So, What Pick-Up Line Actually Works On You?

Chapter Twenty-Four - I Never Said I Didn't Like It

Chapter Twenty Four – I Never Said I Didn't Like It

“I’m a jolly sailor man; all I do all day is smoke and share wise titbits of my wisdom.” Miranda sang flatly as she whisked pancake batter merrily.

I laughed at her frivolities, rubbing sleep from my eyes tiredly. It’s just the two of us at home, Maggie at her first day of a new year of school and Rhys and Tyson have disappeared to God knows where.

“So, did you get laid last night?” Miranda quipped next, holding the bowl of batter up to the light critically. She pursed her lips at what she say and began to whisk furiously again.

I shook my head and she smirked knowingly, “It’s only a matter of time.” Miranda looked slightly creepy, leering over the bowl of batter at me and a conceited glint in her eyes. “I wonder when Rhys and Tyson will be back.” She clucked her tongue, changing the subject swiftly.

“I don’t know, I don’t even know where the hell they went.” I offered, shrugging and sitting down at the cluttered island in the middle of the kitchen. I shoved empty jars and cans from in front of me, clearing a place to put my elbows.

Miranda poured some of the batter into a frying pan that had been heating up for half an hour while she tried to get the batter perfect. “I know where they are! Tyson has whisked Rhys away to set ‘guidelines’ as he so put it. I think that means telling Rhys that if he so much as does anything PG13, he will lose his balls.” Miranda nattered, and I felt my stomach drop.

Oh Sweet Jesus. The last guy who had received the ‘guidelines’ from Tyson never so much as looked me in the eye straight again after.

Miranda flipped a pancake onto a plate, getting half the pancake on the work top and the other half actually on the plate. “Rhys will be fine, he has hairy balls, and he is a man. He will fight for his woman. Rhys be cave man. He go ROARRRRRR for his woman!” Miranda spoke gruffly, attempting to spurt some humour into the fact that Tyson was probably scarring Rhys for life as we sat here all chummy and eating pan cakes.

Five pancakes later, Rhys and Tyson made an appearance. They strolled through the back door from the patio, laughing and joking. That wasn’t right. Rhys should be running away to get far, far, far away and he should never return. That was how it worked. I scrutinized his face, looking for any sign of the trauma he had suffered. He was a little bit pale looking, but that could be down to dodgy lighting.

“Oh score! Pan cakes, huh? Please!” Tyson pulled out his puppy dog eyes at Miranda, and she rolled her own eyes.

“If you show me your nipples you can have a pan cake.” She joked. Two seconds later Tyson’s shirt was ripped off, and he was pointing at his nipples triumphantly. Meanwhile, I had been watching Rhys as he sat down beside me, unusually quiet.

I shot him a small smile, and he raised a corner of his mouth glumly.

Oh shit, this looked bad.

Tyson wolfed back one of Miranda’s pancakes in three bites, and Rhys left his untouched. I paled as I thought about the things that Tyson could have said to Rhys. Rhys loved food, I knew that much for sure.

With a bright grin at me, Tyson left the room. Quick as a flash, Miranda was on the ball, “What did he say to you?” She yelped, throwing her spatula across the kitchen in frustration. “I’m dying here!” She moaned, oblivious to the burning pancake in the frying pan.

“He told me he was going to break my legs if I made you cry. And that if I got you pregnant he was going to get a hedge trimmer and saw off my little friend. If I touch your ass, I lose a fingernail. What the fuck is wrong with your brother?” Rhys choked out, the idea of a hedge trimmer near his crotch scaring him.