“Yes, Stella. My plan was to conjure this massively destructive thunderstorm to keep us inside all day and rain on every pap’s parade.” She fake pouts and puts down her word— pancakes. “You know, you can be a real child sometimes,” I jest. She looks back up at me, eyes glowering.
“And you can be a real dick sometimes.” She sits back up, waiting for me to place the next word.
“Touché.” I lick my bottom lip and agree with her. A satisfied grin tugs across her cherry, full lips in response.
“Iamright most of the time.”
I lay my word down and shift my eyes up to her, chin still low.
“Debatable.” I smugly sit back, and she presses her lips into a sarcastic grin, narrowing her eyes at me as she places her next word. She’s winning; no surprise there. I bet she loved school growing up, probably a straight-A student.
“You know a lot of words.” I sniff, hoping the compliment doesn’t go to her head.
“I know a lot of other things too.” She quips suggestively.
“Oh yeah?” I place my two-letter word under hers.
“Yeah.” She places five letters down, nearly blocking any other moves.
“Like?” I feel a noticeable shift, a tension not present moments ago. Her eyes flit up to mine, long lashes batting as she studies my face. She takes a breath to speak, “Like—” and then the timer for the oven goes off, and she gets up so quickly I think she might have hidden superpowers.
I press my palms to my temples and shove my fingers through my hair as I take a deep breath. Fuck. This girl is good at messing with people. It’s the only explanation for why I’m so fucking drawn to her. I don’t understand these feelings. Then again, I’ve never had to withhold myself from having sex with everyone, including her— who I am annoyingly, very attracted to.
The build-up has to be the reason this feels so different.
“Shit!” She yells, and I gain the same superpowers and speed into the kitchen to see her clutching her arm, her face contorted in pain.
“What?!” I’m looking around sporadically for something out of place, but the cooked bars are on the stove and the oven’s closed.
“I accidentally burnt my arm on the tin.” She’s steadying her breathing, and I grab her quickly, take her to the sink and pry her hand from the wound. It’s pretty bad, but I’m used to the boys coming home with injuries worse than this, so I know how to treat it.
I wash it under the water, and she hisses, presses her body into me to fight it, but I hold it under for a bit. It's bad enough that it needs spray and a bandage, so I pick her up, though I’m sure she could walk— actually, I know she could walk because she's demanding me to put her down.
I ignore her and carry her up the stairs and to my bedroom. I sit her down on the bed, where she continues to complain about my choice, but doesn’t move from where I’ve placed her. Everything I require is under the sink in my bathroom, so I run to it and grab them quickly, sprint back to her side, and get onto my knees.
She doesn’t move still, just watches as I get everything set up. I cut the bandage to the right length, shake the spray, ready the ointment, and then look into her hesitant eyes.
“It’ll be okay.” I nod, and she reluctantly extends her arm to me, already bubbling up into a blister. I spray the burn aid without warning her fist, and her whole body clenches, teeth barred as she grunts, determined not to yell out again.
Steadily, I breathe with her, and she attempts to mimic me as I fan the wound until it's dry. Next, I squeeze the ointment on it, not going to rub it in. The wound is too sensitive, and I’m pretty sure she’d punch me in the face. Next, I wrap it up with the cooling wrap. Not too tight, but tight enough that it will keep the wound from worsening. I tape it closed, return the items to the cabinet, cross back to the bed, and sit next to her.
“I like your room.” She breaks the silence, and I laugh.
“What? No,thank you for healing me, Antonio?”
“That’s a joke, right?” She lowers her chin, widening her eyes in question. I scoff a laugh.
“You’re unbelievable.” I shake my head. I can’t force the grin off my face as our lips are only inches apart. She bites her bottom lip, eyes tilt to my mouth, then back to my eyes. I lean in, determined to touch her, and she places a hand on my chest, stopping me from getting any closer. Her breathing is slightly different, shorter, and more nervous.
“We should get back to our game.” Her tone is contrite, and I tilt my head at it, non-verbally asking her what’s wrong, but I know what’s wrong. We made a deal. We were intoxicated, and that’s the only reason we muddied that deal. I nod knowingly after a second, her eyes pleading with me not to push our luck.
“Yeah.” I quickly whisper, lean back. “Okay.” I breathe, and she stands up quickly.
“Okay.” She forces a smile that doesn’t meet her eyes and strides out of the room. There’s a swell in my chest that I can’t pinpoint, and I don’t want to because admitting to the pain would mean I’d also have to admit to the cause. And that’s not something I’m willing to do. Not when I’m so close to getting what I’ve always wanted. Stella is simply a means to an end. That’s all…
Fuck. I guess I’m not as good of a liar as I thought.