caught in my throat.

It's kind of hard though, when he does the whole angry little boy act.

Pinched face, eyes squinting, fidgeting awkwardly.

I peeked up at him from beneath my lashes, knowing I’d crack up if I stared at his face too long.

Yep, just as I said- adorable.

There's something about it that I find strangely endearing.

All he needs to do now is shake his shaggy blonde mane vigorously and call out 'nuh-uh!' then the look would be complete.

"Okay, maybe a little," he grudgingly agreed, looking slightly sheepish. "I might like to, uh, help fix things with people… But none of that chicken grease crap! You just made that up!"

"So what if I did?" I haughtily retorted, squashing my hand up between us to stare at my outstretched nails interestedly.

Humming a little, like I didn’t have a hunk of man meat hovering over me, I buffed my nails on his shirt and brought them closer to my face.

“Huh,” I murmured, fingering a chipped nail and running my tongue absently over my teeth, “must have missed one.”

"You're a brat, did you know that?" he muttered, raising a brow at me.

I feigned a yawn.

"Boring! Tell me something I don't know."

I motioned for him to get up, but he kept his spot, cocking his head as he stared down at me.

I resisted the urge to shrink underneath his intense scrutiny, feigning complete disinterest.

Guys hate that, right?

Right…?

All I heard in answer to my own internal musings was crickets.

Crap.

I am not a weenie. He doesn’t bother me in the least. Nope. And I am not a weenie.

Did I mention to myself I’m not a weenie?

God, I hope so.

Now I just gotta say that like fifty billion more times and it’ll be all good.

"Thatcher talks in his sleep," Sawyer said abruptly.

Crazy blonde man on top of me says whuh?

"Huh?"

"Thatcher talks in his sleep," he repeated, smug in the face of my confusion.

"And you think
I'm
the one who needs to talk?
You're
the one blabbing weird crap about relatives.” Snorting, I scoffed, “Geesh, I'm glad I didn't confide in you after all."

He burst out laughing and hopped up, holding out a hand to me.

"You said to tell you something you don't already know,” he replied smartly, “I did."

He gave me a cheeky grin, and I rolled my eyes at him.

Chuckling at me, he winked.

Grumbling under my breath, I smirked and took his proffered hand.

Watching him warily, I let him help me up and dusted off my pants, wondering how many washes it would take to get all this stuff out.