Page 126 of Overcast

A soft body bumps into me as I reach the top. My arms immediately go to balance the person that I already know is now next to me.

My jaw hardens as I peer down at Stormi, whose eyes went from casual to casted down in something else.

“What happened to your eye?” My hand comes up to my cheek that throbs now that I think about it.

“Nothing,” I atone, feeling the puffy and sensitive skin.

“Like you tripped-on-your-feet type of nothing?”

I adjust my bruising jaw. “Like Bishop and I wanted to fuck around with our fists kind of nothing.”

Her eyes slit. “Why?”

Why am I talking to you about this?

My palms find her shoulders, and I spin her around before giving her a slight push in the direction of her room.

It’s the only thing that stands between us and where my negative energy can’t get to her. Where the blackness can’t overcast her because we’re too different people, on other sides of reality, and I shouldn’t loom over her.

But I want to.

I yearn to soak her in because it feels good. I like how her eyes soak away the sinister thoughts and give me a sense of hope. I’m not sure of what, but the feeling is addicting to the point where my usual calculated moves are scattered all over the place.

“Get along now,” I order, waiting for her to take the rest of the steps on her own.

Instead, she stumbles a few before pivoting back around to face me.

“That’s stupid,” she states through slitted eyes.

“That’s what boys do, I guess.” I shrug, not giving a shit what she thinks about it right now.

I need to re-draw the lines in my fucking head about the limits of our “relationship”.

She’s a guest.

I’m not going to throw, what Bishop so kindly called a “bitch fit” over her hanging out with Mills. She’s going to have to anyway tonight when Bishop and I hit up Dougie’s looking for Bianca.

She juts her hip out and places her hand on it. “Did you win, at least?”

“Stalemate.”

“Bishop kicked his ass,” Mills yells out from downstairs. My head cranes back at just the sound of his voice.

“You need some ice,” Stormi says before I can open my mouth to address Mills and his ass walking out of my house. He can go stay at Reagan’s before he has to come back and watch her.

“I need some tacos, sweetheart.”

And pussy. But not yours.You are fucking off limits for me.

“Tacos?” she repeats.

“Yeah—” I lift my shoulders and angle my face back to her. “—who doesn’t like tacos?” She blinks, and my nose wrinkles. “Oh, hell no. Do not tell me I’ve been hoarding a woman who doesn’t like Mexican food and thinks that skim milk is real milk.”

“Ew,” she retorts, brows furrowed. “That’s disgusting.”

My eyes slit. “Which one?”

“Skim milk.”

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