Red Thorns (Thorns Duet 1)
“Crude is what I do.”
She slurps from her juice and lifts her chin. “I want to watch the newest true crime show first.”
“Are you seriously picking true crime over fucking?”
“Everyone has different priorities,” she teases, struggling to hide her smile, and failing.
“I’m going to have a talk with those serial killers and Netflix for producing them like candy.”
“HBO Max, too. And Hulu.”
“You think this is funny?”
She nods with a huge grin as she reaches to the remote and turns on Netflix. I steal it out of her hand. “We’ll have a bet.”
“You and your bets. What now?”
“Are you a scaredy cat?”
She tips her chin defensively. “No!”
“Then you’ll win this rather easily.”
“Win what?”
“Instead of true crime, we’ll watch a horror movie. If you shriek, close eyes or hide, I win. And that means we’ll go with my ‘fucking the shit out of you’ plan, which includes countless orgasms, by the way. If you do none of those, we’ll watch true crime. One episode, though, then we’ll go back to my plan.”
She laughs, the sound is like fucking music to my ears. I love knowing that she’s a closed off person on the outside but is a mushy girl with me.
Only me.
After she agrees to the bet, I put on The Conjuring. That shit apparently made a few of the cheerleaders cry with horror, as per Owen’s retellings, so I trust it’d work.
I don’t watch it, though. My entire attention stays on her.
She’s still slurping from her juice, but as the time goes by, the straw is there, but she’s gulping her own saliva instead of the juice.
Ominous music from the film fills the room which means there’ll be a spooky scene soon. I slowly reach a hand behind her, keeping it on the sofa. When the jump is about to happen, I touch her shoulder.
Naomi shrieks, jumping up, then hiding her head in my lap as she throws the bottle of juice away. Her chest hits my thigh and I can sense her skyrocketing pulse.
I burst out laughing as I wrap my arm around her back. “You lose, baby.”
“Screw you, okay?” She peeks up at me, making sure to not make eye contact with the screen. “That’s cheating.”
“I call it gaming the system.”
“Asshole.”
“You’re such a scaredy cat for someone who worships at true crime’s shrine.”
“They’re not the same.” She motions at the TV, still hiding. “Can you turn it off?”
“Maybe I want to continue watching it.”
“Sebastian!”
“Yes, baby?”