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“One, he’s not a complete stranger. I’ve known him for a week. I’m sure you’ve both had your dicks in people you’ve known a lot less time than that.” She cringes at the thought, seeming thoroughly repulsed. But, she’s not wrong. “And two,” she quickly continues, “I wasn’t asking your permission so...” She lets the statement hang unfinished as she rips open a packet of sweetener and empties it into the mug.
“Name,” he repeats.
“Ugh.” She groans audibly. “Travis. His name is Travis Andrews. He works with me atBrewersand he’s a senior at WSU. He’s a local, has lived here his whole life. Anything else you wanna know?”
“Yes, what time will you be home?”
“No idea,Dad. Whenever I feel like it, I guess.” She sticks her tongue out at her brother, a mix of irritation and playfulness dancing across her features. “It’s bad enough I have to sleep on your couch. Could you at leastnottreat me like I’m a child?”
“Bad enough that you’re sleeping on our couch?” I interject. “Think about how we feel. We’re the ones that have to deal with you.”
“Fuck you.” She throws me that famous middle finger of hers, something she does quite often when I’m around.
“Name the time and place, sweetheart.”
“Atlas.” I know by the sound of Brennon’s voice and the look on his face I’ve gone too far.
“My bad. She just makes it so easy.” I push to my feet, holding my hands up in surrender. “I’m going to take a shower. I’m feeling a little sticky.” I make a show of adjusting my dick in my shorts.
Brennon tries to fight off a laugh while Barlow makes a show of dramatically gagging as I head toward the hallway. I can’t help but think how much I’d like to make her gag for real, with my cock down her throat, but quickly shake the thought away.
If only my best friend knew the thoughts I’ve been having about his sister since I was old enough to have such thoughts. Not that I would ever act on them. One, because I can’t stand the girl. And two, because Brennon would likely have my balls if I ever laid a finger on her. Either way, it won’t ever happen. And that’s okay with me.
I’m perfectly content with Barlow Ross being the unattainable little minx that I’d love to strangle almost as much as I’d love to fuck.
——
“You know, it wouldn’tkill you to sit somewhere else,” Barlow hisses at me as I slide into the seat next to her in English.
You’d think she’d have accepted her fate after two weeks of me sitting next to her, but nope, in both English and Comm, she still gives me the stink eye every time I sit down. Hell, at this point I’m sitting next to her because I know it pisses her off. Today it’s a little less amusing than it usually is. I’m tired and not in the mood for her bullshit, but I take the seat anyway.
At least it’s fucking Thursday and I can peace the fuck out after this class. Thank fuck I don’t have classes on Friday.
If I weren’t such a fucking procrastinator, I would have had a better pick of classes. Then maybe I wouldn’t have ended up in not one, but two, of Barlow’s classes, which was complete coincidence by the way. Then again, it does add a level of enjoyment to the experience.
Terrorizing Barlow Ross has been my favorite pastime for as long as I can remember.
“And why would I want to do that?” I force a smile, despite my sour mood.
You’d think after getting my dick sucked yesterday I’d be in better spirits, but learning my dad called Brennon fucked with my mood and I didn’t sleep for shit last night.
Why he hasn’t gotten the hint yet is beyond me. I’ve been avoiding the fucker for years, only going home when absolutely necessary, and saying the bare minimum when forced to speak. I was biding my time. And now, well, now I’m fucking free of him and I don’t have to play nice anymore. Not with him. Not with his slutty fucking mistress turned wife, who is only ten years older than me, and certainly not with the spawn she’s currently growing in her stomach.
And don’t even get me started on mommy dearest. I guess having your husband cheat on you with a woman half your age means not only leaving him but the kid you created with him as well.
Fuck the lot of them.
“I don’t know, maybe because I don’t want you to sit next to me.” Barlow pulls me back to the present, the sneer in her voice just the thing I need to redirect my focus.
“Newsflash.” I lean back, crossing my ankles under the desk. “That’s exactly why I’m fucking sitting here. But by all means, you’re free to move.” I gesture around the room.
She won’t move. There’s no other free seats in the back row and she won’t sit with anyone behind her. Ever since seventh grade, when Marcy Bailey and a few of her minions decided to play target practice with wads of gum and Barlow’s hair, she’s refused to sit anywhere but in the back of the room.
Clearly that incident has stuck with her, even after all this time. Probably didn’t help matters that I terrorized her relentlessly over her short boyish haircut long after it started to grow out. Not my finest moment, but hey, I was twelve at the time. Cut me some slack.
“I was here first. You move.”
“Nope.” I pop my lips. “Don’t think I will.”
