Shane's mouth split into a wide grin, this wolfish leer that made me want to pull my shirt down over my panties. Or up. Maybe I wanted to pull it up? Why didn't I put any friggin' pants on before I let this guy in?!
“Is the, uh, rest of your team on the way?” I asked casually, wondering if I should, like, offer him some sweet tea or something. Isn't that what Southern people always drink? I felt like I was being particularly unhospitable. But what the bloody hell did I know? My mum was from Australia, my dad was from the UK, and I was born in … Hoboken. But that was beside the point. I'd just realized I'd let some random dude into my house without first checking his ID, putting pants on, or calling to check any of his references.
I could very well be looking at the next Ted effing Bundy.
Please don't kill me, I thought as I cleared my throat and raised a questioning brow.
“So … Charlie told me that you started this business with some friends?”
“Oh, they're around,” Shane said, running a hand up and down the inked perfection of his bicep. It took more effort than I had in me to look away. “Why don't you show me where I should get started, sugar, and we'll get your pipes all cleaned out.”
I had no idea how to respond to that.
A few hours later, I decided my frigid Northeastern hospitality was a little too cold for comfort and managed to whip up a pitcher of lemonade (while drinking a glass or two or five of Merlot) for Shane. Making my way down the creepy old hallway, I tried to steel myself for yet another quote that I couldn't afford. Sure, Shane was a bit of a weirdo (a hot weirdo), but the truth was, baristas don't exactly make enough to keep savings accounts. I was down a job, had a bank account in the two figure range that needed to last me until I found a new one, and a house with toilets that didn't flush.
What else could go wrong?
I'd just turned the corner toward the downstairs bathroom when I stopped dead in my tracks.
No way.
No fucking way.
The bathroom wall had been opened up by the last plumbing crew I'd had in here to give me a quote, but the pipes were completely dismantled, and coming out of them … was a thing. Yeah, I know, not very descriptive, but whatever it was defied words. I was barista, not a goddamn author.
A trail of water curled out of the pipe, clear and blue and animated, with a head like a dog and horns like a goat. It looked like a fucking dragon. As I stood there gaping, Shane coaxed it even further into the bathroom and stood back with a stupid, cocky male grin on his face.
“What's the damage in there, Reg?” he asked the water-thing as it curled its hooked claws into the wall and hung there like a goddamn lizard.
“I have no clue,” it snapped at him, turning its head almost completely around on its watery neck. “I can't see a damn thing in there with George's fat ass in my way.”
“Hey,” another voice growled back, emanating from the darkness of the pipe, “do you want to do this yourself, Reg? There's a two hundred year old oak making its home in the plumbing of this house; it has just as much right to be here as anyone else.”
“If you weren't such a tree hugger, we'd be done with this job already,” the water-thing said back, its voice rife with sarcasm.
“You want to say that to my face, Reginald Bartholomew Copthorne?” the other voice continued, head sliding from the pipe to glare at the water dragon. This particular thing looked similar to the first, only it was made of bark. Like, tree bark. Like a second dragon coming out of a pipe in my wall.
Apparently, I had an issue with shocking news and breaking glasses because as soon as I saw … well, whatever it was that I was looking at in that bathroom … I dropped both the pitcher of lemonade and the glass full of ice cubes to the floor.
“Holy shit,” I whispered, putting my hands to my lips.
They must've heard the glass break because suddenly all three sets of eyes in that bathroom were looking my way.
“Oh, hell, now look what you've done!” the wooden dragon said, staring at me with its mud colored gaze. It slithered from the pipe next, tail twitching, tiny green shoots unfurling from its skin. “She's seen us already. I told you this job was going to be more complicated than we thought.”
“Hey there, honey doll,” Shane said slowly, coming out of the bathroom with his hands raised in surrender. “It's all gonna be okay …”
I stood there for a moment, my eyes bulging out of my skull and wished with every breath I took that I'd finished off that bottle of wine.
Then my eyes rolled back in my head, and I passed out.