running out the door, not wheeze to death!" he barked in his own defense.
Oh, yes, 'cause that's sooo much better!
Hmph.
Still an ass!
"Whatever helps you sleep at night, pervert ," I retorted dryly, giving myself away.
Reeve clamped his mouth shut and crossed his arms over his chest, mulish expression on his sourpuss face.
Looks like it’s one point Genevieve and one point Reeve.
Look at that, Ma, I can pick a fight with someone and apologize to four others at the same time.
I’m one of them multi-taskers!
And wouldn’t she just be proud, Vieve?
Nah, she’d just tell you to multi-task your ass over to the corner store and get her some more cigarettes and beer.
I snorted at that and ran a hand through my bangs, gripping the strands and tugging a little when my fingers reached my scalp.
Glancing at the guys again, I wondered if they officially thought I was crazy yet.
Wouldn’t be the first time someone had come to that conclusion.
Surely won’t be the last.
"If you'll excuse me, gentlemen, "I said with as much dignity as I possibly could, ignoring Reeve as he tried to think of something he could snap back at me; some snarky, witty comeback that would have me biting my tongue and gritting my teeth, "I have things to do."
Head held high, I marched out of the room and hid in the laundry room, acting like I was busy, when I'm really just hiding out, chicken shit for the moment.
Studying the room as I opened the lid to the washing machine, I had to wonder if one could just live in here for a while.
"They must think I'm nuts!" I muttered viciously under my breath as I dragged the laundry hamper closer to me and stuffed clothes into the washer.
Forget Reeve being bipolar, maybe it's me!
Putting It All Out On The Line
I finished my load of laundry and started a new one, giving the laundry room a thorough scrub down, top to bottom, thinking of any excuse not to face everyone again just yet.
Cramming my load of wet, freshly washed clothes into a hamper, I lugged them to the lines Bowen and Sawyer had put up with me, giving everything a good shake before I hung them up.
This is kinda therapeutic, I thought as I flung one of Reeve’s shirts out in front of me.
I’ll just pretend it’s him.
I gave it a vicious shake and grinned evilly.
“Pretendin’ that shirt is someone I know?” Reeve asked out of nowhere.
I screamed and tossed the shirt at him, shocked out of my britches, ready to make a run for it.
Going back to fifth grade for a moment, I wanted to run around screaming ‘Stranger danger! Stranger danger!’
Funny how stress can do that to a person.
The shirt smacked against his head with a squishy ‘splat’, wrapping around his face like an alien face hugger.
“Reeve! You scared the piss outta me! What the hell?”
He pulled his wet shirt off his face and tossed it at me, the wet slap of soaking wet garment echoing in the yard as it hit me squarely in the chest.
Gasping at the cold shock of wetness, I peeled it off of me and threw it down into the dirt, my shirtfront soiled now.
“Isn’t that my shirt?” Reeve glowered at me, face wet and slightly pink from his shirt slap, pointing at the offensive piece of clothing accusingly.
“I dunno, why don’t you go pick it up and see,” I huffed, walking over to the next open spot on the line.
“You pick it up,” he demanded, taking a step closer to me, his big body towering over mine, face a mask of sneering dislike as he glared at me.
“No. You do it,” I insisted, turning my back on him to pick up another item from the hamper to hang it up.
I gasped as his shirt plopped onto my bent over back and ass, mud and dirt from the offensive shirt now on my jeans, trickling off in a muddy, clumpy mess.
It fell off of me when I shrieked and jackknifed up, squishing it into the wet ground again.
“That was my favorite shirt,” Reeve complained as I purposely looked at him, eyes unwavering as I stepped right on it and
Oh, yes, 'cause that's sooo much better!
Hmph.
Still an ass!
"Whatever helps you sleep at night, pervert ," I retorted dryly, giving myself away.
Reeve clamped his mouth shut and crossed his arms over his chest, mulish expression on his sourpuss face.
Looks like it’s one point Genevieve and one point Reeve.
Look at that, Ma, I can pick a fight with someone and apologize to four others at the same time.
I’m one of them multi-taskers!
And wouldn’t she just be proud, Vieve?
Nah, she’d just tell you to multi-task your ass over to the corner store and get her some more cigarettes and beer.
I snorted at that and ran a hand through my bangs, gripping the strands and tugging a little when my fingers reached my scalp.
Glancing at the guys again, I wondered if they officially thought I was crazy yet.
Wouldn’t be the first time someone had come to that conclusion.
Surely won’t be the last.
"If you'll excuse me, gentlemen, "I said with as much dignity as I possibly could, ignoring Reeve as he tried to think of something he could snap back at me; some snarky, witty comeback that would have me biting my tongue and gritting my teeth, "I have things to do."
Head held high, I marched out of the room and hid in the laundry room, acting like I was busy, when I'm really just hiding out, chicken shit for the moment.
Studying the room as I opened the lid to the washing machine, I had to wonder if one could just live in here for a while.
"They must think I'm nuts!" I muttered viciously under my breath as I dragged the laundry hamper closer to me and stuffed clothes into the washer.
Forget Reeve being bipolar, maybe it's me!
Putting It All Out On The Line
I finished my load of laundry and started a new one, giving the laundry room a thorough scrub down, top to bottom, thinking of any excuse not to face everyone again just yet.
Cramming my load of wet, freshly washed clothes into a hamper, I lugged them to the lines Bowen and Sawyer had put up with me, giving everything a good shake before I hung them up.
This is kinda therapeutic, I thought as I flung one of Reeve’s shirts out in front of me.
I’ll just pretend it’s him.
I gave it a vicious shake and grinned evilly.
“Pretendin’ that shirt is someone I know?” Reeve asked out of nowhere.
I screamed and tossed the shirt at him, shocked out of my britches, ready to make a run for it.
Going back to fifth grade for a moment, I wanted to run around screaming ‘Stranger danger! Stranger danger!’
Funny how stress can do that to a person.
The shirt smacked against his head with a squishy ‘splat’, wrapping around his face like an alien face hugger.
“Reeve! You scared the piss outta me! What the hell?”
He pulled his wet shirt off his face and tossed it at me, the wet slap of soaking wet garment echoing in the yard as it hit me squarely in the chest.
Gasping at the cold shock of wetness, I peeled it off of me and threw it down into the dirt, my shirtfront soiled now.
“Isn’t that my shirt?” Reeve glowered at me, face wet and slightly pink from his shirt slap, pointing at the offensive piece of clothing accusingly.
“I dunno, why don’t you go pick it up and see,” I huffed, walking over to the next open spot on the line.
“You pick it up,” he demanded, taking a step closer to me, his big body towering over mine, face a mask of sneering dislike as he glared at me.
“No. You do it,” I insisted, turning my back on him to pick up another item from the hamper to hang it up.
I gasped as his shirt plopped onto my bent over back and ass, mud and dirt from the offensive shirt now on my jeans, trickling off in a muddy, clumpy mess.
It fell off of me when I shrieked and jackknifed up, squishing it into the wet ground again.
“That was my favorite shirt,” Reeve complained as I purposely looked at him, eyes unwavering as I stepped right on it and
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