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Authors: RM Gilmore
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terrifying than being arrested for lewd acts in public. Not that I knew what
that is or anything.
When the cop didn’t budge, I decided to bring it to the
attention of the man now nuzzling my cheek.
I cleared my throat, “All right, hot stuff, I think he’s
waiting for us to move on.”
As am I.
Cyrus let out what I can only describe as a growl,
practically panting in my ear.
“Look, I don’t want to sound ungrateful for your hotness or
anything, but this really isn’t the time.” I waited for him to get pissed and
call me a bitch, or a cunt, or something worse, something cruel and
irreversible, but he didn’t. He said nothing. Instead of shutting up, I chose
to continue to sputter on. “The last thing I need is more confusion. Sorry.” I
felt like a real grown up saying those words. It was important to keep life in
perspective, to prioritize and take care of business before getting involved in
shenanigans. Under all that pride, I felt like an asshole for turning down
someone like Cyrus Atossa. When else in my fat little existence would I ever
get the chance to nail sex on a stick? Never, that’s when. Never.
He cleared his throat softly, moved away from me and back
into his seat. I didn’t dare look at him full on, just sly glances from the
corner of my eye or in the reflection of my now rolled up window. I pressed my
lips together tightly between my teeth, trying to make the sensation of his
lips stop lingering on mine.
“Sorry,” he said finally.
“You don’t have to apologize. You didn’t do anything wrong.
Except maybe wait until the absolute wrong moment to make a move,” I chuckled.
“Honestly, it’s shit like this that reminds me of your humanity.”
“What’s that, another monster joke?” he practically hissed
his words.
“No, it’s a ‘you’re way too hot to be a human’ jab. It’s the
truth, deal with it.” I shrugged, attempting nonchalance I really didn’t have
in me at that point.
“Who says I am?” His matter-of-fact tone sent goose bumps
over my skin.
I wondered if this was our transition. How two people can
move from second base along the side of the road, to philosophizing about the
meaning of the word human without taking a breath, I had no clue, but it seemed
as normal as putting on your underwear.
“You better get your ass moving. That cop isn’t going to be
your bro for much longer if we keep sitting here.” In true Dylan Hart fashion,
my head switched gears in a second, and I continued without skipping a beat,
“What happened to you at House of Porte?”
He put the car in drive and clicked on his turn signal,
preparing to enter the roadway again. I had a feeling this wasn’t his usual
routine, but I guessed you couldn’t be too careful when you had the popo on your ass with a voodoo bitch not too far behind.
He pulled into traffic before answering my question. “Azelie
won. Temporarily, that is.” His eyes were trained on the road, and it seemed
his thoughts were somewhere else entirely.
“Your eyes were white, man. That’s not cool. I need a little
more detail than that,” I pushed.
“After you left me to
gather your things –“
“You mean, after you tossed my big ass like a doll across
that overly waxed floor? Yeah, go on.”
An annoyed look slid across his face, but he continued, “I
was alone on the first floor.” He paused in anticipation of my interrupting. I
kept quiet so he went on. “I was leaning against the post at the end of the
stairs when something pulled me toward the doors. It was a compulsion stronger
than any other I have felt in my life. I fought the feeling at first, but after
a few minutes, I couldn’t withstand the pull any longer. Reluctantly, I went
for the door. I hadn’t so much as twisted the knob before the French doors
flung open and slammed against either wall. Your pal, Azelie, of course, was
there on the porch, grinning and laughing.” Her laughter filled my head
suddenly. I tried to shake it
terrifying than being arrested for lewd acts in public. Not that I knew what
that is or anything.
When the cop didn’t budge, I decided to bring it to the
attention of the man now nuzzling my cheek.
I cleared my throat, “All right, hot stuff, I think he’s
waiting for us to move on.”
As am I.
Cyrus let out what I can only describe as a growl,
practically panting in my ear.
“Look, I don’t want to sound ungrateful for your hotness or
anything, but this really isn’t the time.” I waited for him to get pissed and
call me a bitch, or a cunt, or something worse, something cruel and
irreversible, but he didn’t. He said nothing. Instead of shutting up, I chose
to continue to sputter on. “The last thing I need is more confusion. Sorry.” I
felt like a real grown up saying those words. It was important to keep life in
perspective, to prioritize and take care of business before getting involved in
shenanigans. Under all that pride, I felt like an asshole for turning down
someone like Cyrus Atossa. When else in my fat little existence would I ever
get the chance to nail sex on a stick? Never, that’s when. Never.
He cleared his throat softly, moved away from me and back
into his seat. I didn’t dare look at him full on, just sly glances from the
corner of my eye or in the reflection of my now rolled up window. I pressed my
lips together tightly between my teeth, trying to make the sensation of his
lips stop lingering on mine.
“Sorry,” he said finally.
“You don’t have to apologize. You didn’t do anything wrong.
Except maybe wait until the absolute wrong moment to make a move,” I chuckled.
“Honestly, it’s shit like this that reminds me of your humanity.”
“What’s that, another monster joke?” he practically hissed
his words.
“No, it’s a ‘you’re way too hot to be a human’ jab. It’s the
truth, deal with it.” I shrugged, attempting nonchalance I really didn’t have
in me at that point.
“Who says I am?” His matter-of-fact tone sent goose bumps
over my skin.
I wondered if this was our transition. How two people can
move from second base along the side of the road, to philosophizing about the
meaning of the word human without taking a breath, I had no clue, but it seemed
as normal as putting on your underwear.
“You better get your ass moving. That cop isn’t going to be
your bro for much longer if we keep sitting here.” In true Dylan Hart fashion,
my head switched gears in a second, and I continued without skipping a beat,
“What happened to you at House of Porte?”
He put the car in drive and clicked on his turn signal,
preparing to enter the roadway again. I had a feeling this wasn’t his usual
routine, but I guessed you couldn’t be too careful when you had the popo on your ass with a voodoo bitch not too far behind.
He pulled into traffic before answering my question. “Azelie
won. Temporarily, that is.” His eyes were trained on the road, and it seemed
his thoughts were somewhere else entirely.
“Your eyes were white, man. That’s not cool. I need a little
more detail than that,” I pushed.
“After you left me to
gather your things –“
“You mean, after you tossed my big ass like a doll across
that overly waxed floor? Yeah, go on.”
An annoyed look slid across his face, but he continued, “I
was alone on the first floor.” He paused in anticipation of my interrupting. I
kept quiet so he went on. “I was leaning against the post at the end of the
stairs when something pulled me toward the doors. It was a compulsion stronger
than any other I have felt in my life. I fought the feeling at first, but after
a few minutes, I couldn’t withstand the pull any longer. Reluctantly, I went
for the door. I hadn’t so much as twisted the knob before the French doors
flung open and slammed against either wall. Your pal, Azelie, of course, was
there on the porch, grinning and laughing.” Her laughter filled my head
suddenly. I tried to shake it
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