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Chapter 12NateMe: Usually when I tell a girl she’s cute, they turn into a gushy mess.
I have to admit, I was mildly amused when she called me last night. From the beginning, it was obvious that she was drunk.
My first thought was she was calling to confess her love for me—or should I say Brix? It was a natural assumption when you consider the obvious sexual tension between us. That, and the fact she was hiding under Brix’s bed. But there was no confessing of love. Instead, she started ripping into me. It was kind of refreshing to know that not every girl falls for my brother’s bullshit asshole act.
Maybe there’s hope yet for all the nice guys in the world, like me. I smile at my message to Hannah and press send. If that doesn’t entice a reaction out of her, nothing will.
My phone beeps almost immediately. I smile when I see Hannah’s name.
Hannah: They were probably like that before you called them cute, though.
Hannah: Also, you’re still an asshole.
Me: I bet you say that to all the boys you drunk dial.
“Brix?”
Startled, I shove the phone under my thigh and then I casually look up. It’s Margo, one of the counselors in my group therapy session and someone I’m pretty sure has fantasies about me. Every time I look her way in group, she’s staring at me.
“Hey, Margo,” I say. “What’s up?”
“Did I just see you with a phone?” she asks, her eyes narrowing in suspicion.
“What?” I shake my head and hold up the book that’s lying on the bed with me. “Maybe this is what you saw?” I suggest.
The book is way too big and bulky for anyone in their right mind to mistake for a phone, but Margo nods and looks relieved.
“Okay, good,” she smiles. “They’re waiting for you.”
Right. Therapy. How could I forget the only fucking thing there is to do in here?
“Sorry,” I mutter, flashing her a wide smile and makes her blush and look away. “Lost track of time.”
I walk into yet another group therapy session and take my usual seat. At least these things are usually entertaining. Yesterday’s session saw one guy get busted for smuggling in drugs and from what I’ve heard, the guards are called in at least once a week to break up a fight. I guess out of the hundreds of sessions that are ran every week, they’re not bad odds.
“I’m going to kill you.”
I blink at the guy sitting across from me, sure that I just imagined him mouthing that at me. He glares back at me.
“I’m gonna slit your throat and cum down your neck hole.”
His dark eyes blaze as he stares me down, while I wonder what the fuck is going on. With his tattoo covered face and beefed up frame, he’s a scary looking dude, and someone I don’t particularly want to piss off—although I think it might be too late for that.
I’ve got no idea what I’ve done to get on his bad side, but I’m fucked if I’m going to exacerbate the situation—though that probably is something Brix would do. I shift my position and focus my attention on the counselor leading our group therapy session.
That was a bad move.
“What the fuck,” Face tattoo guy screams as he springs to his feet. “You think you can steal my woman and then ignore me like I’m a piece of trash?”
“I don’t ignore trash. I toss it in the trash where it belongs,” I can’t resist replying.
With a low growl, he picks up his chair, lifts it over his head and hurls it across the room. It narrowly misses me, but it clips the head of the poor dude sitting next to me.
“Fuckin’ cockhead,” the guy next to me shouts.
He shoots out of his seat, lunging his short, wiry body at face tattoo, somehow managing to get a guy twice his size in a headlock. It’s kind of hilarious to watch. It’s like watching a Chihuahua fight a Rottweiler.
From out of nowhere, three guards storm into the room and drag them apart. I stand back shaking my head, still in disbelief that all of that just happened. That’s what I get for trying to diffuse a situation.
“What the hell was all that about?” the counselor asks.
She looks around the group, bewildered, as the two men are escorted out of the room by security. Her eyes narrow when they get to me, like she thinks I have a fucking clue what’s going on. I shrug helplessly.
“I’ve got no idea what that was about,” I say.
“I know why Fillet was so angry.”
Fillet?
Once I get past the guy’s name, I look over at the chick who just spoke up. I smirk, because she looks like the type of person who knows everything.
“See Margie? Over near the door?” She points to the chick closest to the exit. “She told Fillet that she wanted a threesome with him.” I laugh when she points at me. “So then Fillet lost his shit and tried to pummel pretty boy, and that’s where we are.”
