Beauty and the Mustache Read Free Page B

I
peeked at them from between my fingers. “I’ll just knock from now
on.”
    “ Do you want the schedule?
We have a schedule.” Billy’s offer was paired with his thumb thrown
over his shoulder, presumably pointing in the direction of where
the schedule was kept.
    “ Nope, I’m good. I’ll just
knock.”
    The sound of barely
suppressed laughter pulled my eyes to where entitled Drew stood in
the hallway. His lips were compressed, rolled between his teeth,
his big shoulders were shaking, and he stared at the floor like his
life hung in the balance.
    My mortification abruptly turned to
irritation, then to fury.
    Drew Runous and my
brothers probably looked at me and saw the gullible little sister I
used to be, not to mention the starry-eyed beauty queen I was in
high school.
    But I was now more than
the accident of my genetics, more than the face and body I’d
inherited from my parents, more than my backwoods Tennessee
accent.
    I wasn’t that person
anymore. I’d worked eight years to change and improve myself. I’d
become someone new, someone stronger, armed with knowledge, fierce.
I was someone who could hold her own in any situation, be it a
discussion on post-modernism or Japanese art as an influence on Van
Gogh; debating with an MD Harvard graduate when I disagreed on a
course of treatment for one of my patients; or standing up to four
bearded masturbators (obsessed with schedules, no less) in the
upstairs bathroom of my momma’s house.
    In fact, I was completely different. I
was a new person entirely.
    “ On second thought,” I
said, my hands dropping from my face, my spine straightening, “I
will take that schedule.”
    Billy glanced over my
shoulder to Beau then shot a look at Jethro. “Oh, okay. I’ll get it
for you.”
    “ In fact,” I crossed my
arms over my chest and scowled at Drew the Amused Viking’s
persistent smile, “what days are free?”
    Another stunned silence
descended, and I noted with satisfaction that the marauder’s grin
fell as his eyes lifted to mine. They searched and burned. I knew,
beyond a doubt, that he was imagining me in the bathroom naked, by
myself, getting my rub on, as Beau put it. It was written all over
his ruggedly handsome face.
    Strangely enough, given
our earlier encounter, he didn’t look repulsed by the thought.
Maybe he was just an equal-opportunity perv.
    I refused to blush. I refused to appear even
an ounce embarrassed.
    Because he was staring at
me—his gaze moving to my chest, then hips, then thighs—as though
compelled to take mental notes. His eyes were hot and a little
unfocused and, irritatingly enough, were making me feel hot and a
little unfocused.
    I couldn’t conquer the
thundering of my heart or the sudden twisting in my abdomen or the
tingling awareness on the back of my neck. It was everything I
could do to hide all the outward effects that his evocative,
penetrating gaze elicited.
    Instead, as Drew looked
directly at me again, I slid my eyes over to Billy, who was staring
at me like I was a three–headed possum.
    “ Uh, what?” Billy
asked.
    “ Which days are free, on
the schedule?”
    Billy blinked at me and
his voice cracked a little when he responded, “I think Sundays and
Wednesdays, since Roscoe moved out. But you probably don’t want
Wednesdays.”
    “ Why not?”
    “ Because that’s usually
when the new magazines show up in the mail.”
    I fought the urge to
grimace. Instead, I nodded once and gave him a tightlipped smile.
“Good. Put me down for Sundays. There’s no postal service on
Sundays.”
    Beau groaned, which he
turned into an overly dramatic gagging sound. “Things I never
needed to know about my sister.”
    With that, I strolled down
the hallway to my room, pointedly not looking at the physical
manifestation of every bodice-ripper hero I’d ever read. Like
before, I felt the weight and heat of his gaze on my
backside.
    Once inside, door shut
(and locked), I crossed to my bed and flopped down on my stomach.