Page 40 of Unleashed

Must be my boooty call. TTyl

13

Trevor

I’m going to kill whoever the fuck that is walking up to Maren’s porch.

I’m pretty confident he’s not what she claims. But on the off chance I’m wrong, I think maybe I should kill him. Just in case.

I pop a peanut in my mouth as I plot, eyes tracking the prick as he scales the steps and closes in on Maren’s door. She’s already gotten two deliveries tonight. The first included the bottle of ready-to-drink margarita responsible for the deterioration of her spelling. The second was from a quick service Mexican restaurant.

My stomach growls at the thought of a burrito as big as my head, but I ignore it because the door to Maren’s trailer is opening.

Grabbing the binoculars from the passenger seat, I jam them against my eyeballs so I can get a better look. Which is a mistake.

I get a look at her for the first time since I found myself parking under the same tree as last night instead of in my garage. Even from this distance I can tell she’s changed out of the skirt and sweater she had on at work. And now there’s significantly more of her pale skin on display.

And the second I see what the prick on her porch sees, I’m out of my car and stalking across the stretch of grass between my car and her door.

I make it all the way up the steps before anyone notices me. Maren’s oblivious because she’s clearly drunk, and the guy’s totally focused on how to make the most of Maren being drunk.

“Come on.” He’s whining, but probably thinks he’s being charming. “Just for a minute?”

Maren’s eyes are a little bleary, but her words are remarkably clear when she says, “I’m not interested, Doug. Now get the f⁠—”

I don’t need to hear any more.

I grab Doug by his shoulder, pulling him away from her door while spinning him to face me. It takes more restraint than I knew I possessed to keep from punching him in the face.

His eyes widen, dipping down my frame before snapping back to my face. “Who the fuck are you?”

“None of your business.” I step around him, pushing my way into Maren’s home before slamming the door behind me.

She stumbles back a little as I enter, and I hook an arm around her waist, pulling her body to mine.

Only to keep her steady.

“Why are you here?” Maren shoves at my chest. “I had that handled.”

“Did you?” It didn’t look like she had it handled. “He wasn’t going to leave.”

“I know.” She wiggles out of my grip to grab an item from beside the front door. “I was going to hit him with my baseball bat.”

I can’t tell if she’s kidding.

But honestly, I think I know her well enough to assume she’s not.

“A baseball bat is not an effective deterrent, Maren. All he has to do is grab it, and⁠—”

“I know that, jerk.” Maren waves the weapon between us, swinging it a little too close to my face in the process. “That’s why there’s a sock on it.”

“How in the hell is a sock going to help anything?”

She swings it again, and I have to lean back to avoid taking a hit to the face. I’m pretty sure it’s the tequila screwing up her depth perception and not that she’s actually attempting to knock me out. I grab the bat anyway, just to be safe.

But the fucking thing slides right out of my grip, leaving me holding nothing but a black, knit kneesock.

Maren laughs victoriously. “See?” She grips the handle tight, like she’s about to take a purposeful swing. “Now I could just whack the shit out of you.”