Just Her Luck (20 page)

Age doesn't mean shit to me, but fuck if I'm going to act like it doesn't now- the bastard.

Let him think whatever he fucking wants!

I don't need him.

Well, didn't that just douse over me like a cup of cold water
, I thought bitterly, letting his comments soak into my addled brain.

I snapped out of it and firmed my resolve, walking resolutely to the table.

Screw him!

No, wait...
I'll
never
screw him again!

I took Ephraim's seat, sitting down before anyone got there, helping myself to the food, opting not to sit next to Reeve,
the asshole
, Harrison.

"Hey, girly," Bowen greeted warmly, walking in to take his seat. "You missed a hell of a night. They had a live band and everything."

"That's awesome," I answered, smiling at him, "I should have gone with you. My night was a total bust. Not worth it at all.
Limp
as a noodle." I gave him a big, innocent smile, watching through my peripheral vision as Reeve turned red.

Ha! Asshole! Take that!

Yeah, buddy, I said it!

Watcha gonna do?

Thatcher and Sawyer both came in and made a beeline for the table.

I had to rethink the logic in taking Ephraim's seat as Sawyer plopped down next to me.

Oh, boy...

Not quite ready to face him yet.

I was so focused on
not
sitting with Reeve that I forgot all about Sawyer.

Who thought having a huge round dinner table was a good idea, anyways?

What are they? The cowboys of Camelot?

"Genevieve," Sawyer started, glancing over at me, watching me earnestly.

I had to fight the compulsion to scoot away from him, squirming under the depth of his sincerity.

I thought he regretted yesterday?

Why is he looking at me like that, though, if he does?

And why do I feel so damn guilty about it now?

Don't ask stupid questions, Vieve,
I argued with myself,
you guys sucked face in the pond and then you went and screwed his brother!

"I need you to help me out today, Sawyer," Reeve cut in, eyeing us.

I rolled my eyes.

He probably thinks I'm going to break his poor bubby or something, ravish him now too.

I glanced over at him and saw him frowning something fierce at his younger brother.

"Okay," Sawyer replied easily enough, offering me one of the dishes they were passing around, making sure his fingers grazed mine.

I pulled mine back quickly, acting like it hadn't happened.

"I need to talk to you," Sawyer whispered when he thought no one was looking.

"There's nothing to talk about," I whispered right back, noticing Thatcher was giving me the evil eye. "You said your piece yesterday. I'm fine. You're fine. Let's just drop it."

"But I didn't..." he trailed off when he realized he was drawing attention to us.

Thatcher continued to stare at me, and I glared right back, waiting until he looked away before I continued filling my plate.

What is Thatcher's problem?

He shouldn't be the mad one! If anyone should be mad
, I thought self-righteously,
it should be me!

Ephraim walked in and almost sat in my lap, not paying any attention as he pulled his chair out.

"Oh, sorry, Genny." he apologized, scratching his head in confusion. "When did we switch seats? I've always sat here."

I thought about what I should say, trying to find a way out of this.

"I don't want to sit next to Reeve," I stated bluntly, "He can barely stand me, he says, and quite frankly, I'm not all that fond of him either. He's so...
crotchety,"
I wrinkled my nose in distaste, "so...
old."

I looked directly at him as I said the last part, daring him to argue.

"Now, wait just a damn minute!" Reeve tried to cut in, face turning bright red again.

I hid my grin over the rim of my cup of mint tea, sipping it as I looked at him steadily.

"Oh, uh," Ephraim muttered uncertainly, frowning at me slightly.

"Can I have your seat, please?" I used my sweetest tone, looking up at him pleadingly, widening my eyes and going for a hopeful expression.

Bowen chuckled quietly next to Sawyer, while Sawyer coughed to cover his own up.

I swear, Bowen always knows what I'm up to, even before I do.

"I am not old! I'm thirty seven!" Reeve snapped, running a hand through his short dark locks, fingers unerringly touching the gray streaked at the temples, his face turning pink, yet again, once he realized what he was doing.

Thatcher snickered and Sawyer grinned.

Bowen just smirked.

Ephraim gave Reeve a long look, then looked back at me and shrugged.

"Sure, I don't mind. Did you happen to save me a plate?" he said easily.

"Of course." I grinned, hopping up, then went to go retrieve his plate, smiling smugly when my back was turned away from everyone else.

Simply Unavoidable

A week passed and I managed to dodge Sawyer trying to corner me so we could 'talk'.

I really don't want to have that particular conversation with him, having to listen to him list all the reasons why he shouldn't have done what he did or whatever nonsense he's convinced himself I need to hear.

He's the resident 'fixer' of the group. He must feel like he needs to fix this,
whatever between us,
whether that's really wise or not.

Of which it isn't, if you ask me.

I say leave it be.

If he was smart, he'd just drop the whole thing and it would be totally fixed, problem solved.

I know I'd be happy.

But noooo, he just keeps going, and I can feel myself tensing up whenever he's in the room now, making sure all my excuses are at the ready, never by myself with him alone, just in case he wants to have a little impromptu therapy session.

Talk about our,
shudder,
feelings.

Thatcher, in other news, still isn't talking to me.

Which is kind of weird because I'd gotten so used to his incessant chatter.

I almost miss his freaky pet names and roguish smiles.

Maybe I was a little hasty in telling him I hate him,
I reflected, running things over in my head as I worked away at the desk in my room on my laptop.

Reeve and I have continued our pre-sex hate relationship, tricks and nasty comments abounding, but nothing over the top, as we maneuver around one another.

The only thing new on the Reeve front is that we're both, more or less, actively avoiding each other as of late.

It's actually almost civil, our mini 'I don't like you anymore' war.

As far as my auntie goes, I'm supposed to be taking Ruthie to some sort of shindig tomorrow evening, where I plan to woo her into letting me accompany her on any further heart related outings, using force if necessary.

That
, I thought, mentally taking a breath,
is my life at the moment, in a nutshell.

The house phone rang and I got up to get it, making my way to the kitchen.

Yes, yes, they have a house phone in the kitchen now.

I had demanded one after the whole Reeve thing that one rainy night.

Oh, of all the possible introductions, that was ours.

I didn't make it to the phone in time, but the answering machine kicked on, buying me a few more precious seconds if the caller tried to leave a message.

"Hello! Hellooooo! Vieve! Dear heart! Pick up!"

"Hello! Aunt Ruthie?" I answered, picking it up and clicking off the machine as I rushed to it.

"Oh, there you are!" Ruthie said happily. "I have wonderful news!"

"You do?" I asked excitedly, holding my breath.

"Oh, yes," she tittered, "I've decided to cancel tomorrow."

"Uhm, oh, okay..." My bubble popped.

Needless to say, I let the breath I'd been holding out.

Not the good kind of news I was hoping for, but okay.

"We're going to a wedding! Tonight! Instead!"

"We're what!" I shouted, lowering my voice when Bowen walked into the room, looking up at me sharply from the papers he was reading over.

"Ruthie, I don't want to..."

"It will be wonderful, dear heart. You'll see!"

"I don't have anything to..."

"Pick me up from Barry's at five. I have the directions all written down. I'll see you then, hun. Bub-bye!"

She hung up quickly, and I clenched my teeth, gripping the receiver in a death grip.

I eventually released it and set it back in its cradle, blowing out a heavy breath.

"Bad news?" Bowen asked concernedly, watching me.

I shrugged noncommittally.

"Oh, you know...
the usual."

"That bad, huh?" he chuckled, smiling crookedly, his glasses perched precariously on the bridge of his nose.

"For me, yes," I sighed, grimacing.

"You're a tough cookie, girly," he grinned at me, "You can handle it."

I laughed and waved him off, heading down the hall, dragging my feet all the way to my room.

On the plus side though, I can work on Ruthie,
I pepped myself.

I really need to figure out what the hell is going on with that woman and this
could
be the perfect opportunity.

Maybe Calvin was right after all and the wrinkles really do mess with their brains...

I snickered at that and walked over to the closet.

What to wear… what to wear?

I'd made a trip home the other day, finishing up more work, and I’d luckily had the forethought to make sure I brought more of my own things over.

Tonight I'm going to confront Ruthie
, I decided firmly,
get down to the bottom of all this!

If I don't, at the rate we're going, that woman is going to give me an ulcer!

There was a light knock at my door and I walked over and answered it, surprised to find Thatcher standing there.

"I don't like being mad at you anymore," he deadpanned.

"Oh," I said lightly, raising a brow at him, arms crossing loosely over my chest.

He cleared his throat awkwardly and fidgeted a little.

"So, I've graciously decided to let bygones be bygones. I forgive you." He stood there, hands behind his back as he waited for my response.

I snorted and slammed my door in his face, walking back over to my closet.

He sighed heavily from the other side of the door as I heard the slow creak as he tried to turn the knob.

Good thing I locked it
, I thought, smirking, hurrying to my bathroom, chuckling when he huffed indignantly from the other side.

Cluck! Cluck! Virginity

"Our seats are over here! Let's go!" Ruthie urged, tugging me along as she dragged me to our table.

"You're still avoiding the question, Auntie," I grumbled, trying to keep up in my high heels.

"Here we are!" she tittered, ignoring me once again.

I could feel my eye twitching as I counted backwards in my head, hoping it would help keep my skull from exploding.

"I would have worn flats if I knew you were going to lug me around like a little pet Chihuahua all night."

"You wait right here,” she purposely ignored me, giving my arm a quick pat, “I need to go use the little girl's room.” Happy as a clam, she chuckled and winked at me before hurrying off.

"Ugh!" I grunted and slouched down in the little white fold up chair, glaring at the name plates that said 'Ferguson' and 'Guest'.

"Well, fancy seein' you here," Ten or Percy-
or whomever he is-
said, taking a seat next to me.

"I can't be friends with you," I informed him, "You cavort with the enemy."

I sat up ramrod straight in my seat, turning my body slightly away from him.

"Oh," he chuckled, thoroughly amused, "is that so?"

"Yes," I responded priggishly, "You're either with me or against me."

"Can I switch sides for tonight?" He laughed, smiling at me, white teeth gleaming in his dark, deeply tanned face.

"A turncoat, eh?" I whispered in co-conspiratorship, shifting to lean towards him, "What the heck." Reaching out, I shook his proffered hand. "At least you’re honest."