Page 15 of Claiming What Is Mine

We laughed like hyenas about…I can’t remember what.

Her lips touched mine. Soft and moist.

Did she make the first move?

But what did I say to her?

Damnit. I am seriously never drinking again.

I need to piss. I need to eat. I need to get up. I lay on the bed for another minute, willing myself to move while resisting the idea as long as I can. I stand and reach for my hat, intending to pull it low over my eyes before I head into the light of the hall, only, it isn’t on my head and I don’t see it on the bed. First my phone, now my hat? This is not my day.

I stumble into the bathroom across the hall and steady myself above the toilet. “Hank?” I call for my brother. “I need to borrow some clothes. I can’t stand to be in this getup any longer.”

Silence.

I wander back into the bedroom I had just occupied and notice the bed is properly made, except for a freshly wrinkled spot in the middle. The pillows are tucked neatly under a perfectly folded bedspread. This is not how I remember Hank’s room. Like, ever. No, this reeks of Jack—Mr. Military. I look through the closet and dresser but find nothing. Hmm. I spot a suitcase tucked in the corner and toss it onto the bed, folding back the top to look for something that might fit.

Jack and I are about the same size, but his build is leaner than mine. He’s got a runner’s body, no doubt aided by years of running a hundred miles a day, or whatever you have to do in the Army. My body is blockier, at least by comparison. Not like a weightlifter, but as I struggle to pull one of his Army gray t’s over my chest, the difference is apparent. I look like I’m ready to audition for Magic Mike. The shirt may be a little awkward, but it will do. Those shorts on the other hand? Not a chance. Not even if I only have to be outside long enough to walk from Hank’s house to my truck and from the truck to my house. Nope. They are way too tight and way too short. Not gonna happen.

I meander into the next bedroom, my curiosity stirring about where my brothers have gone. The bedspread looks like it was casually tossed across the bed. It’s draped, unevenly, over the mattress and pillows, like a last-minute thought. This is more Hank’s speed. I slide the closet door open and look around. Plenty of shirts and jeans, but Hank is shorter than me by a couple of inches. Damn. I swipe an old pair of boots and make my way into the last room, hopeful Frank might have something to offer as well. Finally, I give up and settle for a pair of khaki slacks.

Shit.I don’t even want to think about how ridiculous I look. Dress slacks, a pair of crusty old work boots so big they feel like clown shoes, and a two sizes too small t-shirt. Thank God no one is around.

My stomach churns, reminding me I need food. There’s no chance I’m stopping at Belle’s dressed like this, so I head for the kitchen to see what I can find.

There isn’t much in the way of ready to eat hangover food, but the tray of deli-meat and bread left over from the most boring bachelor party of all time will do. I load up piece after piece of roast beef and turkey breast, topped with layers of muenster, pickle, and lettuce. I slather some mayo on the top slice of bread and place it on the sandwich, a sandwich to end all sandwiches. I take a bite, stopping to savor my masterpiece. Seriously, this thing could win a ribbon, if county fairs or the like held sandwich-making competitions. Mmmm.

I sit alone at my brother’s table, enjoying my sandwich while I continue working to put the pieces of last night back together, when the front door swings open and voices enter the living room.

“Hey,” I yell from the kitchen. “Where’d you boys go?”

“Sleeping beauty finally woke up.” Hank laughs in his deep, jovial way. “Where are you, princess?”

“Kitchen,” I say around a bite of meat.

“We were out running the four-wheelers on the dirt track I made…” All three men stop dead in their tracks as they enter the kitchen. “What—in the hell—are you wearing?” Hank asks, finally finding his voice.

“Yeah, I um, borrowed some clothes. I knew you wouldn’t mind.”

Jack tries not to laugh. “That’s an interesting outfit.”

“You look like an idiot. Are those my pants?” Frank asks.

“Maybe. Hey, I was going to borrow your toothbrush too, but decided you might think it crossed a line or something.” I smile. “So you’re welcome, for that.”

“Wow, man. Your boundaries are…messed up.” Frank takes a seat next to me and slides my plate over, picks up the other half of my award-winning sandwich, and takes a healthy bite.

I furrow my brow. “Dude. What the hell? I was looking forward to eating that, you know.”

“Apparently, around here we share with each other. Right?”

Damn. It’s hard to argue with a man about sharing while you’re wearing his pants.

“Whatever,” I say. “So, how was the reception?”

“Compared to the ceremony? ” Jack takes a seat at the table across from me. “Uneventful.”

I look around at my brothers. “Anyone hear from Leo yet? If I knew where my phone was, I’d be expecting an apology any time now.”

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