Page 5 of Vicious Little Snakes
He gives a tip-of-a-hat gesture. “It was almost nice talking to you again, Carebear. I won’t make that mistake again.”
My lips press together to stop whatever “can’t come back from” words I’m about to say from spilling out. But seeing Liam saunter off gets the best of me, and I hurl venom at his back.
“She’ll never choose you. You’re a fool.”
He answers over his shoulder, “I don’t expect that she will, but I chose her, remember?”
Yes, I remember, you dick. It was the only thing you said to me during my cafeteria failure last week. I stare at Liam’s back, hating him for making the memory of his hateful words come back.
“And you”—Liam scowls, looking directly at me—“you aren’t the girl I thought you were. I don’t know what you did, but I choose Van.”
Liam
The violent beeping of my alarm yanks me from my sleep as I groan and pull the pillow over my face. I was up half the night, trying to finish my painting—evidenced by my oil-stained hand that shoots out, knocking the alarm from my nightstand. I only manage to warp the sound rather than kill it.
“Too early,” I mumble.
Three sharp “tsks” precede my mother’s voice.
“Liam, please stop ruining your alarm clocks.”
My mom’s voice has the pillow lowering and my eyes opening. No matter how old I get, she still wakes me up—every damn morning. One day I’ll thank her for keeping me on time, just not today. Or tomorrow.
Soft footsteps pad on the floor before I feel her rub my back. “What’s this, number four, darling? People should buy stock in alarm clock companies. You’ll make them wealthy. Now, get up.” A sharp slap to my bare shoulder sheds any leftover procrastination.
“Easy, killer.”
I drag the pillow across my body, rolling over, and throw it at the alarm, missing altogether.
“Good thing you don’t play basketball. You have an hour and a half before school starts. Get moving, little prince. And please figure out how to put that thing out of its misery.”
The beeping sound grows more warbled, sounding cartoonlike.
Grumbling, I rub my face. “Serves it right. The beeping is fucking traumatic.”
“Liam. Language.”
I smile, pushing against the mattress to sit up and stretch my arms overhead.
“One day, Mom, I’ll become the gentleman you always hoped I’d be. Promise.”
“I won’t hold my breath,” she teases, walking away and yelling over her shoulder, “Don’t make me come back in there. Monday is my busy day—I have The Nudes benefit for the Academy of Art. Please get it together, or I’ll disown you.”
“Nudes? Want me to help?”
“Never mind. I’m disowning you.”
Her threat makes me chuckle as my bedroom door is closed. She’s tiny, as in barely five feet tall and a hundred pounds soaking wet. But Babe Brooks is a force of nature, and I love her. So I almost always listen.
I throw my blanket off, tossing my legs over the side of my bed, and roll my shoulders, feeling my tired muscles ripple as I do. Between my crew schedule, school, friends, and my secret art project, I’m spent.
The yawn that’s been waiting in the wings breaks free as I stand and shove my hand down the front of my basketball shorts to rub my half wood. I reach back to my nightstand and grab my cell, kicking the jacked-up alarm out of the way, silencing it for good. Heading to my bathroom, I don’t look up as I crack my neck and shoot off a text to Grey.
Me:Up late.Grab me a coffee.
Grey:Pussy or painting?
Me:The only girl I stay up late for is your girlfriend. So tell her she should sleep in today.
