Page 39 of Stella
“Fuck you.” I know it’s best to ignore them, none of them are funny, and engaging will only encourage their annoying behavior.
“She does look a little under the weather,” Rodeo adds. “Maybe what you need is a night on the town with us. That’ll be a night to remember.” Usually it’s Wheels who’s the flirt, even though he’s only been prospecting for a month.
“I’d rather clean the urinal again than hang out with any of you or be your drinking buddy. Then again, you barely pick up women, so maybe I could give you some pointers on how toactually get one?” I waggle my eyebrows as Rodeo’s grin turns to a frown real quick.
Wheels contemplates for a second. “You know you skipped the prospect ritual because you’re a girl, but we don’t think that’s fair, do we, boys?”
The others grin. “Nope,” they say in unison.
I’m immediately on guard. “You know I’ll kick your asses if you try anything.”
“Now, now, rituals are called that for a reason,” Rodeo laughs.
“She isn’t kidding,” Giggs warns. “She knows taekwondo, and kickboxes for fun.”
“I’m a black belt,” I warn, gripping the mop in front of me like it’s a samurai sword. “And I will not hesitate to cut off the circulation in your balls if you even try it.”
“There’s three of us, and one of you,” Rodeo goes on, then quickly adds, “Not tryin’ to scare you or anythin’—”
Wheels slaps him upside the head. “Supposed to be makin’ her scared, idiot. She knows that to be initiated, there has to be some unpleasantness, right, Princess?”
Somehow, it doesn’t have the same ring to it when Cale called me it last night.
I laugh. These three are like dumb, dumber and dumbest. I really can’t help but shake with more laughter as I think about them trying to do shit. But as I disarm Giggs with a right hook to the solar plexus when he comes at me — he drops quickly — and Rodeo attempts to take the mop out of my hands; to which he gets a kick to the shins. Wheels decides the ‘all in’ approach is best as he barrels toward me and flings me over his shoulder before I can react. Asshole!
“Hey, put me down!” I yell.
“Toilet head flushing duties commencing,” he laughs.
I smack his back with my fists. “I said, put me down, you asshole! You’re dead when I get back on my feet. I swear to God!”
“Don’t be spoiled.” He shakes with laughter as I pound on his back. “It’s just a little water.”
“Your future children are fading fast,” I warn. “I mean it, Wheels. I will end your lineage!”
“What the fuck are you doin’ to my daughter?” My dad bellows. It’s so loud, I wince. My bones practically rattling at the force. Oh, no. I thought Dad had gone home.
I manage to spot his angry face as Wheels spins me around, upside down, and I wave. “Hi, Dad.” Wheels drops me unceremoniously onto my feet as the color drains from his face. “We were just clowning around.”
“Sorry, Harlem,” Wheels stammers. “Like she said, we were just clowning around and having fun.”
My dad is technically in charge of the prospects, so they all fall in line without any more words. It’s pretty funny actually, even if the look on my dad’s face doesn’t spell anything except Wheel’s impending death. “Are you a prospect to have fun?”
“No, sir.”
He gets right in Wheels’ face. “If I see you put your hands on my daughter ever again, you’ll be wearing your innards for earrings and you’ll never see your balls again. Got me, fuckface?”
“Dad!” Of course, it’s just like him to act like a big heathen. “We were all joking around! Don’t be weird!”
They all look at me because, clearly, they’re not used to seeing anyone talk to him that way. I’m an exception of course, and not afraid of my father. He’s the man who taught me how to ride a bike, climb a tree, and do anything I set my mind to.
“You need to get back to work,” Dad warns. “All of you!”
“Got it, sorry, H,” Wheels even sounds sorry.
I put my hands on my hips and give Dad a menacing look which he ignores. “All of you can go outside, clean everymotorcycle in the lot — with Armorall — and when that chrome is so shiny I can see my reflection, you can take off to Sweet Treats and unload the truck.” They’re about to groan, I can feel it, when he adds. “Then report back to me because I have some shitty jobs over at The Grill that involve grease traps.”
“Oh, no, not grease traps!” Giggs starts, but quickly closes his mouth.
