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Both men are staring at me, one with utter horror, the other with more affection than should be possible. Fred reaches out as if to touch me but drops his hand at the last second and I wilt.
“Any-fucking-way,” Stan drawls. “My mom was cremated, so your point is moot.”
My bald-headed baby sighs heavily, looking tragically defeated. I just can’t have that. He’s too proud, too strong. Or, maybe I’ve just imagined those traits. But something in my gut tells me Fred is a good man. A wonderful man. A man I’d be elated to call mine.
Shoulders back, I cling to the sheet with one hand, and with the other, I shove Dickweed, getting his attention.
“If Fred wants to fuck your mom, he’ll damn well do it.” Fuck no, he won’t. He’s mine! “He’ll take her urn and make a goddamned fun dip out of it. And guess what! I’ll help him!”
Stan’s mouth drops open in horror and I give the asshole my best creepy grin.
“That’s right,” I murmur, my head tilting all Grudge-like, forcing him to take a step back. “I’ll get his God rod moist and sticky so when he fucks your mom, he makes a yummy little ash lollipop.” I meet him toe to toe, ignoring the pain slicing through me and glare up at the bastard who dared to threaten Fred, to insult his man-ness. “And then, I’ll suck him clean and shit her out!”
For a second, the room is dead silent. And then, all hell breaks loose.
Or, that’s what it feels like.
Stan bellows in outrange and shifts his hand. I flinch, worried he’s going to hit me. I shouldn’t be concerned, though, my guy has my back. Fred advances, throwing the other man into the far wall. He cries out like a little wimp, barely catching himself on a dresser before his legs give out.
Stan shoots Fred a red-faced glare. “You’re fucking fired, Bates!”
Freddie barks a laugh and shakes his head. “You can’t fire me when I’ve already quit!”
His hand grips wildly at his chest and for a second, I’m worried he’s having a heart attack. I mentally run through all the knowledge I have on resuscitation in case this takes a turn, but I only made it to chapter one of that book. Luckily, instead of dying, Fred rips his EMT badge from his fitted blue button down with a strength that has my knees knocking together.
Sheesh! Property destruction shouldn’t be that sexy!
He tosses it at Stan, and I barely resist breaking into a golf clap when the badge smacks him right between his beady eyes. I do, however, poke my tongue at him.
“And to answer your previous question, I’m quitting and not just because of Story.” Fred says, and for some reason, his words have my already tired shoulders slumping. Well, damn. For a second, I thought we had something. “If this is how you treat a woman, a person, in need of help, then I want nothing to do with you or your disgusting profession!”
Freddie lifts his medical bag and drops it between them like a mic.
Stan’s mouth opens and closes like a dying fish. With a huff, he snatches the bag and points a finger at me. “Are you refusing medical assistance?”
I flinch at the ire in his voice and the sudden movement has ice shards splitting my ass in two. I should probably get medical intervention, but the idea of this hairy man-beast coming near me with his long, creatin-like fingers makes me want to shrivel up and die.
Clearing my throat, I give a sharp nod. “Yep.”
Such a bad idea, Story.
His eyes narrow and he shakes his head, scoffing. “Your funeral, lady.” Oh, fuck. That’s ominous. I ignore my racing heart as he turns to Fred, taking his salad finger with him. “You’re done, Bates. I’ll make it so you never work another day in this industry. Mark my words!”
I bristle. “What the french, toast?”
“You son of a biscuit eating bulldog! Get out, and never come back!” Fred shouts. Stepping forward, he glares up at the taller man. “You’ve been banished!”
Stan gasps, pressing a hand to his chest. “You lint licker!”
“Cootie queen!” I cry, filled with righteous indignation. I move to shove the assface again, but before I can, Fred is there, gently pulling me into his body. The second my back collides with his soft front, I melt.
“Easy, killer,” he murmurs, his humid breath wafting over my ear. “I’ve got you.”
A shiver races across my spine. Holy hell. I shouldn’t be turned on right now, but damn.
“Oh, go step on a lego, baldy locks!” With that, Stan tosses his short hair over his shoulder, spins on his heel and storms out of the house, slamming the door behind him.
“Oh, damn,” I mutter, impressed. “Take that, Dildo Baggins.”
And then there were two.
