Ginny

I can’t believe my life is this messed up. First my dog goes and bones a little loose tailed flirt and knocks her up, something that wouldn’t really bug me all that much since he’s just following his nature, until Lindsey Ormond decided to yell at me like a fishwife and threatened to have each and every single one of my grandbabies put down if I don’t take them when her precious runt finally delivers.

What the heck am I gonna do with all those puppies? And I know the numbers are big because Jack Sparrow and Muffin are both tiny and couldn’t possibly have created less than six children from the looks of her pregnant rotund belly.

To make it all worse my mom called me this morning and expressly ordered me to come to a family dinner, which would be fine but for the fact that she’s still trying to set me up with the butcher’s son Joseph.

I’m a nice person. A people pleaser and happy by nature but Joseph is not for me. Not that he doesn’t have anything going for him or anything, but I have a phobia about hairy men ever since my aunt Effie’s boyfriend gave me a hug that one time we went over to their house for a pool party and I ended up coughing up hairballs for days.

Now the thing is, that experience was not at all my fault. I did not want to go to the a party seeing as the pool was nothing more than a metal frame covered in old waterproof tarp and had seen more hygienic days.

The water felt like milky slime, and I still shudder just thinking about it. That was okay though, even considering I had to fend off my cousin by marriage who’d taken a shine to my fourteen year old self and kept telling people I was his girl.

Yikes.

What killed me was the hair. I still can’t look at a hairy man without clearing my throat, something my Irish mother sill bemoans because as she says, most good Irish boys are hirsute and I should just accept my lot.

I’d rather perish an unthinkable death, thank you very much.

But back to Joseph. The guy is sweet, he is, but he doesn’t need to wear a shirt to be dressed if you know what I’m saying and he also happens to be dull as dishwater.

Really. He took me on a date to the freaking slaughter house and spent an hour explaining cuts to me. I was so freaked out by that event, because my cousin Ing made me watch Slaughterhouse the week before I fainted and ended up in Joseph’s chest. His hairy chest.

Jack barks beside me in the taxi and I snap out of it only to see that traffic is backed up to hell and back and I don’t stand a hope in hell of getting to mama’s dinner on time.

“Shoot.”

“Sorry sweetheart but this isn’t going anywhere anytime soon. The radio is reporting a sinkhole up this way and we’re already in the thick of it.”

“Darn it. I have to get to my mother’s before she calls the priest. Last time she did that I had to sit through an hour’s lecture about respecting your parents.” I huff, smoothing the pink skirt of the dress I got on sale this morning and just couldn’t resist wearing.

I love anything pink, loud and unique so I was sold the minute I saw it in that hobo’s trolley. I bought it right then and there, skipped to the Laundromat and got it cleaned in a jiff.

Don’t judge me, I needed it after Muffin and her loose tail got me in trouble. Coincidentally, that was my job so I also got fired this morning thanks to Jack and his philandering ways.

So yeah, not a good day. I suppose I can dog sit for someone else, but that job paid well, and I kinda liked the next door neighbour Mr. Tills. He’s weird, but he shared his cookies with me until I realized that he keeps the box in his underwear to keep them ‘fresh’.

“You’ll have to hoof it then darling. Sorry,” the cabbie grunts, taking my cash with thanks and a wave as I grab Jack and push out of the cab. “Go back up the way we came and hang a right. It should get you far enough away to grab another cab.”

I thank him with a wave and start running, thanking my stars for my excellent shoe choice as I go. I hate heels. Last time I wore them I got a blister that got infected and almost contracted gangrene. Okay so it wasn’t that bad but it was huge, and gross and pussy.

Horns hoot as I keep running and in just over fifteen, side cramping minutes I’m at the corner I started at, my eyes darting wildly for a cab. This city isn’t like New York though, not as congested with yellow miracles as one would think and I don’t see one in sight as I scan the street, praying for a miracle.

First off, I can’t walk another step or my lungs might fail and second, I am so late, I think as I check my watch. It’s only just gone four but in my house, dinner is five sharp, no matter what.

Papa once missed it because a truck rode over his foot while he was directing it into the docking bay at the fishery where he works and even a broken foot did not stop mama’s wrath.

“This is all your fault, Jack. If you’d just peed when I asked…” I whine, clutching at my side when a stitch grips me.

It’s not his fault, I know but I need someone to blame and the last time I yelled at myself in public a woman tried to have me committed. That was not a good incident, especially when mama had to come get me at the hospital and sign me out of the psych ward.

Looking around again before looking back at my watch, I groan and stamp my foot against the pavement, dejected beyond all reason. Seems like I’ll be counselling with Father O’Leary again this summer huh.

Oh well.

Jack yaps at me in commiseration and I can’t resist a hug as I sigh and start up passed the half constructed building that caught my eye earlier. I think Ing told me this place is going to be some swanky hotel for the super dicks, I mean rich, but at the moment it’s just a shell that looks quietly eerie despite the construction going on.

“Hey! Hey you! You’re back,” someone yells, making me stop to look up.

When I do, I see ten male faces, all beaming and staring down at me in wonder. Huh, the dress must be really nice, I think, smoothing it down with a smile.

“Okay,” I say, smiling a little before walking on.

“Wait! Don’t leave yet,” one of the guy’s yells out, making me distinctly nervous as other faces pop out to grin at me.

Okay. Time to go Ginny, I think, keeping my smile in place as I start power walking, ignoring the shouts.

Last month some poor girl was found wondering in the park, muttering about being attacked. I don’t think it could happen to me per se, not on a busy street like this and with so many witnesses, but you never know.

I bet those poor prostitutes Jack the Ripper got at never once thought a man would do that to them and look what happened. Nuhuh, rather safe than sorry, I think, picking up the pace despite the stitch in my side. I’d rather suffer a stitch than see my own innards and ain’t that just the truth.

Definitely should have laid off the muffins this morning, but they were so fluffy and delicious I couldn’t stop myself.

“Miss, please wait!”

I ignore the yells and walk faster, juggling Jack’s squirming body in one arm when the sound of running footsteps meets my ears. I’m just about to bolt and chance getting mowed down by a car when my dog jumps out of my grip and runs balls to the wall at something behind me.

The curse and ripping fabric make me groan before I’ve fully turned and I curse myself when I see Jack going attack dog on a man dressed in what is probably Armani and costs more than my yearly rent.

“Dang it Jack, stop that right now. Please.” I moan when the sound of ripping gets worse, the man shaking his leg to get rid of Jack is only making matters worse. “Oh Jack.”

The snarling finally stops after an eternity of nail biting and the rascal runs back to me, grinning like he just did me a freaking favour while I, I’m too cowardly to look up as the sound of mama’s voice keeps playing in my head telling me that my room is still empty and waiting for me.

If I have to replace this man’s suit I’ll be living at mama’s for the next year at least.

Gathering my courage I look up, up, up and into eyes so light a blue it steals my breath away. The rest of him seizes my lungs as I take in hair the colour of chocolate and a face that must have been carved by the angels themselves.

I‘m shocked speechless, my mouth hanging open as I take him all in. He’s so handsome I can’t even reference a celebrity look alike and don’t want to. None of them would do him justice anyway and that’s telling, because I still have a stalker crush on Henry Cavil in those blue tights and red cape.

He’s smiling down at me and it takes me a while to blink and close my mouth, processing the fact that he’s not yelling or threatening to kill my dog.

“Um, I am so sorry! He never does that. Er, besides that one time he bit Fern Joffey but she was throwing bread rolls at me and he took exception. Although, those rolls came in handy when mama called to ask me to bring some for Saturday breakfast. Lucky right? They were only a little dirty and I dusted them off. No one even realized. Then again, my family sort of attacks food the way a bear mauls a salmon so that’s not really a good example.” I say, trailing off when that bright smile gets wider, followed by a bark of laughter that makes me cringe.

I have toxic tongue mama says. I yap when I’m nervous and say things that no normal person would say. Like telling a handsome, rich stranger from the looks of his mauled suit that I’m descended from cave dwellers. Great.

“You’re perfect,” he breathes out, reaching out a hand to stroke my cheek.

I feel that touch all the way to my nether bits as mama calls them and swallow back a gasp of arousal when he strokes his thumb over my mouth and pulls away, sucking his finger into his mouth as if tasting me.

Holy Mary, I am a sinner, I think as the urge to kiss him silly hits me. And not just kissing. No, I have the need to do things to and with this man that make my cheeks heat even as I gulp back a squeak of need.

I laugh nervously and clear my throat when all he does is stare, silently watching me.

“I am so sorry about your pants. I can replace them? Uh, fix them! I could get into your pants, I mean get your pants and fix them?”

It’s a question more for me than him because without selling myself or an organ there is no way in hell I can afford replacing those beauties. Even if I still had my crummy job.

Suddenly those cookies of Mr. Tills don’t look quite so gross considering I’ll probably have to sleep in an alley and scrounge sustenance where I can.

“What’s your name?” he asks, totally ignoring my question, still staring in a way that has me grabbing Jack up against my chest to hide my hardened nipples.

“Ginny.”

It comes out a breathless squeak and I wince when I realize that I am talking to possibly, no definitely the most beautiful human being I have ever seen and my hair is not brushed.

“Ginny. That’s so you. I’m Blay. Blain George.”

The way he keeps looking at me is starting to get uncomfortable and I swallow a sigh when I remember dinner, how screwed I am and the possibility that I might be warming father O’ Leary’s couch for the rest of my life at this point.

I could probably stand here and drool for a good week but I need to go, least of all for the fact that if I don’t I might embarrass myself by trying to flirt with him and as papa once said, darling, you just don’t have the knack for it’.

Crimminey.

“I have to go. Um, maybe, I could give you my number and you can call me about your pants?” I ask, blushing when I catch myself ball gazing under his ever watchful eyes.

The urge to titter is overwhelming but I squelch it by holding my breath when he smirks and gets a gleam in his eye.

“Okay, though I have to warn you Gin, if you get into my pants things may be a little hard for.”

“Huh?”

Don’t blush. You’re Irish, Gin, it’s not a good look on your pasty skin.

He smirks again and then laughs at the size of my eyes.

“They’re tailored sweetheart. You may find fixing them a little hard.”

“Oh! Oh, I mean I’m pretty good with pants and measurements.” I say matter of fatly.

Blay fights a smile, I can see it and inclines his head as I rattled out my number and watch him enter it into his phone.

“I’m counting on it Tink.”

Tink?

“I really need to go.”

Before I do something embarrassing.

He inclines his head and steps closer and I swear he’s leaning down to kiss me when Jack lets out a frothy snarl and bares his toothpicks causing Blay to leap back with a curse. Course male laughter rings out from above and I look up to see the construction crew laughing down at us.

“Don’t let her get away, boss.”

“Yeah, Blay, don’t let her get away. Invite her to Cecily’s party,” this from a guy who looks a little like Blay but has short blonde hair and darker eyes.

Blay nods with a smile and looks down at me, keeping his distance when Jack yaps again.

“You could come to a party with me.”

“I, I can’t. Mama’s summoned me to dinner and I have to go or she’ll set the church on me again and I do not have three months of my life to lose if I have to look for another job because Jack knocked up my boss’s fur ball,” I complain, closing my eyes. “She’s got Joseph there. He’s hairy and he likes me. It’s a harsh situation.”

More laughter abounds and I see Blay’s brow knit before his eyes narrow, that sensual mouth thinning.

“Who is Joseph?”

My cheeks heat with embarrassment because telling this gorgeous man that I need my mama to set me up on a date with a man/boy who smells like pork and chest hair is humiliating to the extreme.

Part of me would rather eat hair than go that low but another part is still the dramatic lunatic Ing accuses me of being and well, I like talking and talking to him for even a minute longer is possibly the only thing I want right now.

“The butcher’s son. Mama’s been planning a wedding. I think she’s under the impression that I’ll cave for the free meat I could get out of it but as much as I love ribs and bacon I would rather become a vegetarian. My babies would overheat in the summer you know and I’d probably have to teach poor little Mia to shave at the age of four. That’s no life for a kid Blay, no life at all.” I say sadly, tearing up a little at the thought of razor cuts on my poor baby’s little wolf legs.

Poor Mia.

“Take me to dinner with you.” He says, startling me out of my worst nightmare with a bump back to earth.

No. Oh absolutely not. My family lives in a working class neighbourhood and mama still hangs the laundry in the front yard because she can watch it from the stoop and talk to Mrs. Fein across the way.

I’m not ashamed of my family, I love them but I have two brothers who do not understand antiperspirant or basic table manners, mama is a harpy at the best of times and papa comes to the dinner table in his shorts and vest. Even in winter. And he keeps his black socks and work boots on!

And Joseph. God. He’ll make moon eyes at me while trying to cut my meat!

“Er-”

“Take me to dinner and I’ll forget the pants.”

“Okay.”

What. It’s not like I’ll see him again, anywhere but in my dreams that is. And those pants look like they’re made of pure money.