Something About Harry(22)
Harry jammed his clenched fists into his shorts. “What is it with you women? I said we’re fine. I’m fine. Why won’t you just go away and leave me alone?”
Marty and Wanda slid inside, shutting the door behind them. “We’re women. It’s what we do. Henpeck. Look, Harry, you and I, we need to have a talk. It’s obvious you’re struggling.” To prove it, Marty tugged on a random patch of hair sprouting from his chin. “I understand. I can help.”
“Damn,” he muttered under his breath. “I just shaved when I got home. Will this never stop?”
Marty gave him a look of complete understanding, her warm, blue eyes in sync with his. “I know exactly where you’re coming from. I get it. I experienced several of the problems you’re having and then some. Nobody gets it better than me. So if you’ll just lend me your ear—”
Harry gave another of his low hums, a clear warning signal.
“Or I could sit on you and make you give her your ear,” Wanda interrupted, dropping her purse on the kitchen counter with a huff. “I know what you’re thinking, too. And no, I can’t read minds like Nina, but it’s what all of our male clientele think. You’re thinking, ‘If I have to, I can take her’.” Wanda winked and chuckled, cracking her knuckles. “But you’d be a fool at this stage of the game to think that. I look innocent enough, but I could take on a team of Navy Seals without so much as disturbing a hair on my head.” Strolling up to him, Wanda did something she rarely, if ever, did. She flashed her fangs at him, her manner especially threatening.
Harry’s eyes bulged, but his lips remained firmly clamped in the “off” position.
With a long finger, Wanda dabbed at the side of her lip before saying, “I’m half vampire, half werewolf, Harry. Twice the fun of the average paranormal. You’d know that if you hadn’t left Pack in such a silly huff. Stubborn is not the card to play with me, my friend. Now, either hear us out, or I’ll have to muss my dress in order to make you—which, by the way, is linen and wrinkles easily. I don’t like to be mussed, Harry. Don’t make me muss. Also, despite the fact that I have to drink it to survive, not a fan of blood. You don’t want me to make you bloody, Harry, do you? Not after you’ve healed so nicely since your spectacular crash into the lab’s wall. Ball’s in your court, Harry. Shoot to score.”
Harry looked down with more astonishment at his arms and hands, scratched and bruised but an hour ago, now almost completely healed. “Jesus,” he murmured.
Marty and Wanda planted their hands on their hips and waited, almost daring Harry to defy their offer to help. The tension in the room grew thick and cloying, making Mara’s heart pound. She hated tension and discord. She hated that she’d done this to Harry and created so much of it.
Harry was at it again—assessing, evaluating—until the silence choked Mara. “Why don’t I make coffee or something? Do you like coffee, Harry?” she blurted. Of course he liked coffee, and the occasional cinnamon bun to go along with it. You know that, Mara. You know everything there is to know about Harry.
Shoving the Barbie Dreamhouse accessories aside with her foot, Mara began to head for the kitchen when Harry said, “So are you threatening me again? I thought the Crypt Keeper was in charge of threats.”
Wanda’s nostrils flared as she peeled off her black driving gloves. “Not always. Sometimes I do the threatening. Nina’s mostly the muscle. But when I take the torch—you’d better believe it’s gone too far, and I’m fed up. Now, you have children to care for Harry. Children who, according to Nina’s texts, are out of control and in need of some serious guidance. How do you expect to handle not only these poor, innocent babies who’ve lost their parents, but a full-on shift? Because if the scene at the lab tonight was indicative of how you plan to appropriately deal with this, you’ve got trouble, big boy. You need someone to help you handle the change. So, yes. I’m threatening you. Because there are children involved, and there will be no scarred children as long as I’m here to prevent it. So again, I say ball’s in your court, Harry. Shoot to score.”
Please score, Harry.
Mara had heard all about how hard it was to convince the OOPS clients of their new life-altering changes in a million stories shared over family meals and at gatherings. She’d also heard about the danger the women had been in with these cases.
Thankfully, the only danger involved here involved helping Harry adjust. She could do that. She would do that. It wouldn’t be easy. Her crush on him was going to make it almost impossible, but then again, he was pretty cranky. Maybe he’d turn her off so much with his terse words and angry eyes she’d wash her hands of a year’s worth of fantasies.