Kicking sand into a black girl's fresh braids probably wasn't the best way to make friends for six-year-old Marshall Stone. In fact, that's how he found a rival.
Love Lewis has always disliked the boy that had her mother on a rampage when she came h...
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As we approach my single-family home, it's painfully obvious Marshall is just flying by the seat of his pants. While it was already obvious through him making this stupid plan in the first place, it becomes more obvious that he's overcompensating for something.
Maybe it's the lingering thought that dropping me off is one minor distraction before he has to go home and face his father. Hell, there isn't enough money in the world you could pay me to hang out with Mr. Stone after half a day of driving.
I spare him a quick glance, "I think in order to go through with this, you have to be breathing by the beginning of it."
"I am breathing," He says, his chest now visibly rising and falling. His jaw clenches, and unfortunately he's very attractive in doing so.
Eyeing his carefully, I sigh, "Okay, well, keep it up — Cheeto needs someone to feed him. I don't think that would work if you're dead."
"Well, he'd be feeding off my body because I actually probably mean nothing to him if I can't feed him, but that's besides the point," He rattles off as he pulls into the driveway and puts the car in park.
I pull my life together, grabbing my bag and gathering the bag of trash we'd accumulated during the drive. Except when I go to open my door, he rests a hand on my wrist.
I look at him as he purses his lips, "I just wanted to thank you for doing this for me," He inhales sharply, "I know this isn't how you wanted to spend your Fall break." It's not. "But I promise I'll make it up to you."
Well, that's not vague at all. I send him a small smile as some sign of acknowledgment that he seems to receive because he releases me and I'm free to exit the car. He follows in my footsteps, leaving Cheeto to sleep in the backseat.
I didn't notice that Marshall popped the trunk but before I can even pull it open with my free hand, he lifts it above my head and takes my suitcase out gently.
"Very gentlemanly of you," I mutter, not knowing what else to say. Part of me was slightly jarred by the sight of his hoodie, and subsequently his shirt, lifting slightly to show a sliver of his skin.
He cringes, "Even though that was sarcastic as fuck, never compliment me again. I'm not used to that."
This feels like reverse psychology. Does he want me to say that I'm gonna keep complimenting him because he told me not to? Well, as much as every part of me would like to annoy him, I decide to leave him with my favorite six words that I can direct to him.
"Don't tell me what to do."
He follows me up the steps of my family home and waits patiently behind me as I unlock the door with my keys. I partially wanted to be dramatic and knock on the door but it's cold and the drive was finally starting to level out with my exhaustion.
I pause, "Are you sure you wanna deal with my family right now?"
Though I'm not looking at him, I can tell he's staring at me. Could be the hole I feel being burned into my skull.
