“You’re such a fucking pigeon,” I grumble, sloppily tossing the piece into my mouth.
“Says the fucking plug that won’t scratch her bloody pride so that she has somewhereremotelydecent to sleep for the night.”
“I can scratch my pride!”
“You can’t even bench it!”
“I cansobench it!” Gravy is flung off my finger and onto his gray athletic sweater. “And I will stay in your room tonight to fucking prove it!”
“Fine!”
“Fine!”
Snowman smugly smirks, waits for the realization that I’ve been played to seep in, and then victoriously grins again.
Motherfucker.
Alright.
The first goal of the night goes to him.
But that’s theonlyone he’s getting.
Guaranteed.
Chapter 12
Arden
I always thought I possessed a reasonable amount of regrets for the average person.
Not going to prom because no one “proposed”.
Skipping the stage walk when I graduated college because it gave me the wrong gladiator in coliseum vibes.
Moving into a mansion I didn’t want, didn’t ask for, and doesn’t reallyfeellike I belong in simply because my parents bought it for me.
Never would’ve guessed wearing Snowman’s All-Star conference shirt to bed was going to be added to the list.
Tossing my balled-up clothing on top of my black suitcase that’s right outside the bathroom door as I round the corner is followed by a heavy, frustrated sigh. “Seriously?” My palms fall onto my green cheer shorts covered hips. “Why isn’t there shit on the floor for me to sleep on yet?”
He doesn’t bother glancing up from the edge of the bed where he’s texting. “I was busy.”
“You couldn’t pause sexting the slut of the week long enough to toss a pillow and blanket on the ground?”
“I don’t have a slut of the week.”
“Day then.”
“Not that either.” Snowman finishes up his message and meets my glare. “And-” Whatever he was originally going to say is swiftly replaced by his smug statement. “That’s my All-Star conference shirt from last year.”
“So?”
“So, why are you wearing it?”
“Because I sleep in it.”
There’s no denying the arrogance that grows across his complexion. “You sleep inmynumber?”