There were a bunch of dudes in my seat when I came back from the restroom.
And I mean BIG dudes.
They looked slightly hilarious, all crammed into the booth and trying to accommodate themselves to the dingy, off blue coloured, plastic chairs that they had pulled over in an attempt to fit more of them around the tiny table. The sight would have been even funnier, if not for the fact that my bag, with all the belongings I owned in the world, was jammed against the window on the inside of the booth. A girl leaves for a few minutes to make sure she doesn't completely look like death, and someone steals her seat.
Chivalry must be dead in this beat up old town.
Deciding that I really needed my belongings, and the bottle of vodka that had been calling my name all morning, I made my way back to my seat and lone cup of half-drained, cold coffee that was still on the table. Their voices were almost deafening; all talking over one another as if they were afraid they would be lost or forgotten if they didn't speak as loudly as possible. My hands were beginning to shake with withdrawals, otherwise I would have found some way to occupy myself rather than confront the group of giants.
And they were giants.
They were all easily above six feet tall and covered in muscles. I could pick out a gang a mile away and, if I had bene planning on staying in this dingy place rather than just passing through, I would be making nice rather than preparing myself to tell them off. They were obviously gym rats, probably lived for lifting weights and intimidating anyone who was less fortunate and anatomically gifted than they clearly were. I doubt anyone else would even attempt to take these streets over this bunch. Well, street. It was actually amusing to think that a place this small would have such an impressive gang; they would do so much better in Detroit or Philly. Instead they were held up here, surrounded by trees and rain and all other kinds of natural bullshit.
"Yo," I greeted, approaching the table and trying to raise my voice loud enough to be heard over their chatter. One or two noticed me and I chose the less confused looking one to communicate with. "Mind passing a gal her shit before you pee all over it to mark your territory."
That sure got their attention as the chatter died down and I was met with blank faces and slightly hostile glares. I suddenly felt self-conscious of my matted hair and I probably stank; I hadn't managed to grab a shower in a while and I'm sure my jacket smelt like the sole of a hoe's shoe. Nevertheless, I needed my god damn bag.
"I was sitting here, you know," I supplied, when no one seemed to move towards passing me out my belongings. I suddenly felt very small, but knew from experience that you can't let them see your fear. You gotta have an attitude in this big bad world. "Unless the steroids have completely killed all four of your brain cells, think you could manage to locate and retrieve that black duffel?"
"And who the hell are you?" Was the answering growl from the guy on my right. It was a shame that most of these guys were pretty hot, which meant they would feel even more entitled to everything.
"Mary-fucking-Poppins," I responded, holding his gaze and crossing my arms. The shakes were really starting to get bad. "I just want my shit and then I'll be out of your hair."
That seemed to satisfy a few of them, and my bag was lifted out of it's hiding place and pushed along the table. The clang of a glass was obvious but none of them seemed to care. A few of them threw the bags looks, however, and I swear a handful of them actually sniffed the air like they were some kind of animal.
"I know a shrink," I responded, letting my mouth run away with me yet again as I reached across for my bag, twinging my shoulder slightly. "He's great for obsessions."
"Why would I need a shrink?" This was Mr Angry again, but by God, he had a beautiful voice. The kind that would make you pay double for whatever he was selling.
"For being a dick," I responded, struggling under the weight of my own bag. Damn, I had a lot of shit. "And for feeling the need to sniff people."
I was gone before I gave them a chance to respond, pushing my way out the glass door of the diner and deciding that the side of the carpark attached was private enough for a drink and a smoke. I should really only choose one or the other, but I was coming down hard from the night before, and that bus ride hadn't done me any favours. With a hit already rolled, my hands struggled for a second to uncap the bottle of vodka.
The burn was heaven. And the joint lit easily enough, despite the wind. Thankfully, it was a dry afternoon. Otherwise I'd be forced to drink in the rain. Not that I minded, by it would take my clothes ages to dry out again. The air was still damp though, and the smell clung around me thicker than I would like. I'd run out of my cheap ass perfume back in Seattle, so it was going to get harder to cover whatever stench would cling to me. Sometimes it was booze, sometimes it was drugs, sometimes it was bodily fluids. But usually the ninety-nine cents bottle of shit that I'd bought covered it enough that it wasn't too overwhelming. I'd have to try nick something soon if I wanted to be able to get onto the next bus. While I wasn't against pulling tricks for whatever I needed, I doubt I'd get enough out of this town for a bus fare and some perfume.
So engrossed in my own thoughts that I missed the bell ringing from the diner door, or the approaching footsteps. I was pulled from my financial thoughts when the joint was ripped from my hand. I almost dropped the bottle of clear liquid and it took me a second to realise what had happened. When it did hit me, I was on my feet in a second, glaring up at one of the seat stealing assholes.
"That's illegal," he growled, eyebrows pulled together in a frown.
I smirked in response, raising the bottle to my lips and downing another straight mouthful. It burned the whole way down, but the shakes had finally subsided. Most of the time I couldn't tell what I was withdrawing from, but vodka was usually the number one cure for all ailments. Plus, it was a great cleanser for any cuts, stab wounds, or broken skin prone to infection.
"And you just cost me a joint," I responded, my voice and stature far less intimidating than his. God damn steroid pushing gym rats. "So, you steal drugs as well as seats. I really gotta be part of your crew."
"Excuse me? You better watch your mouth," he took a step forward in what I assume was meant to be an intimidating move, but all it did was flare up the attraction I had felt earlier. Oooh, and angry sex was usually so much fun.
"Or what?" I asked, becoming a little more relaxed now that I realised he wasn't immediately prone to violence. Whether that lasted was another matter, but at least for now I felt relatively safe. "You gonna pop me in the mouth, big boy?"
"I could smell it from a mile away," he continued, ignoring my jab at him. To be fair, a barely five-foot-tall, less than one hundred pounds blonde with blood matting her hair and the beginning of dreadlocks caked to the back of her head was probably not the most intimidating thing ever. "We don't want the likes of you here."
"The likes of me?" I questioned, getting slightly ticked off now. Could he just chill for a second? "And what would I be exactly?"
"Trouble."
"Oooh, I'm getting excited now," I giggled, taking another swig but keeping my eyes on him. No sooner had the bottle left my lips than that too was taken from me. "Hey!"
"It's four o clock in the afternoon," Was the response, followed by the smash of glass as the bottle was hurled into the nearby trash can.
"That cost money, you dickhead," I screeched, starting to really get pissed. First, he ruins my buzz, and now he's after destroying a twenty-dollar bottle of vodka. Fair enough, I hadn't actually bought it, but by God I'd sucked some dick for it.
"You can thank me later," was his answer and a smug look on his face. I wanted to smack him so bad but knew that would probably result in nothing but a sore hand on my part.
"Listen," he continued, now looking slightly sheepish and running his hand through the back of his short hair. "I know a place if you want to clean up."
"Are you coming on to me?" I asked directly, my eyes narrowing slightly in suspicion. I mean, he did just destroy a perfectly good joint and a bottle of booze.
"What? No, I- "
"Cause I'm gonna need some green if you are," I continued, not specifying whether that green would be drugs or cash. I wasn't entirely picky at this point. "But I'm on the next long haul bus outta here."
"I was just offering a hot shower and maybe some food," He growled, his arms beginning to shake slightly. I braced myself for the beating I knew was to come. I really needed to stop running my mouth and learn to stay shut sometimes.
"Listen," I took a step back, though I was still within arms reach for a dude with impossibly long limbs. "I don't do charity, trades, or freebies."
"This isn't charity; I'm just offering you my place to clean up before you head on your way," he argued, though I was impressed by how he was managing to hold back his temper. I did love a hot head. "Besides, I have a thing for strays."
"Strays?" I tested, wondering where this sudden change of thought had come from. First, he was ragging on me about my activities like some old dad, and now he was offering me the chance to get naked at his place. Granted, it was in the shower, but it still counted as being naked.
"Just get in the truck," he growled, and turned on his heel, striding out into the parking lot at a speed I could never hope to reach.
Without a second thought, and not knowing when I might get my next offer of a shower, I grabbed my bag and followed him to the black pick up. It looked suspiciously second hand, but well looked after and, once I was comfortably seated on the passenger side, was greeted with the pleasant scent of woods and something that was specifically male. I was going to have a hard time keeping my hands to myself if his house smelt anything like his truck. The engine started surprisingly smoothly and we were pulling out of the parking lot a moment later, his hand relaxed on the steering wheel.
"So, where are you from?" He asked, tone casual but I could sense the curiosity there.
"Sorry buddy," I replied, leaning back against the door and turning to face him. "I don't do the whole 'tell me your life story deal'. My name is Annie, that's all you need to know."
"Annie?" He repeated, snorting in disbelief. Yeah, I didn't think I looked like an Annie, but it was an alias I hadn't used in a while and wanted to return to it, for nostalgic reasons.
"Yes, and? Are you making fun of my name hot shot?" I countered, managing to send a kick to his shin across the cab. He didn't even shift even though I landed a direct hit.
"Hot shot?" his laughter grew louder for a moment before his face grew serious again. It didn't suit him; he looked better when he was laughing. "My name's Paul, though I do like hot shot."
"Paulie it is then," I responded, raising my fists in front of my face. "You coulda been a contender!"
We traded increasingly peculiar movie references as we bundled along the road, laughing at one another's attempts of impressions. The time passed quickly, something that made me feel a little uneasy when I realised it. Paulie had a great sense of humour, and I knew that if this were a gang situation, he would most likely be the one I latched onto for my main sources. And I was probably treading on dangerous territory, knowing that he was an attractive man and, without all the blood and mess caked onto me, I was an attractive woman. It made sitting next to him slightly uncomfortable, though I knew how to play the game well and he never suspected a thing. That is until we pulled up to the beautiful house surrounded by woods and my mouth fell open.
It had been difficult to see it from the road, but we pulled up outside a quaint, red home. A porch wrapped around what looked like the entire perimeter of the house, and the windows were a dark wood, offset against the stark white, although weather-beaten, front door. It was cute in a way, though showed very little signs of a female touch; there was no blanket or matching cushions on the front swing, or flower pots on the window sills. The yard was well maintained but lacked the colour of flower beds. I was intrigued by the tire swing on the larger tree at the side of the house, but deduced that the kid, whoever it was, would definitely not be in the house. I've met some crazy people in my life, but none crazy enough to bring a stranger into a home with a child. Even some of the girls I picked up tricks with always dropped their kids off somewhere else before bringing anyone back.
"Nice place," I complimented, aware that Paulie's attention was now on me that the engine had stopped.
"Thanks, took a lot of work but I'm pretty proud," he replied, but I could tell that he was trying to hold back some of his pride. It made him less attractive in my opinion; I preferred the type of guy who knew what he had and wasn't afraid to show it. But, it was lucky he was such a looker. It made up for his bizarre personality.
"Wanna give me the grand tour?" I mocked, grabbing my bag and popping open the door of the truck. We met at the front by the hood, and I was aware that his stance had shifted. His shoulders were now raised, arms tight by his side. I guess he was nervous; probably worried that I'd rob him or something.
"Follow me," was his response and he took off towards the door, his large strides carrying him further than I could manage at a walking pace. But I took my time, assessing the house as we drew closer. While the tire swing still freaked me out a little, the silence in the house once we entered assured me that there were no children present.
"The shower is in the ensuite," he continued, bypassing most of the house in favour of showing me towards the bedroom. The front door opened onto a large space that I deduced was the living room. There was an archway on the opposite wall that seemed to lead into a kitchen. But we veered right, down a long hallway to the door at the end.
We entered into a large master bedroom that was decorated in cool shades of white and grey, with a large wooden bed that had a drift wood headboard. It was charming in a way; different from the metal cots that seemed to be the standard in most city apartments and motels. The window had been left open, and the smell of woods and oncoming rain drifted past the sheer curtains. It was strange, but the room was gorgeous and immensely calming. The furniture all looked old and slightly beaten, the wood all stained white. But, it was charming and the matress was immensely soft when I flopped back onto it, dropping my bag to the ground.
"Hey, I just changed the sheets," Paulie argued, his anger appearing again. "At least clean yourself up first."
"Fine," I responded, standing and reaching for the bottom of my top.
"At least wait until I'm gone!" Was his response as he rushed from the room, slamming the door behind him.
I giggled and continued to undress, leaving my clothing in a pile on the floor. The breeze chilled my skin slightly, causing goosebumps to raise. I crossed my arms over my chest and moved towards the set of drawers to raid them for clothing I could put on after my shower. Since he was obviously much larger than my small frame, I did with a long-sleeved, checked button-down shirt. I had clean underwear in my bag and grabbed those too.
The shower was maddening, with buttons and dials everywhere. But I managed to eventually get it working. The only towel was hanging on a metal rail behind the door. It probably belonged to Paulie, but beggers really can't be chosers. Although it had been confusing, the shower was well worth it, and the weight of the pounding water against my back was pleasantly relaxing. There were only two bottles on the shelf; a shampoo and bodywash. And even though I didn't fancy smelling like a dude for the next while, I really wanted to wash my hair. With a lather suffeciently created, the water ran pink intially from the dried blood in my hair. I was thankful that none of the blood had been mine, and it was soothing to work out the dirt and kinks in my hair. I would need to cut it soon; it was reaching the small of my back at this stage and was completely unrealistic and difficult to keep while on the road.
I probably stayed too long in the shower, the water losing some of it's previous heat. Deciding that an angry Paulie was not the best thing right now, I shut off the water and stepped out onto the surprisingly cold tiles. I could have cried with joy when I realised that the metal rail was heated though, and that the towel was thoroughly warm. It wrapped around my frame almost twice, and was so soothing I had to sit on the closed toilet seat and enjoy the heat for a while. My hair began to dry and kink, years of neglect tugging the once ringlet curls from the strands. Now, it was just a mess of waves and kinks when it dried. The fluffy bath mat beneath my feet was another welcomed luxury as I dropped my now cold towel and began to dress. The underwear was matching; an emergency pair that I left for when I was pulling tricks for potentially wealthy clients. It had lace and bows and everything a cute lingerie set should have. The burgundy colour, the colour of freshly spilled blood, I knew looked good against my pale skin. Paulie's shirt was, as I had expected, far too large and made it all the way to just above my knee. With a quick glance in the fogged mirror, I concluded that, while I still wasn't on the top of my game in terms of the looks department, the cute shirt look was a whole lot better than street-rat mess.
I left the towel on the rail, and kicked my abandoned clothes in the bedroom against my duffel bag. I wonder if Paulie's generosity would extend to allowing me wash and dry my belongings. All of my clothes really needed to get washed at some stage soon. Leaving the bedroom, although reluctantly since the warm, comfy bed was calling my name, I was immediately assaulted with the scent of something delicious cooking. Follow my nose, I found Paulie in the kitchen, flipping pancakes at the stove. He glanced at me when I entered, but his gaze returned and his eyes traced my figure as I leaned against the archway, crossing my arms underneath my chest.
"My, oh, my," I praised, my accent slowly slipping through with the familiar phrase. "You sure do know how to treat a girl."
"Blueberry pancakes," he explained, his eyes trailing deliciously from my legs to my face. His gaze sent shiver down my spin, his eyes almost like molten liquid. He was far too attractive for his own good, and I was probably getting myself way in over my head.
Nevertheless, I made my way towards the stove, eyes on the frying pan in mock curiosity. I couldn't give a damn about the pancakes right now. Heat radiated from him, and I wanted to press myself against him. I settled for barely touching his arm with mine, conscious of my own breathing that had become a little heavier. If he could sense my attraction, he didn't let on, and remained perfectly still. I could feel his gaze on my face as I glanced from the pancakes to him.
"Well, a girl's gotta eat," I responded.
He didn't have time to react before I smashed my mouth against his, the spatula clanging to the floor. It was a difficult feat; he was so much taller than me but I was glad he was a little accommodating, stooping low so I could reach him. Once I had wrapped my arms around his neck, kissing him for all I was worth, he picked me up like it was nothing and set me on the counter, settling between my legs. He broke the kiss for a second, and I opened my eyes to meet his.
My heart hammered against my chest, my skin alive and tingling with attraction. With my legs securely wrapped around his waist, he couldn't pull back very far, so his own heaving chest met my own with each breath we took. If I thought his eyes had been burning before, they were nothing to the pair that now stared at me. Now this, was an attraction. Pure, lust driven, wham-bam-thank you mam, attraction.
And boy was I in way over my head.
Hi there, and welcome to my new story.
While I'm not a Twilight fan per-say, I am very interested in the pack dynamic and really think it was the saving grace of the Twilight Saga novels. With this in mind, I really wanted to test my writing skills by writing stories involving the pack. For this particular story, the only connections that exist romantically within the pack are between Sam and Emily, and Jared and Kim. All other wolves are 'un-imprinted'.
For now, I don't believe there is much more to be explained. As demonstrated on my profile, I am not American and while I try to utilise phrases that I believe to be America, my spelling will remaining British-English, and there may be the odd phrase that sounds awkward or out of place. Apologies in advance for this. I hope you enjoy the first chapter and any and all feedback is welcomed.
See you on the flip page,
Bram
