Will punches Paxton square in the jaw and stands up, giving him a kick for good measure. Paxton starts crawling around, trying to get up as Will grabs him by his jacket’s collar, and hauls him out the door.
“Where the fuck did you come from?”
I’m standing frozen, arms around myself. I seriously don’t think I can move.
“Climbed the fucking balconies. I saw something going on…I could see someone up here. I don’t know, I had a bad feeling. Are you okay?” he says, all between breaths.
I nod, slowly, thinking, no, I wasn’t alright, not until you got here.
He steps close to me, and I feel my heart bounce.
I can’t help but grin as I take in his sent, and start to feel that warm tingle between my legs.
Oh, yeah. This guy gets me going. I can’t even help it.
“So,” Will says, as he rakes a hand through his hair. “We should talk then?”
I nod as I move towards the couch, feeling shaky and scared, but full of hope too.
“Yeah. Let’s talk.”
19
William
As the adrenaline starts to taper off, my blind rage fades and my blurry vision returns to normal and finds Kat standing before me.
That jump up the balconies really sobered me up, and it’s a good thing too, since I haven’t been in an actual fistfight since fucking grade school.
Think that doesn’t go on at preppy private schools? Think again.
I had to take Scotty Logan out for getting into my whiskey stash. I fucked his sister, though, so it all evens out in the end.
This fight was not as exciting. I’m still not exactly sure what the fuck happened.
I was on the street, looking up, when I saw her. I couldn’t wait to get up to her, and I saw a shadow move in the apartment.
I
knew something was wrong.
Okay, I had half an idea she might have replaced me already, and I really wanted to surprise them.
Whichever way it went, the balconies were the way to go.
“Will.” Kat comes over, cradling my hand. “You’ve hurt your fingers.”
“I’m okay,” I assure her, brushing off the concern but secretly enjoying the attention. “I need to top up. Do you have…ah! Yes, you do!”
I see a bottle of my favorite whiskey by the couch, and Kat comes over with me and we sit down.
She’s trying to fuss with my hand while I take long swigs out of the bottle. Once I put the bottle down, I start fumbling for my phone.
“Look, gimme my hand back. I came over here for something, and I’m not fucking this up.”
She really won’t give me my hand back, so I start getting into the phone left-handed.
“I’m deleting every single woman in here. Look, Elsa Tonique, dancer. Speaks seven languages and bendy as gumby. Check out this one, Cheryl Wilson, ex-Miss America contender. Got kicked out for sexual harassment—twice. There’s that fucking golf caddy. This one’s a millionaire, but lives in the slums because she thinks it’s good for her image. This one—”