Page 207 of Jocks

Under Her Heel 3

Keeva

“Who the hell put Duke outside?” a male voice yells as a door slams, waking me up. I’m groggy enough to not be able to put meaning behind the words, just knowing that someone is going to pay for waking me up.

Before I can even get out of bed to grab my bathrobe, my door slams open. “What the hell!” I exclaim, suddenly fully awake and ready to kick some ass. It’s three fucking thirty in the morning and I need my beauty rest. A tired Keeva is a grumpy Keeva. So much for privacy. Time to think about a new lock!

“You!” the shadow in the doorway spits. I don’t know which twin it is, but the fact that they were the only men not at the meeting tonight, it’s a safe bet this is one of them. “Duke does NOT get chained up outside.”

Jumping out of bed, not caring that I just have a sleep bra and undies on, I stomp over to the door. “Then you should have had him in your room, not mine. Do you have any idea how long it took me to clean this room up enough to be able to sleep in it?”

The look on his face is comical and this close I can tell that it is Jace glaring at me, his brow crinkled a bit as if he is confused. I could always tell the two of them apart, even when they dressed the same. Jace’s eyes are more a gray-blue with a dark ring around them, while Brax’s eyes have flecks of green and a light blue ring around them. Even when I can’t see their eyes, the way they style their hair and stand is a dead giveaway. It appears, in that regard, not much has changed.

His eyes look beyond me to the room that is now clear of all the boxes, smells of lemon Pine-Sol, and the bedding is clean. Glaring, jaw clenched, he bites out, “Where are all of my things?”

“Oh! Well, see as this is my room, I removed them. I think they are out in the yard, well that is if no one has decided to walk off with them. But seeing as I set them out at about midnight, you're probably safe. Now if you don’t mind, I’m going to go back to bed.” I shut the door in his stunned face, proud of myself for not revealing how seeing him up close and personal has affected me. If I thought the teenage boy was sexy, the adult version of him has me panting like a dog in heat. Oy vey! This is going to be a long two years with them here.

Climbing back in bed, I yawn and try to get comfy again. But the thing about being woken up from a sound sleep and having a mini fight, you can’t just fall back to sleep. Your brain can’t just shut off, no you have to analyze every word, every expression to figure out what the other person was really saying, thinking. Then there are the memories that threaten to drown you, both good and bad.

Suddenly, it hits me. He didn’t recognize me. He has no clue what tomorrow will hold. It’s a Saturday morning and I have breakfast plans, plans that will be all the sweeter if the twins are still health nuts. An evil grin crosses my face. If they are the boys I remember, they could never resist my mom’s Lemon Blueberry Scones. I had scoped out the makings for scones and lemon curd with whipped honey butter. Clotted cream is a much better option, but without mascarpone that isn’t possible. Mind put to rest, a plan of torture in place, I drift off, knowing that tomorrow will start what I have been dreaming about….revenge. They say it is best served cold; we will see how true that is.

Rushing to set the final plate on the sideboard, I can’t help smiling at the spread I was able to get ready with the meager supplies in the pantry. Bacon, a sausage-hashbrown casserole, scones, lemon curd, and butter-soaked pancakes. No, they really are butter-soaked. You fry them in a stick of butter in a skillet.

I can hear footsteps on the stairs, and quickly race back to grab the coffee and creamer. And that is when I hear it. “What the hell is this?” and I grin. His voice is deeper, no longer cracking but I still can recognize it, and the frustration behind it.

Pushing the door open, I turn and saunter into the room, placing the coffee and creamer on the table, before turning to look up at the six-foot-one-inch Adonis before me. Letting my eyes travel over him, I can’t help but lick my lips and think that he might be a better option for breakfast. His dark, wavy hair is styled with a little wave falling into his eyes. A blue wife-beater does little to hide his chiseled chest and abs, gym shorts cling to his hips, hiding very little before they reach just above his knees. And who knew that calves could be sexy? But the defined muscles definitely make me want to see more, though his feet in slides are a turn off. I don’t get how people find feet sexy. They are hairy, smelly, and just gross…well, if those are the features I am going by to call something gross, a ball sac would fall into that category, too, I guess.

“Good Morning to you, Brax,” I smile, knowing this is going to set him off. “Is there a problem with breakfast?”

I can see the wheels turning in his head as he takes me in, confusion clouding his gorgeous eyes. “Who are you?”

“Oh! How impolite of me!” I pull out all the stops, not caring that it might make me sound like some character from the sixties. “I’m the house monitor. Your name was on the roster I was given, and considering I met your brother last night…”

He nods his head, then looks at the buffet in disgust. “Look, I’m sure that you mean well. But everyone here is an athlete. We can’t eat like this!” He steps closer and I can see the moment his eyes fall on the scones and lemon curd. I had purposefully set them toward the back, wanting it to be kind of hidden by the greasier options. “Are those scones?”

“Yes. A family favorite. I thought it would be a nice way to start our year. But if it is really an issue, I guess I could go make some oatmeal with raisins.”

I have to bite my lip as a full-body shudder ripples over him. His mother used to put raisins in everything, saying that they were a great source of iron. She even found an old recipe from World War II that used raisins. The thought of that “Ration Cake” still makes me gag after ten years. By the time we were in middle school, the twins couldn’t stand the sight or smell of raisins, let alone eat them. Though, I think if it meant another meal with their mom, they would have given in just to see her smile.

“Um. No, thanks. This is fine. Maybe just tone it down for–”

“Gross! Carbie, what did you make? Not all of us are willing to let ourselves go and eating this slop will do that. Now, be a good girl and get me a half cantaloupe with half a cup of cottage cheese. Oh, and a macchiato.” Lilli Bind waltzes over to the table, taking a seat at the end, like she is the queen, and I am her lonely slave. Well, she has another thing coming. I spent the past four of the past six years jumping whenever Stu and my mother called, and after Stu, Duane. I won’t do that here.

“Well, Lilli, dear. I’ve made breakfast and let me tell you that sausage-hashbrown casserole is to die for.” I wish that wasn’t just a turn of phrase, but orange is so not my color, so guessing I will have to kill her with kindness. “And since the menus are at my discretion, you can just march your toned, little ass into the kitchen and get it yourself.”

Without waiting to see how she takes my response, I turn and pick a plate up, filling it with all my favorites, then make my way to the table. Deciding that I don’t want to be stuck next to Whore Barbie, I opt for a seat close to the other end that is in the sun. I’m a sun goddess, always have been and always will be, cancer be damned. I need to see the sun, feel it soak into my bones like I need air.

“No wonder you’re such a piggie, Carbie! You can’t eat all that.” Lilli’s voice is high-pitched, reminding me of the way some people talk to babies and children, setting my teeth grinding.

“And why can’t I?” I pick up a piece of bacon and hold it up, dangling over my mouth as I nibble on it, making a show of eating it. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Brax take the seat next to me.

“Hey, Lil? Tone it down. It’s refreshing to see a girl actually eat. If we were meant to eat like rabbits, God would have given us rabbit teeth.” Jace waltzes into the room, wearing an identical outfit to his brother’s, cleats hanging loosely from his fingers.

I look up quickly, trying to see if that is just a comment or a commentary. They used to tease me about my teeth and how I would eat like a bunny, with sharp fast bites of my food. But his face doesn’t show any recognition and I breathe a sigh of relief. If I can keep the two of them from finding out who I am just a bit longer, well it would make it that much easier for me.

Smiling, I look around the table as more people make their way in. “So, Jace? I assume by the cleats you brought in that you play soccer?”

Mouth full of scone, he nods his head. “Yes, we’ve been playing together since grade school. I’m, of course, better than the wanna-be me.”

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