A Brush With The Devil

The grin on his face falters slightly.

So easily baited, I think trying my best not to roll my eyes.

Do I feel like less of a man because of what he did to me?

Yes and no.

Yes because that’s not something I should have missed. Let’s be honest; if someone is going to go through the trouble of fucking me, they should have at least let me find out if it’s something I might be into once in a while. But, then again, I’m not into dick so I guess he did me a favor in a way.

No because the only other person that knows this happened is standing in this building with me, and I’ll be good and goddamned if I’ll let him flap his fucking gums about this to anyone. If he thinks he’s handy with a thread and needle, he hasn’t seen anything yet.

I smile slightly when the phone vibrates in my pocket.

“Anyway, about that ice?” I ask him as I walk into the kitchen. Gray follows closely behind me and I’m wondering if he wants another go, when he slams the freezer door shut, almost catching my hand inside. “God, you’re such a drama queen,” I grumble, glancing at him. “But that’s fine. I’m sure this headache will go away eventually.”

“What is wrong with you?” he shouts inches from my face. I cringe slightly and take an involuntary step backwards wondering what the issue is now. “Get out of my house!”

I chuckle and shrug. “And here I thought you said you were gonna kill me. Granted, it wouldn’t have happened, but I would have liked to get a little dirty again before I headed back to the highway, you know?

Gray takes a step toward me, and I take another back. This has nothing to do with fear and everything to do with teaching him a lesson. You can’t take things that don’t belong to you—at least not without asking first.

It’s almost a slow dance that we’re locked in now.

For every step he makes forward, I take two steps back.

Over and over until I’m in the hallway and he’s standing just inside his home.

“So … I guess this means we aren’t friends then?” I ask thoughtfully.

“Over my dead body,” he barks.

I grin.

He arches an eyebrow.

I shrug, sigh over dramatically, and before Gray realizes what’s happening, I move much faster than he expects. Yanking the door shut between us, I start running up the stairs as quickly as I can. Granted, I’m going to be winded as fuck by the time I get upstairs again, but that’s nothing a little blow job from his man/chick thing won’t fix.

“Lakyn!”

I laugh when I hear his angry shout echoing up the staircase, but he should have been a little smarter about dancing with this devil. Usually, I’m not big on revenge and even now, I don’t think that’s what this can be considered. I really just wanna play with his toys before I leave, and in a way, it’ll give him a little mental spanking for the heist he committed.

Once I’m inside the room, I pull the door closed and start piling shit against it. As much as I can so that Mr. Roid Induced Rage can’t burst right through on the first try. When I’m satisfied that it’ll take at least two of him to push through the door, I let out a tired laugh and slide down onto the floor to rest for a moment.

Not the easiest thing to do when two pairs of eyes that belong to the same body are staring at you, though. I tilt my head as I look at the meat puzzle. Somehow, it’s managed to sit up now and they’re not exactly even; crooked even. Wonder if he’d let me fix them after I play with them, I muse to myself as I turn my eyes back to who I assume is the Penn of this creepy duet.

A smile starts to crease my lips as my eyes settle on him.

He’s a tall—or used to be—skinny fucking thing, and he kinda reminds me of Ichabod. He’s got big, beautiful lips that I bet can do some serious damage, freaky huge blue eyes, and he looks so angry that I can almost taste it.

Almost, but not quite.

The girl stitched to hell on the side of him is much smaller than he is. I make this observation after I finally tear my eyes away from him long enough to take her in. She’s looking at me through narrow, chocolate-brown eyes, breathing a little heavily, and clenching her fist at her side of whatever they are.

I get to my feet and walk right by them toward a large tool chest I can see on one of the other tables. Flipping the top open, I reach in and pull out a box cutter. I hold it up to the light, flick the blade in and out a few times to make sure it works, then walk back toward the soon to be separated.

“How long have you guys been like this?” I ask them conversationally as I make my way back to stand in front of them. When neither of them answers me, I roll my eyes good-naturedly remembering that they can’t exactly respond.

Not yet, anyway.