Scripted to Be

Chapter Twenty-Four: Group Chat Massacre

Norman:
Bro.
I saw you with your hand halfway down her pants.
You were not looking for friendship.

⸻

Later that night

Lauren sat curled up on the couch, scrolling back through the group chat with her head in Steven's lap. Every time she laughed, he shifted slightly, pretending not to smile.

"You know this is never going to stop," she said, holding up her phone.

Steven rested a hand lightly on her hip. "Good. Maybe now I won't have to pretend I'm not obsessed with you."

She tilted her head, half-grinning. "Still no relationship, huh?"

He shrugged. "Still friends."

"Still?"

"Maybe," he said, brushing a kiss against her temple, "with benefits eventually."

Lauren smacked his chest with the back of her hand. "You're lucky you're cute."

"I'm lucky you haven't killed me yet."

"Give it time."

The phone buzzed where it had been abandoned, upside down on the floor. Neither of them noticed.

Lauren's back hit the couch cushion as Steven leaned over her, his mouth dragging down her jaw, to her neck, to the exposed edge of her collarbone.

Her hands tugged his shirt upward, impatient. "Off," she said, breathlessly.

He chuckled, voice low. "Yes, ma'am."

The shirt went flying somewhere behind them—maybe near the coffee table, maybe over the lamp. She didn't care. Her tank top followed right after, tossed aside with the same urgency. His skin was warm against hers, and every inch of contact had her mind buzzing.

"We should move—bedroom—" she murmured between kisses.

Steven shook his head, pressing his lips to her chest, his hands sliding up her waist. "No time. I'm not risking another interruption. I swear, if someone kicks down the door this time, I'm changing my name."

She laughed, but it turned into a gasp when his mouth found a particularly sensitive spot just below her ribcage. She arched into him, hips shifting, eyes fluttering shut. Her legs wrapped around his waist instinctively.

"God," she whispered, "we've been trying to do this for days."

"I know," he groaned, dragging his hand down the inside of her thigh. "Weeks. Literal weeks. You're always sick, or tired, or Emily's throwing water at me."

"And you're always—ugh—distracted," she said, tugging his belt open.

"Not anymore," he said against her skin. "I'm here. I'm so here."

They were tangled now, half out of their clothes, heat radiating between them, breaths uneven. His hand slid down—

BZZZZZZZZZZT.

The phone on the floor lit up.

They both ignored it.

BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZT.

Steven muttered against her chest, "Nope. Not happening."

BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZT.

Lauren let her head fall back with an annoyed groan. "You need to get that. It might be Emily. Or Norman with a fire."

"Or Andy sending a Bible verse," he growled, fingers still at her waist. "I'm not—"

RING RING. CALL FROM: MOM.

They both froze.

Lauren looked down at him. "You're joking."

"I wish."

The screen lit up again. Call from Mom.

"Just let it go to voicemail," Lauren whispered. "Please."

"I can't. If I ignore her twice, she'll assume I'm dead and call the police."

She laughed into his shoulder. "Fine. Answer. But you're finishing this later."

He sighed the deepest sigh of his life and rolled off her, grabbing the phone and swiping to answer.

"Hi, Mom," he said, voice several octaves higher than it had been moments ago. "No, I wasn't busy..."

Lauren threw a pillow over her face to muffle her hysterical laughter.

Steven sat on the edge of the couch, shirtless, half-dressed, flushed, and wildly annoyed. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm good. What's up? ...No, Mom, I'm not losing weight. I'm just—uh—hydrated..."

He mouthed kill me while Lauren silently cackled.

As the call went on—his mom asking about vitamins, Korean recipes, and if he'd seen the full moon lately—Lauren reached over, tugged his belt the rest of the way off, and leaned against his back with the most evil smile.

He nearly dropped the phone. "OKAY, I HAVE TO GO—NO, NOT AN EMERGENCY—OKAY LOVE YOU BYE."

Click.

He turned around, eyes wide, pulse racing. "You're a menace."

She kissed him once, slow and lingering, then whispered, "Finish what you started... later."

Steven grinned, defeated and wrecked. "You're not getting out of this."

"Oh, I'm counting on it."