Page 13 of Pack Favero

Spiderweb cracks span the entire screen that is now black, and I groan at the sight, cursing my clumsy ass for not being more careful where I was walking. Maybe if I were paying more attention, I would have seen someone coming into the store while I was leaving. I could have given myself enough timeto move back before disaster struck and my phone died a quick and painful death.

“What’s the damage? Did he break it?” the same voice queries, sounding worried, though I have no idea why he’s speaking in the third person.

“Looks like I’ll be planning a funeral. It’s dead,” I sigh, standing with my ruined phone in hand and the unscathed flowers, turning my head to face the stranger.

Only to pause suddenly, eyes widening a fraction while my mouth parts in shock.

Because there isn’t one stranger, but two. Two identically gorgeous, model-worthy, muscles for days in all the right areas and outlined by white shirts rolled up to the elbows, and incredibly tall strangers. The two men before me, who smell so good, though there’s something very recognizable about the scent, share their honey-blond hair, both styled a little messily, the strands long enough to have pushed from their handsome faces. Matching sky-blue eyes peer back at me, both looking regretful, and I take a moment to soak in the sight of their slightly wide noses, perfectly angular jaws, and matching dimples in each of their left cheeks, wondering what their parents must look like to have produced some of the finest specimens, not once, but twice.

I really hope I’m not perfuming right now, because that would be the cherry on this shit sundae that is currently my life. When did things get so weirdly complicated for me? When I started my job at North Five University, I never would have anticipated that this is where I would end up, blanching at two wildly sexy men after they ran into me with a door and broke my phone, which all came after two other maddeningly gorgeous men paid for my mom’s care and medical bills while another Viking-esque model of a man allowed me to braid his hair and purred for me.

If you’d have asked me two months ago where I would see myself now, there isn’t a chance in hell that I would have listed any of that. In fact, I’d likely still be stuck in the dead-end job I found myself in before applying for the job of my dreams. I’d still be introverted, keeping to myself, and avoiding public spaces.

Weird how things change, huh?

It takes an embarrassingly long moment for me to stop gawking, stunned by their beauty before blinking myself back into the here and now, just in time to hear that gravelly voice once more.

“Sure it’s dead? No way to resuscitate it? I know CPR,” the man on the left asks hopefully, smiling sheepishly, the only difference between him and his brother being the small beauty spot just beneath his left eye.

“He’s not very good at it, mind you. He’ll start singing Pink Pony Club while he does it,” the one to the right adds, a little more timidly than his twin brother, and more seriously regretful.

Clearing my throat and trying to ignore the double dose of handsome that quite literally bowled into me, I show them each my phone and pretend that I’m not breathless as I say, “I think it’s a goner. What’s your verdict?”

The guy on the right whistles slowly and clips his brother across the head when he sees the damage caused, while his brother looks suitably guilty. “I’m so sorry. I genuinely didn’t see you. We’ve been on a plane for almost twelve hours and I’m a little loopy, and yapper right there was in my ear about all the things we needed to do before we got home.”

“There was a man seated beside us who snores as loud as a rusty lawn mower, we barely got any sleep, and I was only reminding him not to buy pink flowers,” his brother confirms, biting his full lower lip as he peers down at my phone again. “Wecan pay for that.”

My hackles rise for only a moment before I remember Mom’s words. Trust myself, rely on my instincts, quit being such an uptight bitch about money.

So, with a deep-hearted sigh that spills my pride onto the floor, I mutter, “Thanks. My mom is probably freaking out right now.”

“Is that who you were talking to before I knocked into you?” the guy who clobbered me with a door asks, cringing even more now, his guilt shining in those pale eyes like the aurora borealis in the night sky.

Nodding, I tuck the ruined phone into my bag, thankful for my past self’s caution. All of my photos, documents, and everything important have been backed up, safe and sound. It doesn’t make it any less of a pain, having lost the only thing that connects me to Mom while she’s in the care facility. To add insult to injury, I no longer have Barnes, Lazarus, or Alek’s numbers anymore. How the hell am I meant to apologize without a phone?

Guess I’m going to have to do it the old-fashioned way.

“Uh, yeah. I was heading over to see her, actually. She’s probably worried sick that the call dropped so suddenly,” I share, already picturing the worried state my mom will be in if I don’t turn up in the time frame I offered before my phone succumbed to its injuries.

The twins share a look, a silent form of communication occurring between them, and I find myself only momentarily fascinated by it before the guy on the left asks, “If you’d like, we can offer you a ride to where you need to be.”

“A safer option if you’re without a phone,” his brother adds. “And it’s the least we can offer, after we accidentally took away your lifeline.”

Given that I can’t call my ride for when I leave the carefacility later, and I can’t inform Mom that I’m without a phone now, I nod slowly, trusting my gut that these guys won’t do anything shady. My instincts aren’t screaming at me, which is a good sign. In fact, I feel weirdly at ease in their presence, wondering how that could be possible a second time today. “That would be great, actually. Thank you.”

“Please, don’t thank us,” the guy on the left pleads, wincing once more as he shuffles aside and gestures for me to leave before him. “We’re parked not too far from here. Cormac will get the flowers and I’ll take you to the car.”

“Sure thing,” the man named Cormac agrees, offering me a shy smile that still holds guilt for my ruined phone, before he enters the shop like a man on a mission.

When it’s just the beauty-marked twin and I, he gestures for the door and says, “Follow me.”

I do as I’m told, falling into step with him, I hug my flowers a little tighter, all too aware of the handsome man as he walks beside me.

I’m so distracted by it, in fact, that I startle when he holds his hand out to me and says, “I’m Crawford, by the way. Crawford Hart. That’s my brother, Cormac.”

Oddly enough, the names ring a bell, but I can’t seem to place why. So, brushing off the familiarity, I place my hand in his and damn near gasp at the warmth of his skin. “Zira Favero.”

“Nice to meet you, Zira. I’m sorry again about your phone, but I promise I’ll buy you a new one. A better one. The newest model, if that’s what you want,” he swears, and I can’t help but feel my heart warm and the genuine remorse in his voice and the stern determination to make it right. It ebbs a great deal of anger towards the loss of the only thing that keeps me connected to people these days.

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