Peyton's Point of View
"No, you didn't," I laugh.
"Are you doubting me, Waters?"
"Come on, Miles. That's not possible."
"Now you've done it, come on."
He grabs my hand and tugs, leading me off of his back deck away from the warmth of the blazing fire and into his kitchen.
I hop onto the counter and dangle my feet towards the floor, watching as he flings open drawer after drawer and cupboard after cupboard.
Then he lets out a whoop and holds up a bag of normal sized marshmallows. He flashes me a victorious grin and heads back out to the fire.
When we're both sitting together on the swinging bench, he opens the bag.
I watch as he stuffs marshmallows one by one into his mouth.
On number seven I say, "Okay, I admit I'm impressed."
When gets to twelve his eyes are watering and he looks like he's going to gag, but he just chews them up and swallows.
"I told you I could fit twelve marshmallows into my mouth at once," he brags.
"You are definitely God's gift to humanity," I praise sarcastically.
He pings a marshmallow at me and it falls into my lap. I pop it into my mouth, relishing the gooey sugar.
He stares into the fire pit, the flames dancing and reflecting in his eyes.
"I feel like we should be telling scary stories," he decides.
"I don't know any scary stories," I protest.
"Did you grow up under a rock? Luckily, I'm here to share a terrifying tale with you."
He clears his throat, but instead of beginning the story in the stereotypical, deep, scary voice people use he used an impossibly high pitched voice.
"One day Becky and I were, like, at the mall, like, walking. We went into, like, a store. I found this pair of shoes, and they were, like, perfect. But, like, Becky took them and bought them. So I, like, beat her over the head with a bottle of nail polish remover and stole them."
He glances over at me for me reaction, but I just scowl at him, "That was by far the worst scary story I have ever heard."
He frowns at me in disappointment, "Why don't you tell me how you really feel about it? Don't hold back."
I tease, "I actually cannot imagine a worse story."
"Okay, that's the last straw. First, you doubt my marshmallow talent. Then, you insult my extremely frightening story."
Then he leans over and starts tickling my sides.
"Stop! I-I can't b-breathe," I laugh hysterically.
I'm not ticklish on my feet or my neck or anywhere except the sides of my stomach. So, this would be my luck.
I start laughing so hard that my sides actually hurt, but Miles just keeps tickling me and grinning.
Finally, I push him backwards and straddle him on the bench, tickling his sides. He just gives me an amused look.
"Fuck, you're not ticklish," I cry.
"Nice try, babe," he chuckles.
I just frown down at him, annoyed that he's not ticklish.
He sits forward, but my legs are still wrapped around his torso, and now I'm in his lap.
