Six Months Later – Abby #2
He folds his thick, muscular arms over his chest and cocks his head. His charcoal-colored hair is slicked back, not a single piece of it hanging over his black eyes as he gives the other man the worst death glare he can muster. “What? Say it. Go on, say it.”
“If you don’t know that Chinese and Thai are two separate things, then you are an uncultured swine.” Hawthorne shrugs, not backing down under the annoyance of the other.
Before anyone can say anything else, I raise a hand and say, “Do I get a vote in this?”
Royal turns his black stare on me. “Sure. Thai or no Thai?”
What I say next I declare as boldly and proudly as any sane person would, given the argument before them: “Anywhere that has chicken nuggets.” Behind me, Ezra chuckles, but Royal and Hawthorne are not nearly as enthused.
Royal, in fact, mutters, “That wasn’t an option, but, just to wiggle that stick up Hawthorne’s ass, I say chicken nuggets, too. What about you, Ezra? You in the mood for some chicken nuggies?”
“I could eat some, yeah,” the man behind me says, “although I would prefer you never call them that ever again. It’s not cute when you do it.”
Acting hurt, Royal places a hand over his heart and says, “Fucking ouch, man.”
Hawthorne heaves a worldly sigh and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Fine. We’ll get fast food like we do nearly every Friday.”
“We don’t get fast food every Friday,” I say. “Last week we got Chinese.” As I say it, I let my lips tug into a grin. The expression on Hawthorne’s face makes it even better. He is so fed up with all of us, it’s hilarious.
“Yes,” Hawthorne says. “Here I thought that meant our horizons were widening. Apparently I was wrong. Now, the question remains: which fast food place are we ordering from? Is there a particular kind of nugget you have your heart set on, Abby?” Though he asks it with a voice dripping sarcasm, he’s also one hundred percent serious.
He might run the jobs, be the middle man between us and the Benefactor, but the rest of this house? I’m in charge. None of the guys will argue about that.
We end up getting food from the Old Faithful of fast food joints, the one that has the best nuggets and fries, provided they’re nice and salty. Smother those bad boys in ketchup and you have a recipe for a yummy if not super-duper fattening dinner.
Ezra picks what we watch that night. We upgraded the couch to a sectional whose ottoman can pull in and make the couch one giant square. It’s enough room for all of us, although it’s always a fight over who gets to sit next to me and who’s on the outer edge.
Makes a girl feel wanted, you know?
With my feet kicked up, my belly full, and my three guys all around me, I can honestly say this is the life. This is the life I never thought I’d have, a life I’d never give up for anything. The men on this couch are my whole world.
Royal sits on the far end of the couch, having lost tonight’s battle over sitting on either side of me. He’s also checked out of the movie, made evident by his sudden, random question, “You guys think other teams would find a girl and bring her in if they knew the Benefactor would let them?”
“I don’t know,” Hawthorne says.
The question makes my mind spin, and I have to ask, “Have you guys ever met any of the others? Like, face to face? I know the cleaning crew is always nearby after a job, but have you ever met them?”
“Nope,” Ezra says.
“We are separate for a reason,” Hawthorne tells me. “It’s not a good idea for any of us to know much about the others. Helps protect everyone involved.”
“What about joining the team? Or making a whole new one? Is the Benefactor always on the lookout for more?” Now that Royal asked, he’s got my mind turning, the wheels in my head spinning out of control.
I try not to think too much about the Benefactor, since Hawthorne doesn’t know much, but sometimes I let my curiosity get the better of me.
This man-slash-woman is super mysterious. I can’t help but wonder if I’ll ever meet them.
Hawthorne shrugs. “I wish I had the answers to all of your questions, but unfortunately, I don’t.
You’ll have to make something up to satisfy yourself.
” He seems to realize right then that his choice of words was poor, and even though it’s relatively dark in the room, save for the light emanating from the TV across from us, I can see him blushing.
For once, I choose to ignore his blushing, instead saying, “Well, if the other teams are full of men like you, I hope they do stumble upon their own happily ever after. Even people with killer souls like us deserve some happiness.” As I say it, Ezra sets a hand on my knee, and Hawthorne stops blushing and gives me a gentle smile.
And Royal? Royal is Royal, and he deadpans, “There ain’t no man like me, that’s a fucking promise, killer.”
I chuckle, but I don’t argue with him. I can’t. He’s not wrong. Oh, no, he’s not wrong at all. There isn’t anyone like him out there, just like there isn’t anyone like Ezra and Hawthorne. No one like me. We are all unique puzzle pieces, and together the picture we create is amazing.
Bloody, yes. Killer? Abso-fucking-lutely. But still amazing.
Here’s to all of the years to come.