7 - Shootin' with Both Barrels

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Chapter 7

I’m currently gazing up at a gorgeous guy. He’s super hot. Dark hair, dark eyes, kind of dark expression but hell, it’s hot. His bulging biceps are – which are like, three inches from my face – crossed over his muscled chest. He’s the kind of guy that’s sexy as hell, just because he’s kind of dark and mysterious looking.

Oh, did I mention his name is Abel Harkin?
            As in, probably brother to Flora Harkin, the manic testosterone-filled She-Beast who I’m very sure must be part Big Foot, and also totally capable of butchering me, and I’m very sure is seeking me out to do so?

Yeah, I think my brain just died.

Abel is frowning down at me, probably wondering why I look like I just saw a bomb explode or something. Hell, that’s a perfect example, because I am shell-shocked. How in the fuck is this personification of the phrase ‘tall dark and handsome’ (make that tall dark and SMEXY) related to fucking ogre/Godzilla PugFace Flora?!

“You get the picture now?” Abel growls at me. I don’t get it. I really don’t. This guy could probably be on the cover of a fucking magazine wearing a mankini and pull it off (and mankinis are probably the worst article of clothing every created after Lady Gaga’s Kermit frog dress). PugFace has more chance of being casted in a horror film. With blood. And screaming. Her pee-inducing catch phrase being ‘gonna smear your baby bitch blood on the floor’.

“No,” Is the only thing I can mutter, because it’s totally true.

Abel’s eyebrows scrunch together and he glowers at me now. “You mean you still don’t recognize me?”

As some hot, brooding Greek God who was born from a fucking thunderstorm and occasionally comes to earth to scare the crap out of unsuspecting girls with his sexy broodingness? Maybe. As blood relative to a crazy blood-thirsty female King Kong? Fucking how?!

I shook my head, still too stunned to really react normally. “Nuh-uh. Never seen you before in my life.” Believe me, I’d have remembered seeing Orlando Bloom’s gorgeous more muscley little brother walking around.

He scratches his dark, curly locks, skewering me with his eyes. “Really? You’re sure? Abel Harkin doesn’t ring any bells? You’ve never heard anything…?”

Through my numbness, I begin to feel irritated. What is with people and not believing me? “No, I haven’t.” I grumble, the shock wearing off. It seems to happen that all hot guys are stupid, annoying, and prone to questioning the hell out of me.

“Huh.” He grunts, tipping his head back to glare at me. Aggravation tingles up my spine and I scowl right back.

“Am I supposed to know you?” I ask spitefully, getting more annoyed by the second. I have had enough today!! Seriously!!

The sexy Beef Machine in front of me uncrosses his arms and puts his hands on his hips again, a posture translating to pride, ego and an attempt at looking domineering. In my book. And this posture bugs the crap out of me.

 “Abel Harkin,” he begins, and it takes all my will power not to say ‘I got that the first time, genius,’ “State wrestling champ for three years straight, soon to be four this year.”

I blink. I blink again. Attempt to sputter a response. Holy shit!! The beefed up kid is a fucking wrestler!! A fucking state champion!! Three years!! OHMYGOD!!! I swear to god my brain would have exploded again had it not before. Abel is looking down at me smugly, seeing my reaction. I attempt to pull it together.

“O-oh…” Is all I can manage, though it’s better than ‘OHMYFUCKINGGOD’ which was currently going through my head. I terrible prickle of alarm is zinging all over my body. PugFace’s brother is a freaking three times state champion wrestler. And he’s knows who I am, and he’s found me, and currently cornered me.

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