Desperately Seeking Epic(41)

I had the feeling she wasn’t just talking about the house anymore. I fought the urge to scrunch up my face in humored skepticism. This sounded just like a woman to me. They’re all so sentimental. She was insane. This house was a money pit. And it would take her forever to get it to standard, suitable living conditions. “Look here,” she pointed as she approached. I stepped aside when she reached the doorframe and ran her hand down the wooden panel. Engraved in the wood were initials and dates with height measurements beside them. “This was a family. Someone’s kids grew up here. Someone’s life started here.”

I narrowed my eyes as I watched her tiny finger run over the etched wood. “But not your life,” I pointed out. “There are better places around here that need far less work.”

“That’s my point, Paul. Someone gave up on this place. They built it and then they just let it go and didn’t look back. They simply threw it away like yesterday’s trash.” Her gaze lingered where her fingers brushed the wood, a sadness seemingly seeping out of her, but she quickly recovered.

Lifting her face to meet mine, she gave an awkward smile. “Thanks for the ride, Paul.”

I realized she was telling me it was time for me to go. “Oh, yeah,” I sputtered. “Sure.” She followed me back down the hall to the front door and before I exited I turned and asked, “Aren’t you scared to be here by yourself?

“Why?” she snickered. “You think I should be?”

“Hell yes,” I asserted, widening my eyes in emphasis. “We’re here together right now with a big ass gun and I’m scared.”

She laughed. Like really laughed. Her smile stretched across her face, her mouth opened, her teeth in full view. She could be such a pain in the ass, and it drove me f*cking nuts. But in that moment, knowing I made her do that, laugh that way, it was like a thrill—just not the kind I was used to. Thrills were my life, and I was addicted to them; the rush of doing something dangerous always gave me a high I had never been able to replace. Until that moment.

When her laughter ebbed, it faded into a grin, before shrinking to a small smile. Our gazes locked for a moment, and I wondered if in that brief span of seconds she felt what I did. Did she forget for a small time that she hated me, that she thought I was an *? Was I the only one feeling this way? I felt like maybe she did, the way her bright eyes seemed soft as they were fixed on mine. But as quick as the moment came, it seemed to disappear even faster.

Pulling her gaze away, she cleared her throat and said, “Good night, Paul.”

With a nod, I left, careful to walk delicately on the porch so I wouldn’t fall through again. When I climbed in my truck and fired it up, I stared at the house for a moment, still not able to wrap my head around it all. She moved to a new state, started a new job, and bought a house that needed a ton of work. Was this woman afraid of nothing?





Ashley is smiling at me, while Zane is staring at me from where he stands behind his camera on the tripod. Mills is leaned against the back wall and looks as if he’s so bored he may pass out.

“Should I keep going?” I ask, unsure. I feel like I’ve been talking for hours. This damn room is becoming claustrophobic.

“I think that’s enough for today.” I almost let out a huge breath of relief. Closing her notebook, she scoots forward in her chair. “Clara is quite a woman,” she notes.

“Yeah, she is,” I admit.

“So, we’ll see you tomorrow?”

“My turn again, huh? Yeah. Sure thing.”

We say good-bye and I head out of the room, taking in fresh air. Marcus is in the front, reading the newspaper, waiting for the guys to get back from their last jump of the day. I plop down on the couch beside him, letting my head fall back. He’s quiet for a moment, the paper hiding his face, when in a sultry, deep voice, he says, “Knowing I made her laugh that way . . . it was a thrill.” The paper shakes with his body as he tries not to burst out laughing.

“You little shit,” I grumble. “You were listening?”

“You have a way with words, Paul,” he snorts through his laughter, which he no longer tries to hold in.

“You’re such a dick.”

The paper is now crumpled in his lap, revealing his bright red face as he laughs so hard he can’t breathe.

“That’s it,” I growl, wrapping my arm around his head, and locking it.

“Let me go, you *,” he demands, even though he’s laughing.

I ball up my fist and rub the top of his scalp, giving him a proper noogie. His little hands grip my wrist, trying to free himself, but I’m too strong.

“Is this giving you a thrill, Paul?” he howls with laughter, mixed with a few grunts.

“Sure does.” I laugh, too.

“You better stop or I’m going to punch you in the balls,” he warns. Just before I move to extend my body out of his reach, he swings his hand and hits me right in the family jewels. We both fall to the ground as I clutch my nuts, groaning in pain. We’re both huffing, our age rearing its ugly head. The young men we used to be would’ve popped right up off of the floor and gone at each other again. But now, wrestling feels like a full cardio workout. Marcus is able to stand before me, but he uses the armrest to pull himself up.

A soft giggle makes our heads snap in its direction. Neena is standing in the hallway with her camera, filming us. Clara stands behind her, smirking, as if she thinks we’re ridiculous. Which we are. Flicking my gaze to Marcus, his hair seems to be standing straight up like he just got out of bed from a night of rough sex. I’m still on the floor, cradling my manhood. This doesn’t look good.