She moves aside, biting her lip.
Well shit, that was easy.
With the simple mention of her pansy ass boyfriend’s name, Molly’s shoulders sag a little and she crosses her arms. I can tell she’s debating about whether or not to give in as she continues chewing on her lower lip with a furrowed brow, deep in concentration.
I make a mental note to use Weston as my war strategy in the future.
Stalking to the door, I unlatch the deadbolt and throw it open, fist clenched at my side, ready to sucker punch someone in the face if necessary.
I open my mouth, but don’t have the chance to speak because I’m shoved aside by the girl standing in the hallway. With a giant mop of brown hair piled on the top of her head (that could honestly be a dead animal for all I know), smeared eye makeup giving her raccoon eyes, and a death glare, she pushes past me and demands shrilly, “Hey buddy, what the hell is going on in here? I could hear noises out in the hall.”
Aw shit. She’s kind of scary, actually.
The tall brunette rushes to my sisters’ side, grabbing Molly by the shoulders and giving her a little shake. “Molly, are you okay? Is this guy bothering you,” the interloper demands, only turning for a quick second to shoot me another scowl and dump a pile of crap on to the couch – a pile, I can’t help but noticing, that includes a bag of trail mix and a bag of Sun Chips.
Which reminds me, I’m crazy hungry.
“Yup. I was just trying to get him to leave but he refuses.” Molly, the little traitor, shoots me a triumphant look over her friends head and winks.
Fucking winks.
Wait. What? “Hey! Now wait just one damn minute –“
The girl snorts indignantly out of her pert little nose and steps forward to jam her finger into my solid chest, so hard I can feel her nail. “No pal, you wait one damn minute. This is my apartment and Molly wants you gone - so it’s time for you to go before I pepper spray your ass. Get out into the hallway and keep your hands where I can see them.”
What. The. Fu…ck.
Out of the corner of my eye my little sister continues smirking, her laughing eyes betraying her attempts to get me to leave. Clearly she’s incredibly entertained and therefore, in no hurry to set this chick (who is obviously bat-shit crazy) straight.
I’m seriously going to murder Molly. Then when I’m done, I’m going to dig up her dead, lifeless body and kill her all over again. Ah shit. Do I sound bitter?
“Who the hell are you, anyways?” I ask.
“Who the hell am I? Hey - I’ll be asking the questions, thank you very much. Hallway please. Seriously, I might be thin but I have a black belt.”
“Black belt?” Crossing my arms, I chuckle snidely. “Somehow, I seriously doubt that so please don’t make me laugh.” I walk over to the couch and flop down on it. “Although, what are you? One hundred thirty pounds soaking wet?” I dismissively palm through the girl’s discarded pile of stuff and snatch up the bag of trail mix sandwiched between a text book and a curling iron. Without hesitating, I take custody of it and rip the plastic bag open savagely with my teeth - I mean, since it was just lying there in the pile.
“Sweet. Trail mix, my favorite.”
“What are you doing, you jackass!” Molly’s irrational roommate-slash-bodyguard screeches (loudly I might add), trying to grab the bag out of my hands.
I hold it above my head out of her reach, and flash her my pearly whites, looking her up and down. “You really ought to stop throwing yourself at me - it’s embarrassing. Sorry, but you’re not my type. Maybe if you cleaned yourself up a bit…”
I crunch down on a handful of nuts and pretzels, chewing noisily.
“Get the hell out of here!” the roommate fumes, white knuckles clenched at her sides. I can practically see the steam rising from her ears.
“Hey now – don’t get defensive, I’m just the messenger,” I soothe.
“Are you hearing me, asshole? I said get the hell out.”
“You should listen to her, Matthew.” Molly agrees with a shit-eating-grin. She’s leaning against the kitchen counter now, poking idly through a candy dish.
Ignoring them both, and enjoying this scenario immensely, I spread my legs wide on the couch, tip my head back and shake a mouthful of trail mix into my mouth from the bag – which basically mean’s it’s mine now.
Fact: possession is nine-tenths of the law.
“Thanks for the snack,” I say as I eat the last crumb and emitting a satisfied groan. “I’ll pay you back.”
Or not.
I crumble the empty bag and toss it onto the coffee table-slash-tote, stretch my arms out behind my head and groan again. “Mmm, that hit the spot. I was starving.”