Page 50 of Five

Once I stop having a stroke from his sexy as fuck—but also confusing—fucked-up response, my ability to speak finally returns. Is he screwing with me?

Folding my arms across my chest, I tilt my chin up. Have to because of our height difference anyway, but I’m sure he knows I mean business. “That was…” The wordepic comes to mind, but I toss it away like a pair of bell-bottom trousers. “…an extraordinary circumstance.”

“Sure.” Is he being sarcastic? He tilts his head to one side, keeping that piercing gaze on me. I feel like he’s trying to read my thoughts.

“A one-time thing,” I keep saying, which I'd love to repeat two—three—twenty more times.

He hums noncommittally.

“What game are you playing?” I ask him. He’s acting like a totally different person. Still a jerk, but more cocky and less uptight. “What is…this?”

My eyes fall on the two open buttons of his white shirt. My mouth floods with drool, remembering how his bare skin tasted against my tongue as I sucked on his exposed torso, bare shoulders, and warm neck. All that skin pressed up against my back.

When his arms drew away from me, and his tip left my hole, slipping free of my body, a sense of loss almost crushed my soul.

What. The. Bloody. Fuck.

I need to leave. I came to say what I wanted to say. And I did. But instead of finding closure, I feel like I lost something. My sanity perhaps. Nah, that was gone a long time ago.

Medusa’s annoying voice comes through the intercom, making me jump, “Mr. Reed, Mr. Dorridge—” Her voice is drowned out by the sound of the door banging open and the stomping arrival of one of the Skid Mark’s brothers covered in neon green goo on his hair, face, hands, and jacket. He looks like a fluorescent firefly. I’d forgotten about the package I sent him a few days back. This is ace! It’s amazing what a mega-size tube of slime and some springs can do.

The arsehole looks spectacularly ridiculous. That’s what he gets for cornering the shy new intern. She’s nineteen, for fuck’s sake. I guess being groping creeps is in the family genes.

I can’t stifle my snort, revealing my presence to his angry eyes.

“I want him fired!” He throws his arm out, finger pointing at me.

“Is it arsehole day today? I didn’t get the memo,” I mumble, and I see Gabe turn a chilly look my way.

“Bart, I hope you have a valid reason to storm into my office like this a second time.” His voice is back to its monotonic flatness.

“Look at me! Isn’t it obvious? That little shit did this!” He’s spitting his fury all around.

“Where’s your brother? I’d like to have another chat with him and his desk,” I taunt him. He needs his face smashed a second time for sure.

“Like you don’t know he was fired, you piece of shit!”

Fired?

He takes a step toward me, but Gabe’s commanding tone stops him. “Lower your voice, Bart. I won’t allow this kind of behavior in my firm.”

“This kind of behavior?” Skid Mark is going ape, flailing his arms around and yelling. “I’m covered in fucking paint!”

“Slime,” I correct him, sucking my lips inward for letting that slip.

He lets out an irate huff. “I knew it was you!”

“Just stating a fact,” I say in a bored tone.

“He broke my brother’s nose and dislocated his wrist.” He turns to Gabe again.

“He let my numerous rejections whoosh right over his head. I just wanted to move away from his sticky fingers, but he decided that an inch was all I really needed for my own personal space. He denied my rights and was in need of a practical lesson.”

“My brother is not a fag!” Skid Mark vehemently states.

I chuckle. “A fag? You mean a funny amazing guy? Certainly not! He’s a repulsive, middle-aged prick with a fixation for egg salad and men’s butts.”

“You’ll get what you deserve. Soon, you will,” he hisses.