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I stare at her for another moment. She swallows a few times, her throat bobbing as she swipes blood-red lipstick on her lips. She's fucking terrifying. Gorgeous. So fucking pretty it's like looking at the sun, but terrifying.
After putting the water on the stove and taking out the curly noodles, as instructed, I decide to look around a bit. If things go as I plan, this will be my place soon enough. I need to know where to put all my shit. Or maybe we can buy our own place instead. We'll need the extra space.
There's not much to explore. It's a small, outdated place with brown carpet and popcorn ceilings. She has mostly dark-colored décor, and a lot of pictures of her kid. Some of them together, but it's mostly him over the years. She must've been a kid herself when she had him, judging by how young she looks in his newborn photos.
If he's fifteen, she had to have been his age when she had him. There's no way she's older than me.
Moving down the hall, I rush past the open bathroom door and pray she doesn't see me. When she doesn't tell me to go fuck myself, I know I went by unnoticed.
There are two doors at the end of the hall—one is for her room, the other is Ian’s. I have a fifty-fifty shot of choosing hers. I think I value my life, though, so I probably shouldn’t go in hers.
Oh, fuck it.
I will anyway. Maybe she’ll let me fuck her while she holds a knife to my throat.
Slowly, I open the door. It creaks quietly, and I pause, waiting for Kennedy to pounce. When she doesn’t, I open it further. I immediately know I’m in Ian’s room from the overwhelming stench of adolescent cologne. It’s probably the same shit I wore when I was his age, and it doesn’t smell any better now than it did then.
Stepping all the way inside, I find him sitting at a desk with two monitors set on it. He’s wearing a giant set of headphones with a mic attached, and is hunched forward slightly, staring intently at whatever game he’s playing. There’s a guy running through an abandoned place, a gun waving in front of his face.
“He’s over there!” Ian shouts as he scoots to the edge of his chair, moving his face closer to the screen. “Shit. My health. I need a healer—fuck!” He bangs his fist on the table, and I jerk back, not expecting it. “Fucker killed me. Stupid prick.”
Chatter erupts through the headset loud enough for me to hear, and I crack a small smile. Folding my arms over my chest, I just watch him.
“He’s just pissed I fucked his mom last night,” he says, chuckling to himself. “Then his sister.” I can’t hold in my bark of laughter, and he whirls around, his eyes wide as he stares up at me.
“You’re funny, kid,” I say as he slides the headset off. “Way funnier than I thought you’d be. Whose mom did you fuck?”
“No one’s,” he blurts, then glances at his screen. “Shit.” He looks at me again, then back at his screen, looking torn.
“Go on.” I jerk my chin at him. “Don’t let me stop you.”
I step my feet apart and sway back and forth, grinning at him. Hesitating, he turns back around and slides the headset back on. His shoulders stay stiff as he falls onto a new map. There’s a mini war playing out before me, and I keep laughing at the stupid shit coming from his mouth. I have no fucking idea what’s going on, but it’s intense and has me on the edge of my seat.
“Fuck yeah!” I clap when the final guy on the other team dies. Ian glances at me over his shoulder, his dark brows quirked. “That was good, yeah?”
“Yeah,” he agrees, then looks back at his screen. “Guys, hold on. I’ll be right back—fuck you.” I laugh again as he spins the chair around to look at me. “Why are you in here?”
“I thought it was your mom’s room—”
“Why the fuck were you going to my mom’s room?” he growls as he gets to his feet.
He’s not a short kid, but he’s a stick. But, judging by his size now and how he hasn’t fully filled out yet, he’s going to be a huge motherfucker in a few years, and he needs to learn he can’t do this shit. If he bucks up to someone, he needs to be ready for a fight—and he’s not.
“I suggest you sit back down before I knock you the fuck out.” I keep my voice level, but the threat is clear. It’s not a bluff, and he knows it. “If you wanna play with the big boys, you gotta hold your own or you’ll get hurt. Can you back your shit up, kid?” He blinks at me, his mouth opening and closing. I drop the bullshit and smile, clapping him on the shoulder and making him wince. “It’s good advice and something you should remember. If you’re not willing to fight, sit down.”
“I wasn’t—I wasn’t trying to fight you.”
“I know,” I say. He looks even more confused but gives me a hesitant nod and slowly steps back, the backs of his knees hitting his chair.
Yeah, I know my reaction isn’t great, but I don’t give a shit. I couldn’t hold my own when I was his age and it got people hurt—it got them killed. He needs to know he can’t do this shit without consequences.
“Ian!” Kennedy calls from somewhere in the apartment. I lift my brows at him, expecting him to rat me out. He clears his throat, his eyes locked with mine.
“Coming!” he calls back, his voice hoarse. “I’m not trying to cause trouble.” He looks scared, so I drop my shoulders and let out a long breath, flashing him a grin.
“I know,” I say. “I just can’t have you thinking I’m a bitch.” He barks out a laugh, making me grin wider.
“Trust me, no one would ever think you’re a bitch.”
