Rides with Ace

t w o : Hug A Tree

NOT EDITED

/ t w o /

Hushed clinking noises that were often associated with my refrigerator filtered in through my ears 

Panic streamed in, picking away at any possible post slumber feelings as my legs took to their own accord, and seemingly tossed to me from the bed. 

This is your punishment for letting a boy into your house - for being so stupidly naive.

Rushing down the hall and pushing past the kitchen entrance, my mouth fell agape when Ace's very bare back was the first thing I saw.

His back is very muscled and bronze like baked potatoes.

My eyes were magnetically pulled to his nude skin.

Clearing my throat, I shook my head, ridding myself of the foreign male related thoughts. Ace was shamelessly rummaging through my refrigerator, the sound of his chomping very audible.

Using theatrical hand gestures, I tried to use a coherent sentence, "H-how did you get out..." 

A gasp escaped my lips when I caught sight of the closet door opposite of the kitchen. The poor door was splintered and obviously cracked open with brute power. So much for the safety of a house key.

Now noticing my presence, Ace turned to me and grinned. I took a few seconds to study this male, finally taking time to analyze his not too hideous features. Unruly mane, hazel eyes, and overall, more than slightly scary. He certainly didn't look ugly but my judgment of him was clouding any possibly swooning over him.

He came to your place drunk beyond infinity and damaged things - he deserves nothing.

"Sorry about your door," he apologized, "I really hate small spaces but I made you breakfast."

I noticed a few stray pans were littered in my always beautifully clean sink. Actually, the entire kitchen looked ugly now. Everything this boy touched became messy.

But now I was confused. Ace Lockwood was supposed to be utterly badass. Like a futuristic terrorist candidate and a con man extraordinaire. Instead this boy seemed more like the nail than hammer.

Where was his famous, consistent vulgar language? His foul treatment of the opposite sex?

I grunted, "You need to go. Like now."

"Why?" he was baffled.

I was at the edge of pre-insanity, "You broke my door - and you threw up on porch, killed my mailbox, and hurt my lawn. Also, I don't know you."

And you poured liquid acid onto my poor plant, using your pony stick.

"Didn't we go over this yesterday?" he grumbled, clearly able to remember events from the night before. "I'm Ace and you are Flo." 

"How do you know my name?" I demanded. As far as I was informed, we never met before he showed up at my door.

He shrugged, "I know."

"That's creepy," I said, crossing my arms in defiance.

A palpable tension hung over my head, conflictions easing into my mind. Shouldn't he be experiencing hangover? The night before, he was definitely intoxicated with alcohol.

Pulling away from my refrigerator, he suddenly strode over to me, nearing at an alarmingly swift pace. As he towered over me, a feeling akin to horror became very pronounced as I backed up into the wall. He was so very tall, making me feel so very small.