Page 2 of His Hellcat

“Holy Christ, Blake, baby where are you?” Shane sounds frantic. Good.

“It doesn’t matter where I am, Shane. Where’s my best friend, huh?” Contempt is dripping from each word as I speak slowly, making sure he gets just how much he fucked up.

After a loud, dramatic sigh, he says, “Baby, this is all just a misunderstanding. It means nothing. Really, just come home.”

I’m not sure what pisses me off more, his placating tone or the words he speaks. “You motherfucking douche canoe! Are you fucking kidding me?” I screech into the phone.

“Ending up in the wrong restaurant for a dinner date is a misunderstanding. Fucking my best friend in our bed, on our anniversary, is not a ‘misunderstanding.’” Even though he can’t see it, I emphasize misunderstanding with little air quotes. I’m on a roll now. “Oh, and it means nothing? Really? Are you kidding me with that shit? It meanseverything!”

When I’m finished, I’m breathing heavily and my heart is pounding. I might have a freaking stroke and die here on the porch.

“You know I only love you, Blakey. Come on home and we’ll celebrate our anniversary and everything will be just fine.”

“Ohmigod, you are so fucking lucky I’m not there right now, Shane. I would take that condescending tone of yours and shove it so far up your ass you’d be tasting ball sweat for the rest of your life.” I rage, “I’m not coming back. I’ll send someone for my shit.”

“Now, now. Don’t be irrational. Is it that time of month again already? You know how you get when you’re PMS’ing.”

That’s it. The last straw. Consider this camel’s back broken.

I scream out an incoherent rant of curses and maybe even a hex or two. I’m possibly speaking in tongues, who knows, but it’s an ugly, vicious diatribe. Just to be sure the point has gotten across, I throw my phone at the door and send it crashing in a satisfying crunch of broken plastic and glass.

I pull myself up off of the ground and continue ranting as I pace in tight circles. I have only made a couple of laps before the door to my cabin swings open startling me. Again, I slip on the wet tiles and end up unceremoniously on the ground. This time, I land flat on my back and have the wind knocked out of me. I lay still for a moment trying to catch my breath.

Fuck me.

“What the hell is going on out here?”

Brushing the hair out of my eyes, I look up, and up some more, at the tall stranger standing half-naked on the porch of my cabin.

“None of your fucking business. Who the hell are you and what are you doing in my cabin?” I snap. Okay, to be honest it was more of a wheeze than a snap, but attitude is kind of hard to manage when you’re flat on your back, soaked to the bone, covered in mud, with your skirt up around your coochie. I was lucky to get the breathless wheeze out of my voice box.

Much to my disbelief, he shakes his head before bursting out in laughter. I’m torn between embarrassment and rage. Since rage has been working out so well for me, I opt to go that route and let loose with a slew of curses as I slip and slide on the tiles, trying to get back to my feet.

“I’m going to kill him. Yeah, that’s it. I shouldn’t have been the one to leave. He should have gone and crawled back into the hole he came from. This is all his fault. Stupid motherfucking cunt-faced dick-weasel…” I’m not even talking to the laughing hyena at this point, I’m back to ranting to myself.

I nearly get back to my feet when I slip again, fully expecting to fall flat on my ass. Imagine my shock when my arm is engulfed by a big, strong hand and I’m pulled against a rock solid body instead.

“Easy there, sweet cheeks.” His voice is a deep baritone, with a hint of a southern accent. I’m torn between shoving him away and dry humping his leg. That sweet, southern twang is hot, but then I remember men are scum so I choose to push him away.

“Don’t touch me,” I mutter.

“Sorry, my mama raised me to help a lady in distress, not watch her fall on her face,” he answers, his eyes raking up and down my body salaciously.

“My ass.”

“Excuse me?”

“I wasn’t going to fall on my face, it was my ass you saved. So thanks, I guess. Now would you mind telling me who you are and what you’re doing in my house?” I punctuate my statement by popping my hip out and crossing my arms over my chest in the true ‘I am a pissed off woman’ stance.

His eyes wander back down my body, stopping to ogle my boobs before moving downward. He is staring at my hips and I feel a bit put out. I know I’m not the typical thin model type. I have largish tits and my ass reflects my love for maple-iced donuts.

Then I realize the skirt of my dress is pulled up so far he can clearly see the landscaping I had done in order to surprise the douche. I quickly pull the wet material of my dress down over my hips and blush. From the look on his face, I can tell he’s barely holding back laughter. The fact that a sexy as sin man is seeing me at my worst is almost more humiliating than catching the cheating bastard going to pound town on my best friend. The stinging is back in my nose and my eyes are brimming with tears. This time there will be no holding back, the rage that has been carrying me through these last hours finally dropped me on my ass and now I’m left to deal with the fallout. I feel one traitorous tear slip past my lashes followed by another and another.

“Hey, don’t cry.” He reaches for me and I pull away. I definitely don’t need comfort from a stranger who quite obviously finds my situation hilarious. “Look, my name is Hutch. I’m here for a little solitude and some R&R. This is my buddy’s cabin.”

My eyes are wide like saucers at the revelation of who is standing in front me. Lt. Hutchinson—Hutch as his friends call him—was stationed in Afghanistan with my brother and he saved his life many times over. Every time I spoke with Drake, he raved about Hutch and how he was a true hero. Without another moment of hesitation, I fling my arms around Hutch’s waist and hug him close.

“Thank you,” I manage between sobs. Instead of crying over the shit that my life has become, I’m crying because the man who kept my brother alive—and nearly died to do so—is standing right here. I can’t even begin to explain how much gratitude I have for this man.

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