Page 169 of Property of Necro
Necro shoves Coffin’s shoulder before fixing his dark, wraparound sunglasses.
“Sola had things to see.” Rot flips himoff.
“You mean your cock.”
“No. He means the sad, empty town,” I reply, staring in awe at Necro and his pale skin as it practically glows.
“There’s nothin’ sad about our town,” Coffin growls before thundering down the front steps in his leather boots and heading around the side of the church. “Move your asses. We ain’t got all fuckin’ day,” he calls over his shoulder.
“Someone pissed in his Cheerios this morning,” I mutter under my breath, so he doesn’t hear.
“Was it you?” Rot teases, knocking his shoulder into mine as we follow Mr. Pissy.
If it was. He wouldn’t be this angry. He’d like it,Necro signs.
“Ew.” I shove his thick shoulder, and he stumbles sideways, holding his stomach as he laughs—deep and broken, like smoke and whiskey on ice.
Damn.
He’s hot.
I can’t believe this is my life.
I can’t believe he’s outside when he said he doesn’t like it and avoids it at all costs.
“He’s probably angry he’s leaving in a few days, and worried Sola won’t like it,” Rot adds as we make our way around the back, where an agitated Coffin is cuddling the fluffiest chicken I’ve ever seen.
“What’s that?” I nod in shock toward the animal with so many feathers on its head that it looks like Elvis. Only they’re white and cover most of its eyes.
He shoves it at my chest with both hands, and I stagger a step back as I scramble to secure the soft, oddly calmcreature. Coffin about-faces and angrily waves for us to follow along.
“Did he feed you one of his gummies?” I whisper to the docile chicken as I mimic Coffin’s long strides and fail so miserably that I quit trying.
“I heard that,” Coffin tosses over his shoulder.
“Heard what?”
“I didn’t feed her a fuckin’ gummy. She’s one of those calm chickens. Like Ducky.”
“Okayyyy. So maybe you should have taken a gummy today. You’re awfully grumpy.”
“Sola. Shut up.”
Glowering at butthead, I flip off his stupidly nice, muscular back that tapers to the top of his black jeans and those sexy dimples on either side of his spine just above his biteable ass. “No. You shut up, asshole. Don’t talk to me that way and expect me to back down.”
“I’ll cut you,” he snarls, still stalking away from me, even faster than before.
“And I’ll like it!” I call after the dickhead.
“Shut up.”
My thighs burn as I pick up my pathetic pace. “Where the hell are you going?”
Just beyond a cluster of trees is a cozy plot of land, and sitting in the middle of this little slice of heaven is a chicken coop—light purple with a dark purple tin roof and chicken wire cages with purple posts the same shade as the coop.
I sputter to a halt, and Coffin saunters along, his shoulders rolling like a sexy wrestler, before he stops next to a purple gate and opens it.
Out darts a dozen or more chickens, some fluffy like the white one in my arms, others bigger, and a few are wee, round balls of baby fluff.
