Feel It Fierce: A Hunky Handyman Romance (The Breakaleg Trilogy Book 2) by JC Jaye

Author:JC Jaye [Jaye, JC]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Hotpot Happenstance LLC
Published: 2022-08-16T16:00:00+00:00

TANSY: SEVENTEEN

“I swear to you, Tee… Sash simply cannot sleep with all the worry! The poor man is literally up all night, tossing and turning, tormenting himself with guilt. Tormenting, Tansy! It’s so bad, I’m this close to sending him to the guestroom!”

Leaving a minuscule gap between his fingertips, Mickie shoved them in my face. Not getting the response he craved, he gripped the tips of porcupine-spiked hair, wailing to the overhead fluorescents, his rising voice worthy of the finest dramatic stage.

“My Lord, can you even imagine? Less than a month married, and already in separate beds? It’s just too hideous to fathom. Not to mention, we haven’t even settled on the wallpaper or drapes for that room yet!”

I bit down on my lip. Horrors.

Fingers flying, I tried to look sympathetic while attempting to empty my logjammed inbox and creatively edit an overdue kickboxing ad. Not too sure how that went down, since the master thespian quit addressing the ceiling and pinned me with a glare.

“Tan-see. What the hell. Are you even listening? We’re talking crisis mode here!”

So much for the acting skills. Mom always said I was shit at hiding my true feelings.

Unlike her.

I flashed back five-plus months ago to her lilac and lace bedroom, bile rising. Yeah, unlike my messed-up mother and all her deep, dark, suicidal secrets.

The bitter acid rose in my throat, choking me.

Oh God. If I’d only known…

From far off, I heard Mickie’s soliloquy grind to a halt.

“Hey, Tee. Tee., hey, you okay? You’re looking kinda green around the gills, girl.”

“Yeah. Too many donuts in the breakroom.”

Forcing myself back to the present, I tossed him a lie, shoving backwards on four ergonomic wheels.

Huh, so much for getting shit done. Looks like I had two options here. Either torture myself with “how could I have been so blind” accusations, or deal with Mr. Neurotic. No contest. Door number two, most definitely.

Mick nodded. “Donuts, oh, okay. Yeah, you were kinda piggish. Well, as I was saying…”

I sighed, rearranging my face into what I hoped was a tolerant expression. Which wasn’t easy, because lately, Mickie had been laying it on thicker than Kim K.’s foundation, and I really was not in the mood. And, please… Don’t go calling me uncaring, because that’s hogwash.

This pillar of patience has been there for the mister and mister every step of the way—supporting Mick and Sash through all the crisis-strewn rehearsals, all the theatrical freak-out sessions, and especially through what transpired after the vows, out on that crowded dance floor-slash-crime scene.

I shuddered, tamping down that more recent set of nightmarish images.

Hamming it up, Mickie commenced with the moaning.

“Oooh, my poor, poor Sashie. My frail little lamb.”

Frail lamb? Good Lord, man, your spouse is a medal-winning weekend triathlete.

Stifling a snort, I rolled aching shoulders, hearing bunchy knots snap, crackle, and pop in an extended, merry melody as the pontificating pipsqueak droned on.

“I’m not even kidding, Tans. What to do, what to do? I’m seriously at my wits’ end here!”

I studied Murphy with rapidly draining patience.

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