This shit just gets messier and messier.
6
Remi
The slap of the screen door reverberates through the house, and then I hear the distinct sound of heavy-footed men tromping towards the kitchen. I shove the pan of bacon in the oven and start cracking eggs into a big bowl. They walk through the doorway hesitantly, their eyes bouncing off of everything, including my ass, before they decide to just stand there awkwardly.
“Feel free to take a load off,” I offer casually over my shoulder. When they continue to stand there, I add, “Or not. Whatever stretches your briefs.”
The blondie with the glasses and the dog at his heels makes an awkward coughing noise, and I smirk to myself. A shy guy? I haven’t been around one of those for ages. Actually, I haven’t really been around anyone for ages. This cabin is my retreat right before I head off to do my long excursions for work in the spring. But I do like to tally up the action when I can, and I’m not about to look this gift horse in the mouth. My sexual appetites have always been ofthe more the merriervariety, and playing with these three just ranked at number one on my fuck-it list. What can I say? I’m a sexual free spirit.
The guys pause for a moment longer, but then they finally shuffle toward the table and sit down. I don’t miss the slight limp that Cobra Kai has before he sits heavily in the chair. They’ve removed their medical masks and latex gloves, and I have to fight to keep myself from asking why the hell they were wearing them in the first place. If these guys are friends with my dad, then who knows what kind of crazy they’re up to.
The big, beautiful mastiff they brought with them trots back into the kitchen after taking a quick sniff around, and then sits at my feet with an elk antler proudly clamped in her mouth and mud caked to her paws.
Blondie glares at her like she’s somehow betrayed him, and I study him from my spot at the stove. He has a short mohawk down the middle of his otherwise shaved head, a clean jaw, and his body is fit, with his biceps nicely toned. Actually, all of the guys are ridiculously ripped. I bet they’d be a fun distraction for the end of my retreat, and since this is my yearly vacation, why not?
I whistle-click at the dog, and she looks up at me expectantly. I nod in his direction and she gets up, elk antler in mouth, and goes to lay at his feet instead. He gapes at me, a mix of shock and a little irritation in his expression, but I ignore him as I whisk a little milk into the eggs and move to chop up the chives.
“So? What did Daddy Dearest want you to tell me?” I ask the trio of gorgeous, well muscled, mask-wearing weirdos. If Dad thinks he can flash these hot little pieces in front of me and I’ll come drooling back to Endstone, well...he’s smart, but he’s got another thing coming. Although I wouldloveto know where he found these guys. They don’t fit the profile of the kinds of people who usually live in Endstone.
As I finish with the chives, a hiss comes from the direction of the cellar. The door beside the fridge is open, and I frown over at it. “Coon, you’d best not let those rats out, you hear me?” I holler at the cracked door.
I pull open the fridge and grab a block of cheddar cheese, setting it next to the chopped chives as I get the pan warmed up on the stove.
“Um, ma’am?” the tan, black-haired, brown-eyed one I almost shot earlier starts. Dude is huge and muscled. Like, his biceps are bigger than my head, and he has those sexy veins running down his forearms. I bet he has a V below his abs, too. My favorite letter of the alphabet.
“Remi,” I correct him. “Only my dad calls me Remington, and only condescending pricks call me ma’am. If you’re that type, good for you for owning it and feel free to ma’am away. Otherwise, Remi will do just fine.”
“Uh, Remi...” Sloppy Joe starts again, and I give an approving nod as I add the eggs to the warm pan and sprinkle the chives over the top. “Are you aware of what’s going on? You know, in the rest of the country?”
I open the oven and pull out the pan of bacon so I can flip them over. “No, but I’m sure you’re about to fill me in,” I tell him, as a loud thump sounds just above my head. I look up to the ceiling and shake my head. Those chickens better not be stuck up on the roof again. I’ve told them that goose can’t be trusted.
The hot hispanic looking guy clears his throat, and I look over at him. “There was a virus or something that started spreading a couple weeks ago. Everyone’s been calling it the Handshake Plague. They thought they had a hold of the spread, but the vaccines they were giving for it failed, and it’s killing a lot of people. The phones are down, the radio is out, and people are being told to take serious precautions against exposure.” He gestures to the masks and gloves that they took off and have piled on the table. “Endstone is working to keep its citizens safe, and you’d be safer there than out here on your own. Your dad asked us to come get you and make sure you get back safely.”
I chuckle and look at him incredulously. “Cool story bro, but I’m good here. You can tell my dad nice try, but even if the world was coming to an end, I’m still not going back there.”
He looks at me with confusion, but his lack of answers is not my problem. I move the scrambled eggs around in the pan so they don’t burn and humSomebody’s Gotta Be Countryas I sprinkle in more cheese.
I hear a huff of annoyance behind me. “What do you mean bynice try?” the man with the green eyes and tawny skin tone asks me.
“A bit rude to come into someone’s house and talk about plagues without properly introducing yourselves, don’t you think?” I volley over my shoulder.
I hear them muttering back and forth to each other, and I give the eggs one last stir before pulling out the bacon and piling it on a paper towel-covered plate, which I set on the table. I put out cups and orange juice on the table next, followed by the eggs and toast.
By the time I sit down, they’re still muttering to each other, but I ignore them as I pick up my copy of this year’s Farmer’s Almanac and open it where I left off.
“Remi?”
I look up mid-bacon crunch. “Hmm?”
The glasses-wearing dog owner clears his throat. “Umm, my name is Brant. Brant Shaw.”
I pop out my hand for him to shake. It has some bacon grease on it, but I’m pretty sure he doesn’t mind, because he certainly doesn’t rush to pull away.
“Madix Ortega,” the hispanic hottie says next, but he doesn’t offer his hand and instead keeps his arms crossed, which is just fine by me because it makes his drool-worthy pecs stand out even more. My eyes travel down the rest of him with appreciation. His shirt is straining just enough around his muscles to look really good, without it looking ridiculous or like he’s trying too hard by wearing shit that’s too small. I mentally forgive him for skipping the handshake. His muscles give him a pass.
My eyes swing over to the third guy with the brown hair. He has these intense green eyes that should be too pretty to be masculine, but his chiseled jaw evens it out. “Theo Coleman. Nice to meet you, ma—Remi,” he corrects himself.
