Sword Fight by Mixie Edwards

Author:Mixie Edwards [Edwards, Mixie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-03-21T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 7

Jeremy

“Are you going to be sick?” Chris asks as I head toward our bathroom once everyone’s caught a ride home. “Because I’m not holding your hair back either, bitch.”

Silence rings after a night of laughter, music, and drinking, and I feel like I’m yelling when I say. “Suck my cock, Rush.”

Squeezing Colgate on my toothbrush, I stand before the sink, smiling to myself because having my cock sucked isn’t the worst idea. Not after tonight. Our friends know about the relationship between Chris and me, they saw it with their own eyes, and no one left the apartment running to sharpen their pitchforks. In fact, anyone of any importance in our lives now know we’re partners, and it’s mostly cool. We’re still together. We’re doing this for real.

The grin on my lips doesn’t go away behind blue suds and vibrating bristles. I fight cavities, simultaneously being the happiest and most honest I’ve been with myself in a year.

I kissed a boy and I liked it.

I love him.

“Son of a bitch!” Chris yells from the bed.

Spitting toothpaste into the sink, I turn on the water and rinse out my mouth before grabbing a towel to dry my chin. “What?” I ask, turning to the bedroom.

Christopher sits at the end of the mattress with his feet on the floor, face lit up by the screen of his phone. He squints and un-squints, as if whatever he’s looking at won’t come focus.

“Is there a way to untag ourselves from this picture?” he asks, holding his phone out for me to see. Blu posted a shot of Jeremy and I kissing, and because she tagged us in the photo, everyone on our personal Friends lists will be able to see it too.

“I’m sure there is,” I answer, throwing the damp towel into the laundry hamper.

Scrolling through his cell, Chris bites his bottom lip, searching for a way to erase photographic evidence of our relationship. Maybe it’s the few drinks I had or the feeling of contentment that gave me some ease until a few minutes ago, or maybe it’s because I thought we were past the hiding phase in this shit show and moving on to the social-media-official phase.

Other couples post kissing pictures, and “bae caught me sleeping” pictures, or “my man made dinner tonight, look at this chicken alfredo!” pictures.

I like chicken alfredo.

I like sleeping.

“What’s the big deal, anyway?” I ask. Dropping my jeans to my ankles, I step out of them and into a pair of sweats. Anger quickens my heartbeat, but I really want to know why he’s acting like a bitch about the photo. So, I don’t turn around and attack him; I simply cross my arms over my chest and wait.

He stands up, holding the phone out to me again like I didn’t see it the first time. Like I wasn’t there.

“This doesn’t bother you?” he asks.

Narrowing my eyes, I pretend to pay careful consideration to the moment in time, but I’m contemplating whether I really want to know what the hell he’s so worried about or if I’d rather break his teeth.

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