Neanderthal Marries Human: A Smarter Romance (Knitting in the City) (51 page)

Whoa...
.

I blinked at her and the rapid change of subject.
“Where did that come from?”

“
I don’t know.”

“
Well, you need to find out. Why would you ask me that?”

Her eyes darted between mine and she blurted,
“I guess I’m happy. I’m not content, because content means that I don’t want anything to change, and content doesn’t necessarily mean happy.” She bit the inside of her lip, shook her head. “I want things to keep changing, I want our feelings to keep changing. Because with you, every time something changes, it gets better. You make everything better.”

Her words calmed me, but they also put a knot in my throat because I had the same thoughts about her.

“Yes, Janie.” I covered her hand on my face with mine. “Things will keep changing, and I will still love you.”

She released a breath
then said, “I hope so. I hope you never stop. But I know it might happen, probably will. When it does, I hope you give us a chance to find our way back.”

I stared at her for a beat then said,
“I hope
you
give us a chance to find our way back.”

She scowled at me.
“Of course
I
will. You’re my friend.”

“
I’m your friend?”

“
Yes. Friends don’t care how much money you have or what you look like. They don’t care if you’re grumpy or sad. They don’t care if you knit or crochet. They couldn’t care less if you like Superman more than Batman, or don’t recognize the superiority of Wonder Woman. Friends care about each other, down deep, despite faults. Sometimes they care about you more
because
of your faults. I used the friendship label on you months ago, and I meant it. You’re my friend; that’s forever.”

I stared at her not knowing what to say
.

Janie suddenly smiled
. She leaned forward quickly and kissed me, then turned. She pressed her back against my front, wrapped my arms around her torso as she said, “I think we’ll be fine. Things will change, I’ll start giving away your money to charity, and as long as we’re always friends, we’ll always find our way back.”

My eyes stared unseeingly in the dark
. I listened to her breathing become slow and even until she was silent. I felt the rise and fall of her chest under my palms.

To
Janie, friendship was bigger than family. More than anything, I wanted to be her friend.

I knew
her body by touch, taste, and smell. I’d memorized the sound of her voice and her laugh. I could interpret her face, her movements, and her expressions by sight. I recognized her brilliance and the beauty of her brain.

Yet
she still surprised me. I didn’t think that would ever stop. But, despite the unknown, I was certain of three things:

I loved her.

She was my friend.

And
despite the surprises that would come, I knew Janie by heart.

Neanderthal Marries Human: A Smarter Romance
is the fourth full-length novel published by Penny Reid. Her days are spent writing federal grant proposals for biomedical research; her evenings are either spent playing dress-up and mad-scientist with her two people-children (boy-7, girl-4) or knitting with her knitting group at her local yarn store. Please feel free to drop her a line. She'd be happy to hijack your thoughts!

Come find
Penny-

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Read on for:

Penny Reid Book List

Sneak Peek: First chapter of
Beauty and the Mustache
(book #4 in the Knitting in the City Series)

Sneak Peek: First chapter of Daisy Prescott’s
Missionary Position

Sneak Peek: First chapter of R.S. Grey’s
Scoring Wilder

Knitting in the City Series

Neanderthal Seeks Human: A Smart Romance
(#1)

Neanderthal Marries Human: A Smarter Romance
(#1.5)

Friends without Benefits: An Unrequited Romance
(#2)

Love Hacked: A Reluctant Romance
(#3)

Beauty and the Mustache: An Educated Romance
(#4, coming September 2014)

Book #5 - TBD

Book #6 - TBD

Book #7 - TBD

The Hypothesis
Series

Bunsen Burner Bingo
(#1, coming February 2015)

Book #4 in the
Knitting in the City Series

Chapter 1

“
There is nothing either good or bad but thinking makes it so
.”

-William Shakespeare

It was 6:14 a.m.
and I was awake.

The engine revved for a third time—louder, longer, angrier.

I know an engine can’t be angry, but this engine
sounded
angry. Specifically, it sounded angry at me. The engine must’ve been feeling pretty pissed in my general direction, because why else would it be waking me up at 6:14 am, after less than 3 hours of sleep?

But what the engine didn’t know was that I was not afraid of its anger. I took crap from no engine, not anymore. Because now, I was a badass.

Especially when the engine being revved was likely under the control of one of my six hillbilly brothers. The only way one of my brothers would be awake at 6:14 in the morning was if they’d never gone to sleep the night before. Or, if they were being arrested.

Likely, they were either drunk or stoned or both.

Lovely. Just… lovely.

Good old boys revving their loud engines was reason number thirty-three why I never came home. I’d started making the list two days ago, when I’d decided that I had no choice but to fly to Tennessee.

I hadn’t been back to home in eight years, but my momma visited me at college many times. I’d taken her on a yearly vacation since I’d graduated with my BSN, a bachelor’s in nursing, four years past.

But three days ago she hadn’t returned my call, nor had she picked up the phone when I called the next day. This was remarkable because, if we weren’t together, she and I spoke at the same time every day for the last eight years. Our conversations didn’t typically last very long, just a quick check-in to see if she needed anything, if I could send her money or how life was treating her. Sometimes she’d share gossip about people I’d grown up with, and sometimes I’d tell her about a new book I was reading.

Mostly, I think we just took comfort in the sound of each other’s voices.

Therefore, after two days with no contact, I was worried. Finally, I resorted to contacting Jethro, my oldest brother, and was informed that she was in the hospital. Furthermore, she refused to see or talk to anyone.

So I hopped a plane, intent on discovering the truth behind her mystery hospital visit, and taking care of the woman who’d never failed to take care of me.

The car engine revved again. I growled, threw my covers off, and marched out my bedroom door.

In my rush to reign a world of hurt on whoever was responsible for the 6:14 am wakeup call, I slipped on the last three stairs leading to the first floor of my momma’s house and cursed, almost falling flat on my ass. The resulting spike in adrenaline was rocket fuel to my irritation.

Whichever of my brothers was responsible for waking me up at 6:14 in the morning—after I was forced to fly in via a delayed, three connection flight from Chicago to Tennessee—was going to suffer.

Retribution. Revenge. Perhaps death. At the very least, someone was going to be the recipient of an epic titty twister.

I flew out the front and screen door, letting the latter slam shut behind me. I wasn’t worried about waking anyone. If the inhabitants of the house could sleep through the ruckus coming from the garage then they could sleep through the banging of a porch door.

Nor was I worried about my state of undress. My family’s property was situated on fifteen acres in the middle of po-dunk nowhere. It backed up to The Smoky Mountains National Park on the Tennessee side. If you didn’t count all the cars on blocks, defunct trailers, old tires, rusted machine parts, and general trashy appearance of the house and yard, it was actually a lovely spot.

Usually, my idiot brothers ran around half dressed. So, arguably, I was overdressed in my pink tank top pajamas and matching boy shorts.

I avoided a pile of broken beer bottles on the path leading to the detached garage; really, it was more like a giant hanger. My mind told me that the structure was actually called a quonset hut and I told my mind to hush. I didn’t care what it was called. I only cared that all of its inhabitants were soon going to be murdered by my hands. Then I would go back to sleep.

The sun was already up, which made the inside of the metal structure dark in contrast. Regardless, I could see the machine of my angst as I approached. It would have been impossible to miss.

Two male bodies leaned inside the open hood of an orange and while Charger. A third numbskull, currently hidden, was in the driver’s seat revving the engine.

As was my custom, I started yelling before I’d made it to the garage. “I don’t care which of you hillbilly, disease infested, flea bitten, cattywampus-heads are in here making this ruckus, but you will stop right this instant!”

Jethro, the oldest of my brothers, turned as I approached and tugged his pants upward. As I suspected, I was over dressed.

He wore nothing but his beard and a pair of stained jeans. Billy, the second in our family, kept his back to me. I knew it was Billy because he had a tattoo on his left shoulder of a goat with the word
Billy
beneath it. He was likewise attired and, therefore, his ass-crack was on display for the sun in the sky and the small woodland animals in the forest.

“Well, hello gorgeous. When’d you get in? It must’ve been late.” Jethro waved with grease stained hands, his white teeth a glaring contrast to his black beard.

Billy called over his shoulder. “Why’re you even up?”

“Because you geniuses are out here testing decibel limits. I can’t sleep through all the-”

Just then the engine revved again. The sound spiked, absorbing my words, and caused a new wave of aggravation.

“Arghra! Which of you ugly idiots keeps doing that?” I guessed it was Cletus, the third oldest, behind the wheel. He was the sweetest, but also the dumbest.

I charged forward, bolting into the garage, nearly kicking over a quart of oil in my haste. I didn’t care. I needed my sleep. I did not need an early morning of boys and their toys.

I began bellowing as soon as I crossed the threshold. “I swear to the god of moonshine, I am going to pinch your nipples straight off your chest!”

Without a second thought, I reached just my hand in the open driver’s side door of the charger and began twisting and pinching the nipple that I found. I did this with relish, the happy vindictive kind, not the pickle kind. I also gripped the roof of the car for leverage, just in case Cletus tried to push me away.

“Ow! What the-”

A string of impressive expletives arose from the car. A large and powerful hand gripped mine and ripped it away from the male chest.

I gasped, this was for several reasons, not the least of which was that Cletus didn’t know the equivalent word for
fuck
in Latin, nor did any of my brothers. Therefore, this person whose nipple I’d just assaulted was not Cletus.

A shot of adrenaline coursed down my spine, my eyes widened in shock, and I tried to unsuccessfully wrench my hand away. The fingers that held me were punishing
, and with one fluid motion, the occupant stood from the driver’s seat, twisted my arm behind my back, and brought my body flush against his.