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At least, that’s the story I’m gonna stick with.
Hell, he probably did me and the world a favor. I’m all reformed now and shit.
Nodding at the thought, I take a long sip of my drink. So why dwell on it? It changes nothing.
Plus, he’s farrrr too pretty to hate anyway.
A noise draws me out of my thoughts, and what do you know, the object of my new obsession has finally graced us with his presence. It was about time he showed up.
I slip around the refrigerator, hiding from sight as none other than the big handed, big dicked Vale Riviera enters the house through the back door.
Of course, he’s not alone. My nose wrinkles at the sight of that primly, whiny drag of a boyfriend gripping his arm.
Mine, I imagine myself barking, snapping at him with my teeth. Kind of like those seagulls in that cute, sad fish movie. Mine, mine, mine!
“I told you I didn’t wanna come,” Vale says. I have to strain to hear him over the music. “Don’t get all pissy that I’m not happy. You didn't have to bring me.”
Primly Pete or whatever his name is huffs loudly. “You could pretend.”
“Why? What’s the point?”
I picture Pickle Pete’s face turning red. “What’s wrong with you today?” he hisses. “First, you forget it’s our anniversary, and then…” I tune him out as he goes on and on about all the woes he’s been suffering, waiting and praying for him to spontaneously combust.
A guy could dream.
“I’m sorry,” Vale says, not sounding sorry at all. I make a face and mouth into the empty space, What? I roll my eyes and shake my head.
A sniff, then, “Let’s just have a couple drinks, say hi, and then we can leave. Okay?”
A beat passes, in which I assume Vale nods, because then there’s a wet, smacky sound that makes me wish I didn’t just chug all that rum and pineapple juice.
Fortunately, a group of people bowl their way into the kitchen, ending their little moment, and giving me the perfect opportunity to sneak out before they see me.
Change of plans, I tell myself with another firm nod.
While Operation Get Vale Naked is still a-go, Operation Get Rid of Poopy Head Pete will now be of the utmost priority. I cringe at the memory of them touching. At the sound of them kissing.
Ugh!
Does Vale have no fucking sense of decorum?
I suppose it’s no matter. With a body like that, he doesn’t need to. I’ll show him what he’s missing.
It’s decided then.
Cupid’s villain era is here, and he’s taking no prisoners.
7
ASTON
“There you go,” I whisper cajolingly, a couple hours later. “That’s a big boy. A good, big boy.”
A muffled groan slips from Pasty Pete’s slackened lips.
I grunt, hefting his upper half onto the bed. “More like Portly Pete.” I hold up a hand, and back up. “Not that you’re even fat. You’re actually pretty skinny, I’m just really out of shape. And even if you were fat, there’s absolutely nothing wrong with that. All bodies are beautiful.” I stare at his relaxed face. His droopy eyes. That cute little button nose…
Aw.
