Finders Reapers (A Standalone Reverse Harem Paranormal Romance) by Michaela Haze

Author:Michaela Haze [Haze, Michaela]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Dirty Jeans Publishing
Published: 2022-02-15T16:00:00+00:00

We kept drinking at the bar until it was almost midnight, having wasted an entire day at the Red Dog, talking about everything and nothing, drinking tequila, and creaming the guys at DDR.

Then, we all bundled into the uber to go home.

I hadn’t received any messages from Rome or Maddox, but Fletcher and Jamal weren’t phased.

It took a lot of alcohol to take out a Reaper. As I staggered up the pathway to the house with a swirling head and tingling extremities, I knew that I had accomplished my task.

Jamal and Fletcher were just as messy as I was. Jamal had lost whatever outer veneer he wore to keep his cockney roughness in place, and it was utterly hilarious to watch Fletcher try and decipher some of the phrases he was coming out with. I didn’t admit that I had no idea what ‘have a butchers’ meant either, as I held my ribs with my crossed arms, unable to stop laughing.

Fletcher fished the keys out of his pocket and unlocked the door. The entry was dark, and the house appeared to be empty, but neither of the guys acted like it was a big deal for Rome and Maddox to disappear for an entire day.

Jamal flicked on the light, and I saw that someone had pulled out the sofa bed—which showed that either Rome or Maddox had been home at one point.

I needed a glass of water and possibly a pint of ice cream. I made my way to the kitchen and miscalculated, slamming into Fletcher’s back. Both of us tumbled to the floor in a fit of giggles.

Even though my knees hurt from hitting the slate tile, Fletcher’s body had cushioned my fall. It took a moment for the feelings racing through my body to penetrate my drunken fog.

I’d managed to have some semblance of control while I was sober—but drunk me was sloppy. She didn’t understand why I had to hold back when I wanted to touch my guys. To hold them. To taste them.

“I’m trying to be good,” I told Fletcher with a pout.

“Where’s the fun in that?” Fletcher looked down his body where I laid between his legs.

Fletcher’s knees were on either side of my elbows. My head was on his stomach, and I could smell his fabric softener and something distinctly male. Cologne and something else that came from his skin.

I rolled my head to the side and looked up at Fletcher. Neither of us moved. We were both on the floor. I saw the muscle in his throat tighten. My breathing suddenly felt too loud. His pupils dilated. We were caught, ensnared in some kind of stare-off—waiting for the other to move.

My head swam, but my skin ached to touch Fletcher. To rip my clothing from my body and straddle him.

“Giddy up, love.” Jamal laughed, hooking his arms under my elbows as if he lifted me off the floor.

“Noooooo,” I groaned. “I want to lie on Fletcher.”

Fletcher’s cheeks flushed red, and he turned away before leaping to his feet so fast that I wondered if he had gymnastics training.

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