Screwdrivered (Cocktail 3)

“Maybe she just got lonely. It happens.” He unlocked the door, but still we stood.

“It happens to everyone at some point,” I said, aware once more of how much taller he was than me. I was staring at his Windsor knot, loosened as it often was by the end of the day. I could see the tiniest smidge of skin peeking through. It was a tan smidge, and I remembered how sun kissed his chest was that day on the trail.

As my nose caught the scent of warm Irish Spring, I looked up to see his face. He was watching me with an expression I couldn’t quite identify.

“Agreed,” he murmured.

“Huh?”

“I agree with you. Everyone gets lonely sometimes.”

“Not if they have a knight in shining armor, though,” I said, and felt a blush creep into my cheeks. Before he could answer and plunge us deeper into the Land of Trite, I saved us both. “Let’s get him and bring him back home, okay?”

“Good idea.”

Soon we were driving through Mendocino with the knight in the backseat, his legs sticking straight up into the air next to his top.

I caught Jessica’s face full of curious as we cruised down the main drag, me, Clark, and a suit of armor in a powder-blue fifties’ convertible, blaring doo-wop like it was going out of style. The good news about doo-wop is it never goes out of style.

Still laughing as we pulled into the driveway and around the back of my house, I started when I saw Hank’s truck. With one glance, my heart began to pound. I couldn’t help it. I could see him in the barn, his naked, sweat-slicked torso instantly arousing my female parts. It wasn’t something I could control; it was just hardwired into me when it came to this guy.

I sat in the driver’s seat, drumming my thumbs on the wheel. I didn’t even notice Clark getting out of the car until he was standing next to me, thumping on the door. I dragged my eyes away from the barnyard  p**n  to see Clark’s head down, his eyes averted. I looked back toward the barn and saw Hank taking notice. And now walking toward us. I quickly climbed out of the car, Clark closing the door with a soft thwack.

“Vivian, if I could just—”

“Viv,” Hank called out.

Hank in motion is something I can’t accurately describe, except to say that the pecs, the abs, the slick, the meat, the blond, the casual, the intent, the command of everything in his reach is utterly, literally, awesome. After two weeks of no Hank, I was now in the full flush of a direct dose, and it was too much for my system. What was it about this guy that turned me to mush like nobody’s business?

The truth is, I’d always had a weakness for a bad boy, the hard-to-get boy. On the page, the heroine was always attracted to the pirate, the rogue prince, the dark rider. And while a prince charming occasionally turned my head, the dirty-talking prince from the enemy camp stole my heart without fail. And my petticoat. The conscious, smart part of me knew this man was no good for me. But the unconscious part of me hijacked my hormones whenever he was within orbit. The primitive need to be invaded by the strongest member of the pack sent me tits up and out, ready to be mounted.

Luckily, the conscious Viv won out today. So when Hank finally made it across the yard, I was breathing steadily.

Someone next to me was not.

“Back from Pittsburgh already, huh?” Hank asked, coming to a stop in front of me, an inch or two closer than societal standards. And deliberately so. He looked me up and down, and my stupid breath wanted to come faster.

“She’s from Philadelphia. Not Pittsburgh.”

Clark was closer than he’d been a moment ago; I could feel his tension through his jacket and into my arm. His Irish Spring was especially sharp and spicy.

“Oh hey, Clark, I didn’t even see you there. What’s going on, you two out for a joyride?” Hank deliberately stepped between us to have a look at the car.

Clark, ever the gentleman, allowed it, but I could see that his lips had disappeared. Which for Clark, I had a feeling, meant he was just below furious.

“You guys been at the junkyard? What the hell is that?” Hank laughed, pointing at the knight in the backseat.

“Hey, don’t go poking fun at Legless. He’s the best,” I said, patting the knight on the shoulder.

“Legless—wasn’t that the blond guy with the arrows in that movie? Ring Lords or something?”

Clark closed his eyes. His lips reappeared and were now counting to ten.

“Legolas is in the movie. Legless is coming back inside—right, Clark?” I asked, reaching out to rub his arm.

Hank’s eyes followed it like a hawk. He looked at the two of us, then grinned like he knew a secret. And it wasn’t a grin I liked very much; it changed his face from a thing of beauty into something different.

A face I had a gut feeling Clark had seen before. I had a very sudden and clear picture of what high school must have been like for Hank. And it was a somewhat different picture from how Clark experienced it.

“Well, hey, looks like he might be a bit heavy. Need some help lifting him out of the car?” Hank asked, moving further in between us to grab hold of the knight’s shoulders. “Wow, he’s pretty heavy. How ’bout I help you out here, eh, Clark?”

I answered first. “Thanks, Hank, that’s sweet of you but—”

“I got this,” Clark said, grabbing for the shoulders as well, their hands now on the knight.

Me? In between. “Hey guys, how about we just—”

“Oh man, look at your face! It’s getting really red! Come on, Clark, let me help Viv with this—it weighs a ton,” Hank needled, tugging at the knight. Clark tugged back just as hard, the movement jostling his glasses crooked on his face.