“No, you actually told me to go screw Cherry.” I retrieve my phone and scroll to my contacts. “She’s usually one call away. If she comes, will you stay and watch this time or run away like a scared little rabbit again?”
She pushes me away, harder this time, and even though she uses all her strength, I still pin her in place, my voice losing all nonchalance. “Sit the fuck down. We’re not done.”
Her face twists and a tear clings to her lid. “You already have a fucktoy, why don’t you leave me alone?”
“Cherry isn’t my fucktoy, you are. If you play difficult again and say you don’t care if I fuck her, I’ll stuff her with my cock while you watch, then I’ll revoke my nice phase and deflower you on the spot. I’m not a patient person, Glyndon, but I’ve been trying to conjure that trait for you. If you show no appreciation for my efforts, I’ll just let my devil side take over.”
Her lips part, some of the fight dispersing. “You…didn’t sleep with her?”
“No. Do you want me to?”
She stares at the side, the ground. Anywhere but at me. However, I can see her throat bobbing up and down with a swallow.
I use my hand on her shoulder to switch her attention back to me. “Answer the question. Should I call Cherry?”
“No.” Her voice is barely a whisper, eaten up by the commotion around us, but I hear it.
This is the first time she freed herself of moral shackles and let go.
Is it too early to fuck her on the edge of this same fountain and then think of a swift way to get rid of witnesses?
No.
Repress.
I don’t want to scare her away when she’s finally speaking the truth.
“What did you just say?” I play dumb. “I didn’t hear.”
She stares at me, more assertively this time. “I don’t want you to fuck Cherry.”
“Are you possessive of me, baby?”
“No. It’s for myself. If you won’t leave me alone, I refuse to be your or anyone else’s side piece.”
“If you say so.”
“I mean it.”
“Yeah, sure.”
“If you touch any other woman, I’ll go find my type.”
“The Stuart variety? I’m sure your family would hire someone to kill him before adding that name to their repertoire. Maybe I can do them the favor.”
She huffs, eyes dripping with pure mischief. “That’s where you’re mistaken. My family always wanted me to end up with the Prince Charming type. Pretty sure they’d approve of Stuart.”
My jaw clenches. “Not if he somehow ends up disfigured.”
“Do you have to use violence for everything?”
“Not everything, no. Just whatever stands in my way.” I stroke her cheek. “Don’t be that, baby. All right?”
“I’m not scared of you.”
I let my lips stretch into a smirk as I see myself in her bright, determined eyes. It’s the only time I’ve looked forward to looking in a mirror. “That’s what I like about you, my little rabbit.”
Her lips fall open in an O and then she closes them and reaches for her bag to retrieve a sandwich.
I snatch it out of her hand and push it to the side.
“Give it back,” she grumbles. “I’m hungry.”
“And this is junk.”
“Better than starving.”
“I knew you had trouble taking care of your physical needs. I bet you’re the type who stays up all night doing some passion project, sleeps two hours, then goes to class with dark circles.”
“How…the hell do you know that?” She narrows her eyes. “Are you psychic?”
“When it comes to you? Always.” I reach into my backpack and fetch the container I prepared early this morning and place it on her lap.
She looks at it expectantly. “Will I find a dead rat in this?”
“Shh. It’s supposed to be a surprise.”
“You’re not funny.”
“So you keep telling me, but I promise it’s not my intent to be. Now, open it.”
Her eyes turn to slits, but she slowly opens the container and pauses. I took extra care in making rice, shrimp, two types of salad and some eggs.
“Wow.” Her lips part. “You…made this?”
“Yeah. Look, I even did a smiley face with the vegetables on the rice.”
Her shoulders shake with laughter. “That’s a very creepy smile and looks more horror-esque.”
“At least I tried.” I pass her the utensils. “Now, eat.”
She takes a bite of the rice, doing her best not to ruin the smiley face, then she goes for the salad and the shrimp.
“This is so good. I didn’t have any homemade meals since my last visit home.”
“That’s because you’re shit at keeping up with your bodily needs.”
“Hey, you don’t have to be a dick about it.” She swallows a spoonful of rice. “Besides, you must’ve tortured your cook to make you this.”
“No, I actually did it myself.”
She chokes and I retrieve a bottle of water, uncap it, and give it to her. I pat her back as she drinks. “I know you’re touched, but you have to keep it together, baby.”
Glyndon finishes drinking and stares at me from beneath her lashes. “You…made this?”
“That’s what I said.”
“But it’s so delicious.”
“And someone like me can’t make something delicious?”
“That’s not what I said. I’m just surprised.”
“That I pay attention to your bodily needs?”
“And that you cook.”
“I don’t. This is the first time I’ve tried it.”
“What?” She nearly chokes again and I keep the bottle of water on the ready. “I mean, what? How can you make something this tasty on your first try?”
“Internet recipes. Ever heard of them?”
“My internet recipe trials have been major disasters to the point that Mum kicked me out of the kitchen. After I lit the stove on fire.”
“Lucky for you, I’m an okay cook.”
“Are you trying to piss me off by being modest? You’re like a genius.”
“So everyone keeps saying today as if it’s a new discovery. I was born a genius, baby.”
“Don’t be cocky.”
“It’s my charm, though.”
She rolls her eyes but continues eating, releasing a satisfied noise every now and then. It’s similar to a moan, but not really, and I could watch her all day.
Glyndon has grace, even while eating. There’s an elegance to her movements and a regal aura to her presence. A part of me yearns to tarnish it in all the worst ways.
And protect it, too.
“I can’t believe this is your first time,” she mumbles after swallowing the contents of her mouth.
“Jealous much, my little rabbit?”
Her head tilts in my direction, causing the blonde and honey-colored strands to camouflage half her face. “What’s with that nickname?”
“You were running fast yesterday. I liked it.”
“Well, I didn’t like what you did afterward. Why the hell did you post that picture on IG?”
“My, baby. Are you stalking me?” I grin. “Mom, come pick me up. I’m scared.”
She smiles, then hides it. “It should be the other way around, prick.”
I jokingly hit my shoulder against hers. “Got to stake a claim so no one dares to come near what’s mine. Like dear old Stuart.”
“Stop making fun of him. You’re unbelievable.”
“And so is your ‘my type’ painting. Delete that.”
“No.”
“Do I have to go the difficult road with this?”
Her lips part again, and she stops picking at her salad to survey her surroundings. “You can’t do anything. We’re in public.”
“Think again.” I snatch her phone from her lap and place it in front of her face, unlocking it.
When she comes out of her daze, I’m already on her Instagram and proceed to delete the ‘my type’ picture.
“Have you ever heard of privacy?”
“Don’t believe in that word when it comes to you.” While I’m at it, I go to her contacts and see what she named me.
“Psycho’s cute.” I kiss her cheek and she freezes as I take a selfie and then put it as the display picture. “There. Much better. You can ogle this when you miss me.”
“As if!”
I chuckle as she tries to retrieve her phone and fails. Over and over.
Finally, she gives up and throws daggers with her eyes in my direction. “Ugh. Dick.”
“I see your repertoire of insults has gotten richer.”
“Learned from the best.”
“Happy to help. How are you going to pay me? I vote for a BJ.”
“In your dreams.”
“In my dreams, your blood is smeared all over my cock, so unless you want to recreate the image, I suggest you change the subject.” I grab her hand and place it on my bulge.
Her cheeks turn crimson as she retracts her hand back fast. “Perv.”
“If you believe that to be an insult, think again.”
She releases a breath but chooses to continue eating instead.
So I prompt. “By the way, where should we go later?”
“Why do we have to go anywhere?”
“Because we’re dating, or whatever label you want to put on it. In retrospect, that means you’re mine.”
She releases an exasperated sigh.
“Come to the mansion. Niko is throwing a party.”
“Pass. That’s not my scene.”
“Hmm. Then what is?”
“Quiet nights. Cozy blankets and a thought-provoking film. Those types of things.”
“Your idea of fun is even worse than your taste in men.”
“Too bad I didn’t ask for your opinion.”
“Too bad you’re getting it. What movie are we watching tonight? I’ll bring snacks.”
“We are not watching anything.”
“Then come to the party.”
“No.”
“I wasn’t asking, Glyndon. Either movie night or party night.” I tilt my head to the side. “By the way, if you leave me on Read again, I’ll jump onto your balcony and abort the nice phase.”