Just One Chance (Oh Tequila Series Book 1)(2)

By: C.A. Harms

At my hands.

“Well, I think Red got his last month,” I said, all attention now focused on me. Elijah’s eyes narrowed and the earlier smug look on his face was gone. “How long did it take you to get your hand released from your ass cheek, Red?”

“Fuck you,” he mumbled and once again everyone laughed. Only this time the humor was directed at the person responsible for torturing each one of us at one point or another.

But I had a feeling his time for paying me back was coming.

Maybe I shouldn’t have superglued his hand to his bare ass cheek. But it was funny as shit watching him try to get it to let go while the rest of us sat around and laughed. Even when he practically begged for us to help, we each chose to sit back and watch the show.

Red still glared at me, and I could practically hear his mind churning.

“I had sores on my ass for weeks after that,” he complained.

“I told you to stop tugging.” I kept a straight face while everyone around us continued to laugh and make comments quietly. “I also told you that they recommend fingernail polish remover, or submerging yourself in water, to remove the glue.”

“Yeah I know, but none of you assholes would get me any, and it’s next to impossible to buckle my fucking pants with my hand glued to my ass so I could go to the store. Forget putting on a shirt.” More laughter erupted. “And Dicks One and Two were occupying both bathrooms, apparently both suffering from the shits, so you tell me how I could submerge my ass in water?”

Corbin and Clayton seemed to be laughing harder than any of them. I am positive it was related to the fact that neither of them needed the bathroom that morning; they just didn’t want to share with Red.

The way Elijah was looking at me told me I was only poking the sleeping bear. I was giving him more reason to target me. I should have stopped, but it was too much fun.

“Miss Frankie helped ya out though,” I said, hiding my “I won” smirk.

Frankie Lester was our forty-nine-year-old housekeeper. And she had a thing for Red. I think it was the hair.

I chuckled, remembering the time I found her combing her fingers through it while he was sleeping in the chair. No one else was around as I peeked around the corner, watching the way her eyes lit up each time she stroked his head.

“She was more than happy to get the acetone and treat your problem,” I said, slouching back in my chair.

Elijah’s cheeks reddened and I was sure it wasn’t just due to embarrassment. The guy was getting pissed.

That day we all stood around laughing and dodging swings from Elijah while Miss Frankie rubbed acetone on his ass with her fingers. She insisted she had to work it slowly to refrain from scarring his ass.

The lady was practically foaming at the mouth.

I had a feeling I just set myself up for a night of hell. The look in Red’s eyes was all the reassurance I needed. I knew he was already thinking up some form of revenge.

But I couldn’t let him see me sweat.

I’d just stay one step ahead of the game.

Chapter 2


I worked too much.

I knew this.

I was nineteen, living on my own. Paying my own way through college, the small amount of classes I could afford, anyway. I knew at this rate it would take me twice as long to get a degree, but in the end it would be worth it.

I had watched my family struggle for far too long.

My father worked double shifts to make ends meet, and my mother stayed home with my brother, Toby.

My little brother required a lot of attention and a lot of therapy.

Which also required a lot of money.

Toby had cerebral palsy, which gave him a lifetime of struggles.

He was bound to a wheelchair, and though to some he may appear as if everyday life had no effect on him, I could assure them he was well aware. Things bothered him, and he knew he was different, even though none of us who love him treated him as such. He is our special guy, who, on most days, was a happy, sweet boy.

And even when he wasn’t, we loved him just as hard to show him that no matter what, we would always be on his team.

To me, asking my parents for help was like taking from him. And I’d never do that.

So working hard, forcing myself to be a grown-up when everyone around me was being a typical nineteen-year-old college student, was mandatory.

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