Falling for Them Volume 3: Reverse Harem Collection Read online

  “Your chariot awaits, M’ Lady.” Shayne and Morgan both mimic my overly done English accent and cackle like a couple of old ladies as they climb into the back seat, not waiting to give Arlia an option to turn down the front seat.

  I catch her giving them both the stink eye before getting into the passenger seat. Guess they made that move too obvious. Smiling, I shut her door before rounding my beaut to get in the driver's side. I resist running my hands over the paintwork because she’s recently been polished, I don’t want her smudged.

  Before I turn the key, I lean to the side, taking my phone out my front pocket and placing it in the holder. Doing a quick glance round, I make sure everyone is wearing their belts before finally starting her. The roads are overly icy and I’ve a feeling the backend is going to be a little twitchy on the way to taking Arlia home.

  After receiving the address of her home, I realise I know the area and I don’t need her to give me directions, freeing her up to make idle chit chat with the guys in the back. I don’t know how I feel about her living in the area she does. It’s well known in town for being a shit-hole with drug addicts and dealers living there. The last time I was in the area for work Black Betty ended up with a small mob surrounding her, and I know they were eyeing her up for the stereo system, as for the fuckin’ scratches I found on my baby once I arrived home. I was beyond pissed. I glance at Arlia a couple of times, trying to work out why she lives there. Her wages can’t be so bad to a point she can’t afford to live in a better area. Anywhere must be better than here.

  I become too lost in thought, but I’m dragged out of my musing when I sense the car slide slightly, immediately followed by a squeak. Morgan reaches through and places his hand gently on her shoulder causing her to jump.

  “Benji’s a good driver. He won’t crash because he won’t wanna risk scratching the paint work on his ‘Black Betty’.” Morgan laughs.

  “This is why I’ve been walking to work, the roads are too slippery for my car, I won’t make it off the driveway without going sideways.” Arlia explains.

  I glance in the rear-view mirror to see Shayne frowning before he questions, “why not grab a taxi? Got to be better than running the risk of landing on your ass.”

  After a tense moment, Arlia murmurs, “It’s cheaper to walk.” I spot the moment the conversation is off limits because she turns her head to watch out the window.

  Chapter Three

  Greasy Fingers

  Even though the conversation started out awkward, Arlia quickly relaxes when Shayne cracks stupid jokes. It lifts enough that we have several laughs despite the fact the car slips around way too much and puts us all on edge. Soon, we talk so naturally that outsiders would’ve assumed we’d all been friends for years if they could’ve listened to us.

  She fits well in our group, and by the looks I kept catching in the mirror, Shayne and Morgan both feel the same way. Before we arrive at her home, we manage to give Arlia our phone numbers with an open offer of friendship. When her face shows indecision, we understand and don’t pressure her for a number in return.

  We finally leave after watching her get safely into her house.

  On the way out of the end of her street, I’m forced to be extra careful. Some little fuckers had broken bottles on the road and the glass was barely visible through the thick frost that had settled in. My hands tighten on the steering wheel at the thought of Arlia walking to work through such dangerous terrain.

  The drive back to our place is unbearable. I keep glancing in the mirror at Shayne and Morgan. They both struggle, too. I can tell they want to turn back and take her out of that shithole just as much as I do.

  ~

  Two days pass and dreaded Monday comes again.

  We’re all miserable. Morgan cooks up some bacon for the breakfast wraps for us to eat on our way to work. None of us take the time to sit and acknowledge the huge elephant in the room. I know they find Arlia as fascinating as I do, and I can understand why they came to the same realisation. She’s gorgeous, only a blind man would miss it. Not that looks are everything, though. She seems like a really down to earth person, easy to talk to, with a great laugh, and if I hazard a guess, she doesn’t seem the type to befriend someone for personal gain. None of us want to sit down and discuss it, though. I can’t blame them, not really.

  It’s a cluster fuck.

  Morgan drops the frying pan into the sink, causing Shayne and me to jump. He grabs the foil box; the noise of the foil being roughly dragged out and ripped off the roll causes my teeth to clench.

  Fuck! I hate that noise.

  He makes quick work of bundling the wraps up and dumps them on the table. With a quick, shouted goodbye over his shoulder, he heads out of the kitchen, not giving either of us a chance to reply.

  The sound of the front door slamming behind him reaches my ears. I glance up to Shayne, and he shakes his head while standing. He grabs the foil wrapped breakfast and sighs. “You know, we’re gonna need to talk about it, Benji.”

  I spin in my seat when his footsteps stop. He stands in the doorway with a conflicted expression on his face, then he groans and bangs his head once against the doorframe before he stares directly at me.

  I respond, “I know we do. Just… Let’s see if she texts first. If she does, then we’ll talk and go from there.”

  He nods once and turns on his heel to leave. Sighing, I bang my head on the table and hope today goes better than Friday. I usually love landscaping, but I don’t like doing it when we’ve had a bad frost and the customer demands their garden be done before the ground has a chance to thaw.

  Don’t get me wrong, I love my job and my boss. Unfortunately, things have been tight for him financially. As a quick fix, he came up with the idea of working on gardens while other contractors remain on a break until the weather’s warmer. I’m making no promises today, though. If Mr. Stuart thinks shit’s being moved a third time, he’s becoming the main feature instead of the patio.

  Standing, I put my high viz jacket on and put my breakfast wrap in my backpack. No way will I eat oily food in Black Betty like the other guys do in their cars. I don’t want the grease everywhere. Quickly checking to make sure Morgan turned the cooker off properly, I grab my keys off the table in the hallway and head out.

  I don’t even make it to the bottom of the front steps of the house before almost falling on my ass from the ice.

  Fuck! Today’s going to suck donkey balls!

  Careful not to land on my ass, I still manage to slip twice more before I make it safely to my beaut. I debate for a second on whether it’d be safer to take a taxi instead of driving a rear wheel car in this weather, but I can’t bring myself to leave her behind. Shaking my head, I unlock her before turning the key and blasting all the heaters. I sit and wait a few minutes, cupping my cold hands and blowing into them. My arms are already aching from the mere thought of digging up a fuckin’ garden.

  Monday blues are seriously kicking me in the dick already.

  I briefly debate whether to be a sneaky shit and phone Jason, calling in a favour and demanding he give me Arlia’s number. Instead, I huff and decide it’s not the best approach in making a new friendship with her and gaining her trust. I slam my head against the headrest in frustration.

  My hopes of her taking it upon herself to give any of us a text is getting slimmer and slimmer as more days go by. Women aren’t normally the type to leave men hanging, at least I don’t think they are. The type we’ve known in the past usually text or call us before we’ve even made it home. I have a sneaking suspicion Arlia isn’t like other girls, though.

  Feeling like such a bitch, I check my phone again to make sure I’ve not missed any calls or texts. When my screen remains empty, I shove my phone into the holder, then realise I must have sat here longer than I presumed. All the windows are now ice free. Putting my seatbelt on, I cautiously pull out of my spot and go in the direction of Mr. Stuart’s house.

  ~

  Lunchtime c
omes around quickly. My arms ache from digging up the ground all morning, with the ground being too hard, I’d hoped the boss would call off the job, but frozen dirt didn’t stop him. I don’t even bother to try sticking the shovel in the ground. Instead, I prop it against the barrow before picking up my bag.

  I sit on the iron patio set next to the boss and Melvin, the other labourer, and ignore the cold that seeps through my jeans as I take out my long-forgotten bacon wrap.

  Normally, there would be more of us working on this type of job, but with the business cutbacks, the boss decided to only keep two of us on. I’m thankful he didn’t get rid of us, but I feel guilty he dropped Ned and Andrew because they both have families to support.

  I pull a face when I bite into the bacon wrap. It’s cold and tastes a little weird. But with nothing in my stomach, it makes me less fussy. My phone’s vibration pulls me momentarily away from my food. Digging it from my pocket, I carry on consuming my breakfast-lunch and unlock the screen.

  I stop mid chew and stare down at the unknown number. I can barely make out the small amount of text underneath the number because my thumb smeared bacon grease across the screen. In my haste to click on the message, I almost drop my food.

  Cursing and half choking on the bacon, I quickly wipe my phone across my jeans, hoping to clear the screen enough to see who sent the text.

  I lift the phone once more. “Mother fucker!”

  Dirt from my jeans now sticks to the grease, making it even more impossible to read the damn text.

  “Watch your language!” Melvin barks in irritation.

  It’s not the first time he’s told me to watch my tongue, but the customer isn't out here and I’m too busy trying to clean my phone to care about what the fool is telling me to do.

  I quickly decide that the wrap is less important than figuring out who sent the message and place it on my dirty bag. Untucking my shirt, I turn the bottom inside out and use a clean bit to rub furiously against the screen, hoping to wipe it off enough to read.

  Finally, the phone’s clean. Rubbing my fingers on my shirt, too, to make sure I don't smear more shit across the screen, I can clearly read the message. I bite my tongue to hold back more foul language so Melvin won’t chew my ass out even more.

  Holy fuck! She messaged me!

  Saving the number to my phone, I click back on the message and read it again.

  Arlia: Hey. Sorry it’s been a few days, been extra busy with work. Would you all like to come over? I’d like to cook and say thanks for the other night. That’s if you’re not all busy.

  A big grin spreads across my face. I don't even care what she cooks, it gives me a chance to know her better, even if she invited my friends, too. I type the guys a quick message, but hesitate before sending it, unsure whether to give them her number. Saving the message to drafts, I open her text and send her a reply.

  Benji: Is it okay for the guys to have your number?

  Arlia: Yes, that’s fine. Are any of you picky eaters?

  Her quick response makes me feel like a dick for even contemplating whether to keep her number away from them. A small part of me doesn’t want them to have it so it’ll better my chances with her. But we’d all offered up friendship, so it's only right they get her number, too.

  Benji: No, we’re pigs, so anything you cook will be good. Let us know when you want us and we’ll be there.

  Arlia: Ha! Wednesday good, 6:30?

  Benji: Absolutely. Wednesday, 6:30, is good with us.

  Arlia: See you then. Take care. :)

  Putting my phone in my pocket, I abandon the patio table and resume my place at the shovel. I ignore the two dings I receive within five minutes of each other. Knowing they’re likely from the guys, I don’t bother checking my phone.

  Arlia’s texts put me in a good enough mood that I’m not too grumpy when Mr. Stuart comes out with even more changes to be done to the modifications we already made. I guess he doesn’t realise how much his adjustments throw us off schedule. I chuckle under my breath as I listen to Melvin trying to patiently explain why revisions now would be unsuitable and more expensive with the added cost of more materials.

  I don’t bother to save him right away. He didn’t save me Friday when I faced off with Mr. Stuart. Instead, Melvin sat back and watched, finding it hilarious. I silently vow to rescue the fucker tomorrow if Mr. Stuart still insists though.

  The message from Arlia put me in a good enough mood, so I won’t make him suffer for too long.

  Chapter Four

  Armpits & Snooping

  On Wednesday, we all rush home and jump into the showers so we can be on time for Arlia. None of us want to make her wait, especially since she accepted our offer of friendship.

  “Come-on, fuckers! Let’s not keep the lady waiting!” Shayne bellows impatiently from the bottom of the stairs.

  I check my appearance in the full-length mirror one more time, sighing when I realise the cowlick in my fringe sends my hair all over the place. It never goes in the direction I want it to. Giving up, I quickly throw my worn, leather jacket on and leave my room, only to almost crash into Morgan.

  We both wear our best jeans and shirts, but Morgan has a short sleeve on, despite the icy weather. He obviously wants Arlia to get a good gawk at his muscles. I stuck with the regular long sleeve one because it’s too fuckin’ cold to walk around in short sleeves.

  Here’s to hoping the sod freezes. It’ll serve him right for being such a peacock.

  Wanting to wind Morgan up a little, I waft my hand in front of my face, pretending to sneeze. “What did you do? Bath in aftershave? Christ, Morgan!”

  The fucker elbows me in the ribs and scoffs. “You should do the same, you stink of dirt and shit.”

  I open my mouth, ready to give him a dig back, but Shayne shouts, “Hurry up or I’m leaving without you fuckers!”

  Allowing Morgan to go first, I slyly lift my arm up to sniff my armpit. Morgan’s bellowing laughter lets me know I wasn’t nearly sneaky enough.

  When we reach the hallway, Shayne waits impatiently. He chose a long-sleeved shirt, too, and by the glare he throws at Morgan, he’s cottoned on to our friend’s reason for the short sleeves. He doesn’t comment, though, as we all stomp out to the car.

  We all pile into Morgan’s car, and he drives us to Arlia’s in silence. We’re all too distracted for conversation. By the way Shayne keeps shifting every few seconds, I’m guessing he’s a little nervous. As we pull onto Arlia’s street, I’m once again reminded I don’t like the area she lives in. It’s run down and known for people dealing drugs, a shooting, and a couple of teenage gangs stabbing each other.

  Once the car comes to a stop, we climb out and make our way up the steps to Arlia’s front door. On the way, I notice a ramp leading up the side of her house to the front door. I frown, recognising how fresh the tarmac on it appears. Does Arlia have someone else living with her who needs wheelchair access? Although, I don’t recall her mentioning a roommate or boyfriend…

  Fuck! I hope she hasn’t got a boyfriend! What will he think of her inviting three fuckin’ blokes over?

  Shayne rings the doorbell twice as we stand shoulder to shoulder, waiting for Arlia to answer. I glance back over to the ramp, again distracted by trying to work out why she’d have it.

  Suddenly, I feel a light jab against my leg and turn in Morgan’s direction to glare at him. He doesn’t pay me any attention though, and instead nods towards the door.

  It’s then I notice the open front door and Arlia’s standing there waiting.

  I have to catch my breath. While she’s not wearing anything fancy, she’s still as gorgeous as the first time I laid my eyes on her. In simple black trousers and a plain purple t-shirt, she seems shorter than I remember. A glance down shows me tiny pink toes sticking out the bottom of her trousers.

  Movement catches my eye, and I watch in fascination as she shyly pushes a loose bit of hair behind her ear before quietly saying, “Hi.”

 
; I get a good look at the bruise on her face and the scabbed-up lip, and I have to fight the urge to turn around and find the fucker who hurt her. I only manage to stay standing there because I know Morgan and Shayne gave him a good kicking.

  Arlia steps out the way, opening the door wider to allow us all in. The smell of food instantly hits my nose before I’m even properly in the house, and my stomach gives a loud rumble, knowing it’s going to consume food soon. This causes Arlia to laugh. A smile of my own breaks over my face, but I notice Shayne and Morgan both smiling, too, at the angelic sound.

  I really hope things don’t become awkward between me and the guys while we’re here. I have a sneaking suspicion they’ve come over with the plan of trying to claim her for themselves. I can only hope that the macho bullshit doesn’t start up, or it will at least wait until we’re all home.

  “How was you day?” Shayne asks as they walk farther down the hallway towards what I assume is the kitchen.

  Morgan follows close behind them, but I hold back slightly, wanting to grow more accustomed to everything around me. I get a glimpse of a chunky, silver frame resting on a small table next to the front door. Double checking to make sure no one’s coming back, I pick it up to get a better look. In the picture, Arlia stands next to a man in a wheelchair. He looks to be in his late forties.

  Lifting the picture closer to my face, viewing closely, I notice a resemblance between Arlia and the man.

  “That’s James, my father.” A voice speaks up behind me, causing me to jump and almost drop the heavy frame.

  I spin around in surprise, and realise Arlia stands directly behind me, leaning up against the banister rail. Her t-shirt clings to her chest, and I become distracted for a moment before I force my eyes to stare at her face.