“Well this looks interesting.”
I looked up and my mouth dropped open. But just a little bit. My teeth snapped together as I glared at the two, count them, two men sitting at the table with me.
“Alex!” I snapped.
“What babe?” He mumbled, not looking up from the handheld game he was playing.
“I think you have company.” I narrowed my eyes at the other man as he winked at me then leaned over to see what Alex was playing.
“Oh. Hey,” he looked up from the game long enough to say, they both nodded at each other then Alex went back to his game.
“Well? What’s he doing here?” I demanded.
“He’s not here for me baby,” he said in surprise. “I thought you knew.”
“Well why is he here? I don’t have any new ideas.” I frowned in thought. Did I?
Alex had handed over the game and the new guy was playing intently, elbows resting on his knees, his light blonde hair falling forward slightly at the front. Six foot something, broad shoulders, he looked a little heavier than Alex but it was all muscle from what I could see.
“I didn’t order a Hemsworth,” I muttered in confusion.
Smirks appeared on both of their faces.
“Does she always talk to herself?” The blonde said in a low rough voice.
“Talks, mumbles, rants.” Alex shrugged. “You get used to it.”
“Does she do anything useful?” Blondie, yeah I think I’ll just call him Blondie.
“She made me wear eyeliner once,” Alex warned.
Eyeliner? Hah! Maybe Blondie was a cross dresser?
Alex laughed. Blondie glared.
“Don’t even think about it,” he growled and actually bared his teeth at me! “And my name is not Blondie.”
“And my name is not Blondie,” I mocked him with my own teeth baring growl. “Let’s get something straight here. I’m The Writer. I say who you are and what you do and if I say you’re wearing a dress, you’re wearing a fucking dress. Get it?”
“Oh shit,” Alex gaped at Blondie then doubled over in laughter.
“Really?” Blondie stood up and I have got to say, the dress did amazing things for his legs! “If you’re The Fucking Writer, write this!”
He stood before her, resplendent in a floral print dress. You know the kind, the old ladies wear them to church on Sundays.
“Well take a good look honey,” he drawled as he stalked towards her. “You won your fucking bet, me in a dress.”
“Oh just let me,” she gasped in a breath as she tried to stop laughing. “A photo,” she managed to say as she wiped tears from her eyes.
“No chance.” He stopped before her, hands on hips and waited for her to look up.
“Please, please, pretty please,” she begged.
“As much as I love it when you beg,” he growled. “Still no.”
“Okay,” she conceded, taking a long look. “You did it, you can get changed now.”
“At last,” he muttered and reached back to grab the neck of the dress, tugging it up to reveal muscled thighs, snug black boxer briefs and ripped abs.
“I didn’t mean here,” she managed to stop drooling long enough to say but it was too late. With a flourish he pulled it off and threw the wad of material into her lap.
“Hey, wait a minute,” Alex stood up and crossed his arms over his chest, his eyes narrowed on Blondie. “You can’t just come in here and take your clothes off man.”
“What?” Blondie spread his arms wide, biceps popping under a swirl of colour. “She’s The Writer, she told us so.”
“Yeah right, we all know how that goes,” Alex scoffed and sat back down.
“He has a point,” I muttered.
Clad in jeans a white tshirt Blondie sat back down too. “So anyway, what’s my name honey?”