Page 166 of Overcast

And Mills just stands there and takes it.

“You’re fucking dead.” That from Marty again as he rashly swings. Mills dodges it this time, but I don’t miss the wide smirk on his face.

He did this on purpose.

I don’t know if I should feel betrayed that he set me up or disappointed that he didn’t really want to kiss me.

“Now, buddy,” Mills rebukes, extending his hands in mute defeat. “She’s not your girl.” Marty lunges for him, but Mills expects it and steps to the side.

“She’s not yours either,” Marty fumes. “And stand the hell still.”

“Calm down.” The humor in Mills’ voice isn’t helping him right now, but I don’t think he could hide it if he tried. He’s playing with danger but, then again, Mills isn’t just a buddy that Marty met in college or something. Mills is just as peril and cunning as he is.

I just haven’t seen that side of him.

It’s as though he puts on a facade and uses his carefree and humorous nature to keep that piece of him hidden.

They begin circling each other, eyes pinned on one another, and I cross my arms in distaste.

Mills is right, I’m not his girl. Is this childish, yep, but I can kiss who I want when I want. And if Marty is cool with making out with the girl that pretty much almost killed his sister, then I can lock lips with the guy who brought me down a cupcake and a blanket.

What sounds more legit to you?

I don’t have a petty bone in my body, but I’m forming one right now. I just hope Mills’s face doesn’t get rearranged in the process.

Marty rushes Mills then, plowing his broad shoulder into Mills’ stomach. My buddy—Mills—hurls his elbow into Marty’s back to get him to loosen his grip, but my tormentor is too lost in rage, that he believes he has the right to have and doesn’t let go.

In fact, his fist is formed around the hunter green shirt that Mills is wearing and lands a punch into his temple. I didn’t realize I moved until my own hand wraps around Marty’s, and I’m heaving him backward with every ounce of strength that I possess.

Mills isn’t going to pay for what I wanted to do.

“Get off him!” I holler, giving Mills the space he needs to gain some freedom of not getting hit again.

Marty unexpectedly whirls around to face me, causing me to cower back a step.

His features blaze with outrage and displeasure as he ascends over me in all his muscular glory.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he leers. “I didn’t forget about you.”

Goosebumps line my arms, grouped with the hairs standing on ends in warning. I’m playing with a menace that won’t hurt me physically, but he’s already started mentally, and I let him.

Pivoting around, I stride through the thick brush of weeds and ferns. I don’t care if I catch ticks or poison ivy, I’m exhausted with being back and forth in my feelings.

If I get lost, at least I’ll die in peace and quiet.

“You owe me, Cinderella!” I hear Mills’ voice bellow from where I left them. Then I hear the rustling and cracking of sticks underneath Marty’s boots because who else would it be?

I can’t outrun him, tried that before.

The only way to get this over with is to face the music, let him have his say, and be done with it.

Problem is, Marty likes to have the last word.

Turning around, Marty hurls back a branch in his way and zeros in on me.

“Touch me,” I warn. “And I’m going to knee you in the balls.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he retorts. “It still doesn’t make me want you less.”

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