Prick / Page 40

Page 40



"What the fuck are you doing?" Katherine is running across the lawn, waving her hands at me like a complete fucking lunatic.

A hot fucking lunatic.

Her brown hair bounces over her shoulders as she runs, trying futilely to pull her skirt down over her ass. "Are you insane?"

"Insane? Nope. I'm roasting marshmallows." I pull the marshmallow off the stick and pop the warm gooey goodness into my mouth. She looks at me, her chest rising as she catches her breath, her cheeks flushed. It's the same way she looks when she's just had an orgasm.

I haven't made her come all week. She hasn't let me, not since the fight we had in the library after we screwed on the ladder.

What I should have done after that was go out and find a replacement Katherine. But what I'm finding, much to my irritation, is that Katherine seems to be crawling under my skin. Like a disease.

So I'm taking the mature road and talking to her about things like an adult. While eating marshmallows. "Want one?" I ask.

"You can't light a fire out here -- there are regulations, you idiot," she yells. "Who fucking gets a -- where did you even get a barrel, anyway? And what the hell are you -- Oh. My. God. Those are my clothes in there. My pants. My underwear!"

I lied -- I'm not taking the mature road here. At all. This might be one of the most juvenile things I've ever done.

I grin and shrug. "I told you I wanted you in skirts. No panties."

She grabs the stick from my hands, poking it into the barrel. Flames shoot up, sending sparks flying in every direction. Grabbing her by the arms, I pull her back against my chest.

Which is exactly where she belongs, I can't help but think as soon as her body touches mine.

But she only rest there momentarily before she yanks herself away from me. "What are you, some kind of psychopath?" she asks. "Who lights someone's clothes on fire? Something is seriously wrong with you."

"I'll get you new clothes," I say. I don't add that I already have. I've ordered her a whole new wardrobe from some hot shit designer that my mother's stylist swears is what all the chicks want to wear. I also ordered her the best lingerie and panties money can buy. Personally hand selected by yours truly. And I bought new jeans to replace the ones I torched. I mean, I’m not a complete asshole.

But no new granny panties. That just crosses a line.

Kate stands there glaring at me with her hands on her hips. She’s pissed. If it were possible for a human to physically blow steam out of their ears, she would be doing that. She balls her hands into fists and screams, which just makes me laugh. “You are the biggest asshole I’ve ever met,” she yells. “You’re completely fucked up in the head.”

I expect her to punch me. If I were a girl and some guy had torched my pants and panties, I'd slug me. But she doesn’t. She just gives me a look of disgust and walks back to the house, muttering to herself the whole way.

That's fucking disappointing.

I expected her to hit me or something. Hit me, and then look up at me the way she does when she gets angry. Like she can’t decide if she wants to kill me or fuck me. Obviously, I imagined she'd pick the option that involved fucking.

I didn't expect her to just walk away.

I pick up the fire extinguisher and put out the fire. I guess I'll have to up my game if I want back in her bed.

“Are the two of you listening?” Senator Douchebag has been talking about the schedule of events for the week. He literally has this shit color-coded and flagged. He’s almost as ridiculous as my mother, with her wedding planning. She has a chart set up in the living room on an easel, a seating plan that she and the Senator examine, hands over their mouths and brows furrowed as they determine strategic seating arrangements for the big event. I’m surprised they haven't unrolled a giant chart on the table like a war map, so that they can plot personal alliances and strategic socializing.

“I heard everything,” Kate says, her voice emotionless. “The engagement party is on Friday.”

“I know it’s all happening very quickly,” Ella says, her hand on the Senator’s leg. “And I really hope you don’t feel like I’m trying to replace your mother, Katherine. No one could replace her.”

I glance at Kate, who has paused in the middle of lifting her fork to her mouth. “Of course not,” she says.

The Senator doesn't wait for her to continue. “No one thinks you’re trying to replace her mother, Ella,” he says, patting Ella’s hand. “Kate doesn’t think that, do you Kate?” Katherine opens her mouth, but he interrupts. “And she understands that we’re on a tight schedule here with the campaign, isn’t that right?”


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