Repercussions (The Hot Mess Duet Book 1) Read online

  Despite the blinds and billowy curtains on my windows, the sun is beating it's little rays of sunshine against the barriers, trying to get in and blind me this morning. Birds are chirping excessively, kids are outside screeching and hollering, and lawn mowers are roaring away. The only thing I want to do is fall back asleep, but the cacophony and daylight are just too relentless.

  While I am definitely stubborn, Mother Nature is more so. She wins this time, but she will not be able to keep me from crawling back in and taking a nap later today. Neither will my mother, who likes to remind me that naps are for toddlers and not grown ass adults. I don't tell her that sometimes she makes me feel like a toddler and not the grown-up I am constantly pretending to be. I have an award-winning performance going mother, please don't interrupt it.

  Given the circumstances from last night, I am none too eager to run into my new neighbor again. He was intense to say the least, all wrapped up in the semantics of property lines and trespassing. This is a small town, there is no need to bring a gun to a parting of the pink sea, or so he thought I was doing. It isn't like I really am a peeping tom or trying to murder anyone in their beds. I just wanted to avoid frying like an egg on the wire that shot across our driveway and lawn, couldn't he see that?

  I managed to humiliate myself in front of one of the most delectable bachelors I have seen in a long time. Where did that idea come from? Sure I live in a small town where pickings are slim, but that doesn't mean I need to let my mind wander in the direction of a certain arrogant jerk. Lickable, arrogant jerk though he may be.

  Letting loose a sigh and climbing out from underneath my old patchwork quilt, I quickly get ready for the day. I am supposed to be meeting Makayla for our weekly brunch, and if I am even a minute late she will hold my mimosa for ransom. And after the night I had, I need one or an entire dozen of them. A mimosa hostage situation is not in the cards for today. No siree.

  Throwing on some concealer and foundation, gunking up my eyelashes with some mascara, and blasting my hair with a dryer takes no time at all and I'm soon hitting the road. Luckily, everywhere in my small town is less than a ten-minute drive, and I am pulling into our usual meeting spot in no time. Makayla is already sitting at the table we deem ours, going as far as finding ways to rid it of any strangers who try to proclaim it.

  Call me a deadbeat, hot mess, or a failure and I won't argue with you. Hell, I call myself worse than that. Take my brunch table though, and I will get stabby. I won't just stab you once, oh no. You will be stabbed repeatedly - until you look like a piece of swiss cheese.

  Clearly, I need to get some food in my stomach if the idea of cheese people is making me hungry. Does that make me a cannibal? I shake my head to rid myself of these thoughts and greet Makayla with a beaming smile. I am right on time and she hasn't yet taken and downed the mimosa she ordered for me when she first arrived.

  Ah, what a good best friend! If I ever get stabby, I won't eat her swiss cheese like body. Or at least I will save it for last. That's the kind of friend I am, the best, damn it.

  Makayla gives me a small wave and sips her own mimosa, gesturing wildly for me to sit down. Since she owns the bar that is attached to my work, she is always filling me in on the local gossip. There is no doubt in my mind that she has some juicy tidbit she has been holding on to for just this morning.

  I plop down in the chair across from her and open up the menu that has been sat on the table in anticipation of my arrival. I don't know why they even bother to give us menus anymore, we probably know it better than some of the employees at this point. I glance at it like I might actually try something different, but Makayla knows me well and waves the waitress over to take our order. Sometimes you just gotta say you're going to change things up to feel like you put effort into breaking up the monotony of the same consistent meal.

  The waitress, one of our regulars and a graduate from the same hell hole we attended for high school, takes our orders with just a small rise of her eyebrows to suggest that we are in fact, predictable. Once she leaves, Makayla gives me a smile that would make the Cheshire Cat friggen jealous. How do some women manage to smile with all their teeth and still look attractive? I do it, I look like the Joker - sans smeared lipstick.

  Leaning forward, as if half the town doesn't already know what she is about to say, Makayla jumps right in, "So your mom stopped by this morning to drop off some baked goods for Jake and me, and she filled me in on her newest conquest for you."

  I barely manage to suppress the groan that is building inside me. It's no secret that my mom thinks I am lonely and tries to set me up with eligible bachelors from time to time, especially since I haven't been out with anyone in awhile. Unfortunately, we don't exactly see eye to eye on where the line is drawn on eligible. Her last blind date, a lovely gentleman by the name of Paul, was twenty years my senior, divorced three times, a plumber, and had a beer belly that reminded me of someone who is nine months pregnant and begging for their baby to just come out already. I'm not saying my picks have been any better. I mean, look at my twat waffle of an ex. However, my mom's desperation for grandchildren and for me to be "happy" definitely shows in the men she brings home to dinner.

  I send up a silent prayer that maybe this time, my mom stumbled upon someone who might actually be a catch. After all, she landed my father and he is considered one. She would go as far as to tell me my dad is a total babe. Gag me.

  Downing most of my mimosa in anticipation of what is sure to be an extremely awesome conversation, I motion for Makayla to continue.

  Twisting her auburn hair around her finger and placing her elbows on the cold metal table, she launches into describing the newest man I would have to try and avoid, "I guess she met him at the grocery store. Said he had a cart full of steak and potatoes and that he looked like he needed a woman's touch that only you can provide him."

  I roll my eyes so far back into my head that I should be able to see my brain. I swear my mom's goal in life, next to getting me to pop out grandchildren for her, is to find someone that I can take care of because she thinks that is what will make me feel fulfilled. Don't get me wrong, her life of being a homemaker is fine, and the role is perfect for her. I am not that woman though, I have a current career and goal path that does not include waiting on a man hand and foot. Especially a man that cannot be bothered to throw even a package of frozen veggies into his cart.

  Picking at the napkin placed in front of me I mutter, "Great, another Man of the Week to avoid." Yup, that's right. Week. My mother is relentless and gives up on the men she picks out almost as quickly as she finds them. Despite knowing what my reaction will be to each and every one, she still tries, still pushes. I wonder what she will do when I actually meet someone. Will she find him acceptable considering she didn't pick them out?

  Makayla's Cheshire grin is back, "She showed me a picture of him. I gotta say, Annie, I think this one could work out for you. You know, if you get beyond that whole meat and potatoes thing." She knows me too well, "Especially since he can probably turn water into wine. That should save you some money."

  My look of confusion has Makaya cracking up, "Do I even want to know?"

  "That's all I'm saying. You will find out soon enough!" she sing-songs. Makayla finds the people my mom tries to set me up with hilarious. In fact, she has even jumped onto the bandwagon a time or two and tried her hands at inappropriate matchmaking as well. Her picks were also absolute winners. If I didn't know Jake was sane and stable, I would be worried about her taste altogether.

  I cross my arms in front of me on the metal table and plop my head on top. I give Makayla a muffled reply, "In all seriousness though, this being single thing is so fucking old. My mom keeps setting me up with the town's rejects and I'm starting to seriously worry that my eggs will all shrivel up and that will be it for me."

  Our breakfast arrives and we get busy shoveling. We might be ladies, but we are fucking ravenous ladies. You don't have to show any control of yourself when mimosa
s and eggs benedict are involved. Makayla waves her fork in my direction and spits little pieces of food at me as she chews, "Forget your eggs, I think your vagina might already have shriveled up and called it quits. You can adopt kids, what are you gonna do about your va-jay-jay? Get a transplant?"

  I make the mistake of snorting at her and getting egg up my nose. After a moment of coughing and blowing, my nose that is, I spit out, "Please. My vagina is perfectly fine! It's not like there hasn't been some self-prescribed orgasms recently."

  Was it though? Maybe it has been awhile. I try to think back to the last time I got a little alone time with my battery operated boyfriend, Harry. I have an infatuation with a certain red-haired prince and think the name appropriate. It must have been a few weeks because I can't recall anything, yesterday on the fence was probably the closest I've gotten in a while. It is hard to find some time to polish the pearl when you live with your overbearing parents. Nothing screams 'sexy' like letting loose a moan and having your mom run into the room to see how you managed to injure yourself this time.

  I'm a klutz, sue me.

  Shaking her head at me, Makayla drops her fork to her plate and exclaims, "No, I'm pretty sure it's like with earrings and your hole has closed up shop. The vaginal express is closed for business. No pickle in the dickle hole for you!" She giggles like a ten-year-old boy who just said the word masturbation for the first time.

  My eyebrows get lost in my hair, they are so far up my forehead, "Did you seriously just say 'no pickle in the dickle hole' to me? What does that even freaking mean?"

  She shrugs nonchalantly, like that is a common expression or something, "Obviously a pickle is a penis. Dickle hole is your vagina! Isn't it perfectly obvious?" My best friend is an absolute nut.

  A sigh escapes my lips, "Okayyy. Can we not refer to a penis as a pickle at the breakfast table? And I'm pretty sure they've proven the expression 'if you don't use it you lose it' is false in the case of your vagina closing up." I shrug, slipping my honey blonde hair behind my ear and grabbing my mimosa for a sip.

  Makayla shoots me 'the look.' The scathing no-nonsense one she perfected after dealing with shithole people waiting tables to pay for college, and now the occasional rowdy drunk at the bar, "I'm just helping provide you with some gold book wisdom. You know, if you ever stop this moping and get back to writing." Her hazel eyes bore into mine, and I feel the usual shame creep down my spine. We have rehashed why I'm not writing more times than Taylor Swift has written an ex-boyfriend hit. I don't want to do it yet again, nope not today. Why is everyone in my life so pushy?

  I cut Makayla my own version of the look, "Can we not get into this for the umpteenth time? We have had the same argument many times over and all it does is leave both of us frustrated and wanting to rip each other's hair out in schoolyard fashion."

  Usually, when this topic is broached, Makayla or my parents will start to back off. After all, there are only so many times you can go back and forth and have nothing change. They are stubborn, but I am a freaking boulder and I am not budging on this. The damage my ex did to my self-esteem is evident in everything I do, and no matter how much time passes it is apparent it is not going to spike back up anytime soon.

  Makayla leans back in her chair and appraises me over the rim of her champagne glass, "I mean, obviously we have to get into it again. It's been a while since I brought it up and it is more than obvious that you're miserable. You just won't do anything to help yourself."

  She knows me better than I know myself sometimes, and while I get she has my best interests at heart, there are moments where I feel like I'm some sort of project for her. Operation Get Annie Back on Track. Although, it could have been my mother's plan originally and she just brought Makayla on board. Anger that she is putting me on the spot again starts to rack my body, "What part of I don't want to talk about this do you not comprehend? I am not doing this with you right now. I had a shit storm of a day yesterday and you are not making today look any more promising."

  Makayla rolls her eyes at me. She's the one who steered us to this conversation damn it, "Look, I am going to say this now and get it off my chest and then I promise to never bring it up again, okay?"

  I ponder her proposition. It seems fair, but whether she can hold up her end of the deal is something else entirely. I gesture for her to continue and she goes on, "For the past several years I have watched you go through the motions. Get up, go to work, come home and watch tv. You used to be so full of life, want to do something with your writing, and in a time where publishing is easier than ever you're just…. Sitting around feeling sorry for yourself.

  "Travis was an ass. I fucking get it, but why are you letting what one shit hole of a person dictate what you do when you haven't even been together for four years? Your life is stagnant Annie and I can see that it's wearing you down. Until you can admit that you're miserable with the way your life is and want to change it, I'm afraid you will just keep being stuck."

  My eyes widen and jaw drops. I guess she feels it is time for some brutal honesty? Makayla has always been gentle with me when it comes to my issues, more supportive than bashing. Apparently, she has reached her limit, but I am ready for a fight.

  That thought stills me though, a shiver running down my spine. I haven't really wanted to fight for or against anything besides fighting against my writing. Maybe Makayala has a point. Has my life really become stagnant and predictable? Am I seriously just going through the motions, complaining about living at home but the whole time not really doing anything to help myself? Some serious repercussions right there.

  The thoughts whirl around my head faster than I can grasp them, my breathing starts to get ragged. I have berated myself for years for staying with Travis, and here I am holding my own self back. Does that make me any better than him? Considering he is a lying sack of shit, I would hope so.

  Maybe it is time to make a change, put pen to paper and get some writing done. Or rather, fingers to keyboard. If anything, it might help organize the words in my head and sort through my damn feelings and issues. I'm not ready to admit this to Makayla yet though, because baby steps. This is part of my recovery from Douche-Gate and it is a very private thing.

  I give her a small smile to reassure her I am okay despite my small freak out, "I get it, Makayla. I know you love me, and you're trying to light a fire under my ass. Maybe it will work and maybe it won't. But thank you for caring enough to be willing to piss me off to get your point across." Hopefully, that will get her off my back without really promising her anything.

  Makayla is too smart for that though, "Promise me that you will try Annie. Find something new to do or someone new to do." She wiggles her eyebrows at me, "Get some writing done, find a new job. Do whatever the fuck it takes to get your drive back. I don't care what it is, you can even become the world's most notorious serial killer if you want, as long as you have some passion."

  Letting loose a sigh, I say the only words that will get me out of this conversation, "I promise." I really did, but I'm not going to let her know just yet that I will be trying to take her words to heart. Call it stubbornness, call it being a wimp, I don't really give a flying fuck. I just know that my life is on me and right now I want to maintain what little privacy I have over it.

  A smile of victory overtakes Makayla's face, "So would you like me to give you the details on your next parental set-up?"

  Thanks very much for reminding me about that, I had forgotten about my next pity setup for a whole freaking two minutes. Instead of voicing my thoughts aloud I mutter, "I think maybe I should just let this one be a surprise. If I hear too many details I may have to hide out in Mexico or something."

  Makayla gives me a knowing smile, "Your mom would just track you down. Or better yet, send him to join you for a little romantic getaway."

  She isn't wrong.

  Chapter 4- Annie

  Repercussion # 325: Not showing an interest in dating while 28 and single means dealing with the occasi
onal blind date. Which should really be code for wishing you were blind so you could at least imagine you were set up with a winner.

  The rest of my brunch with Makayla went without a hitch, fortunately. Naturally, she drank a mimosa or two more than she should've and Jake had to pick up his tipsy princess. Luckily he expected it, his Sunday pickups occurred more and more the longer it took them to get pregnant.

  It is nearing evening and the sun is beginning to arc towards the earth. The sky is full of gorgeous shades of pink and orange blotched over the skyline, proof that pollution is alive and well in the air. Excellent. The thought stills me, and I pause brushing my hair mid-stroke. When the hell did I become so cynical? I used to look at a sunset and think about holding hands with a boy and freaking roses. Now it's nothing but a bunch of pollution to me?

  Shaking out my thoughts before they sour my already negative attitude over this dinner, I finish brushing out my hair and straighten my t-shirt. My mom had set a dress out on my bed, a lovely navy lace deal, but the only time I ever want to wear one again is my wedding day and my burial if I somehow pass before my mother. No way am I wearing it for what is sure to be the biggest cluster of a dinner ever.

  Maybe it is cynicism that makes me believe that will be true, or maybe it's my own intuition and experience screaming at me that this one is going to take the cake as far as my mom's setups go. Her picks are slowly getting crazier and more desperate and I fear that tonight it will show in the man sitting across the dinner table from me.

  Hearing my name drift down the hall to set the table, I straighten my spine so I can walk with some imagined dignity. Heading into the kitchen, I grab the stack of plates my mom placed on the counter for me. Sitting on top and clinking with each step I take to the dining room are the forks and knives.

  Setting the table is second nature to me and I let my mind wander as I do so. I haven't really gotten a chance to tell my parents about the encounter with our new neighbor last night and I am going to drag my feet in doing so for as long as possible. Given the awkward situation, I am in no hurry to explain it to them or run into Mr. Tall Dark Gunslinger anytime soon. I didn't notice I had set an extra spot than the usual four until there is a steady knock on the door.