Surge (11 page)

“Kind of hard to lighten two hundred pounds,” John mutters behind me. “What the ‘eff man. I’m downstairs, waiting for my food, and you’re up here catching fireflies? I’m freaking starving.” Looking down with hopeful eyes pointed at Olivia, he pulls out his charming smile. “Would you be kind enough to share some more of your exquisite soup with little ol’ me?” When John batts his lashes at her, she starts laughing hysterically. “Damn, it was worth a shot.”

“I’m sorry pretty boy,” she replies with a little bit of mirth hidden in her grey eyes. “But you unappreciative assholes ate all my soup without so much as a simple thank you.” Successfully chagrined, John and I look away. “On the other hand, if you could learn some manners, I just might whip something simple up for you.” I’m snapping my head up and down while John’s bouncing on his feet and clapping.

“But it’ll cost ya.”

I should’ve known. Women are always wanting something.

<~~~<~~~
~~~>~~~>

When that something happened to be heating up water for her bath, I wasn’t complaining so much. The mental image of her naked in a claw foot tub and submerged in bubbles, provided me with sufficient enough payment already, but that was in addition to the bonus of a hot meal that could pull a mouth-gasm even out of the finicky assholes on
Chopped
. Shut up, my mother loved that show and I’m proud to have been a momma’s boy. It got me lots of extra cookies.

So, that’s how we ended up here, with John and I boiling several pots of water over a roaring fire in the parlor; while Olivia’s in the kitchen cooking something on the gas stove that smells like heaven. Taking turns filling the giant sauce pots with water from a now empty koi pond out back, Olivia liked sushi or so she said, we drag it in to boil it before lugging them upstairs to the master bath. Therefore, I quickly notice why she negotiated these terms that at first seemed to weigh in our favor.

They do, but the job is still extremely tedious with having to carry eight thousand pot-fulls of water to make a dent in the soaker tub with non-working jets. It’s on my way back from the third trip that Olivia announces that dinner’s done. The words are barely out of her mouth when we arrive at the table, out of breath from the mad dash through the great room, and tuck napkins into our shirts like a couple of pansies.

Placing the steaming pan in front of us with a flourish, she steps out of the splash zone. The pan is filled to the rim with wild mushrooms that Olivia picked herself, accompanied by rabbit she had roasted from yesterday, linguini she had on hand, and Marsala wine from the liquor store she raided.

Why she went to a liquor store to begin with is still questionable, but I ain’t stopping to ask, since I’m busy stuffing my face with pasta soaked in goodness. My plate, that was piled higher than a mountain, clears in mere seconds so I go for another serving. That’s when I notice she isn’t eating, but sitting there with a sad smile on her face. When she notices me watching her, watching us, her face abruptly blanks, and she stands to leave.

“Aren’t you eating?” I ask. John glares at me for daring to share Olivia’s own food with her, but I don’t care. This would be the second time she’s given up her food to us, when we have packs full of shit from the raid earlier, and if she keeps it up at this rate, she’s gonna starve herself to death.

“I’m not hungry,” she answers without stopping her forward progress. “Enjoy the food while it’s hot.”

“Are you sure?” I press, earning a jab in the ribs from John. I turn a glare of my own his way, but he doesn’t notice, since he’s riding a food high.

“I’m sure,” Olivia snaps. “I’m going to take a bath now, and if either of you dare to come anywhere near the bedroom door, I’ll slit your throat and stuff your balls down into your stomach.”

That’s a very graphic visual, but it doesn’t stop John from shoveling in food. When she finally disappears around the corner toward the staircase, I make a plate and set it aside for her. I’ll bring it up later and force feed it to her if necessary. I’ll risk the loss of fingers if need be, but she’s going to eat every damn bite before I leave the room.

“Are you gonna eat that?” John asks while pointing his fork at my plate.

I shake my head and slide it over for him to demolish. Puzzling out the mystery of Olivia takes precedence over any hunger I might have had. She’s an intelligent survivalist, with a pinch of snarkiness, sarcasm in spades, and violent as all get out. But what if it’s all bravado? What if her survival technique is to shut out the world so she isn’t disappointed if something unexpected happens?

My god, I sound like a chick.

I must be suffering the debilitating condition called DIC, Dick In Charge, since obviously he’s running the show right now. The stupid prick is filling my head with ridiculous thoughts, trying to justify the risk of swallowing my teeth if there’s even a remote possibility of a roll in the hay. Which there isn’t, because she sure as hell wouldn’t go for it, and I don’t even want to try. Sure, she’s a sexy pixie, but she isn’t my type. Oh, no. I like my women nice and pliable, and she’s about as flexible as a rock.

Must schedule release, stat. When was the last time I dipped my wick? I check my watch, 19 hours and counting. The new red head, what’s her name again, Vanessa? No, Victoria. It’s Victoria, and I must remember her name or I won’t have the pleasure of a proper welcome home via her ginormous vagina. That should hopefully cure me of my unfortunate case of DIC rather quickly. If not, there’s always that cock tease of a table leg.

Game plan set in stone, or I’ll beat that mother fucker into submission, pun intended, I start cleaning up. I pull out a cooler bag from my backpack and snatch the ice packs from a first aid kit. It’s one of those pop and shake things that only last a few hours, but it’ll keep longer in the insulation. Finding some Tupperware containers in the cabinets, name brand for these wealthy fucks; too bad they’re probably dead and can’t enjoy it, I pack away what little John couldn’t handle of dinner due to the food coma he’s now sleeping off. I leave the plate I made for Olivia, since I still intend to bring it to her even if I’m fighting DIC, she needs to eat. I’ll just put it outside the door, that way I made the effort. And I keep my balls, I call that a definite bonus.

Grabbing Olivia’s plate and my water canteen, I head upstairs. After taking a few steps, I remember her comment about stomping and make a conscious effort to lighten my tread as I approach the door to the master. Setting the plate down quickly before I give into the urge to knock, I back my way slowly down the hall and tiptoe down the stairs.

Mentally patting myself on the back for a job well down in tackling the first step in conquering DIC, I tap John on the shoulder to send him upstairs to a bed. He may be a morning person, but he can get grumpy if he doesn’t get his seven hours, so I take first watch. Sitting by the candlelight at the dining room table, I pull out a deck of cards from my cargos and play some solitaire. I can’t think of a more fitting game to play during the night watch.

<~~~<~~~
~~~>~~~><~~~<~~~
~~~>~~~>

After four hours on watch, 42 games of solitaire, and polishing off the remaining chicken Marsala, my eyes are starting to droop. I stand to go trade off with John when I see Olivia in the doorway with my canteen in her hand. I’m going to plead the fifth here since Ninja Girl doesn’t count as a threat, well not in the sense of being eaten alive. Alright, let me rephrase that, she won’t tear my flesh off with her teeth in mindless hunger. There, that’s better, she’s not the mindless flesh ripper that I’m watching out for, so she doesn’t count for being able to slip past my watch.

“I’ll take watch,” Olivia replies as she sets the canteen down in the middle of the table. “You look like you’re falling asleep anyway.”

I nod and brush a hand over my tired face, feeling thirty plus hour stubble. I must look and smell like a dirty hobo peddling for change, while she’s sitting across the table like a freaking Victoria Secret model. Her raven hair is loose and shining like silk in the lowering candlelight, smooth sun kissed skin, lips red as a rose and smelling of rich apples. I want to lean in to grab a handful of that luscious mane and take a whiff.

It’s that urge that gets me moving. Taking a page from her book, I grab my canteen off of the table, that’s suspiciously full, get up and leave the room without responding. It’s when I hear her whisper,
‘thanks,’
that I feel like a prick, but I push through it and fall immediately unconscious in the nearest bed.

<~~~<~~~
~~~>~~~>

“Rise and shine,” a most unwelcome voice says. I groan and pull the blanket tighter over my head.

“Go away, dickhead,” I mutter.

“Nope,” the bastard refuses with a peppy pop on the
‘p.’

Fucking morning people, they just don’t understand what it a chore it is for us normal people to not want to leave our warm beds and face the miserable sun.

“Come on, it’s after five and we have to get moving. Daylight’s wasting. Hey, remember that song your mom used to sing?” John’s tone deaf voice grates on my nerves.
“
Let’s go-o!” His emits this horrid howl that puts the wheezer’s screech to shame, but doesn’t miss a beat; even when the blanket disappears with his finisher of Johnny Cash and June Carter’s “Time’s a wastin.’”

As I’m about to go for a low blow, I sniff something. Something that no longer exists, and is nothing more than a no good cock tease. I’m so devastated, and on the verge of tossing myself on the floor and crying out in a tantrum to end all tantrums, that I almost miss the cup John’s raising to his lips.

“It’s a real shame you didn’t wake up in time,” he teases with a smirk. “Because you could’ve been enjoying this masterpiece, instead of me.”

“Is that what I think it is?” My voice is a low growl, like a mother bear about to defend her cubs.

“Um-hm,” is the smug reply. “Dunkin’ Donuts’ French vanilla, black with four sweet n’ low. Too bad this is the last cup.”

He goes to lift the cup to his lips for another long swig, and this time, I do land the nut shot. While John drops the cup to cover his injured balls, my cat-like reflects rescue the beloved coffee before it even threatens spilling a drop. I’m inhaling the concentrated scent of a long forgotten friend, while John’s mewling on the floor, but I couldn’t care less. The bastard deserved it for coming between me and my precious coffee. Besides, he should know better. So, shame on him. The mug is drained in ten seconds flat. I’m wiping the last drops of liquid up with my fingers and shoving them in my mouth, and doesn’t that have to be the exact moment for Olivia to walk in.