"Here's what we're going to do. I'll play the bad cop and you'll be the good cop." I rolled my eyes as Shaggy poked Mr. Mustache's chest. They were kind enough not to tie me down and made me promise not to escape. With a man like the latter, I wouldn't even dream of it.
When I regained conciousness, I was in an old building. Well it looked old. And from what I've been hearing from Shaggy (for I don't know how long), he's been watching way too many hollywood movies.
"Why in the name of home am I the good cop?" Mr. Mustache poked his chest back. Shaggy slapped his palm on his forehead. " Because I said so."
"What do you think? I look badder, don't I?" Mr. Mustache looked at me. I fixed my glasses as they waited for my answer.
"Definitely." I nodded continuously as Mr. Muscle gave Shaggy a triumphant smile.
"You know what, fck it. Let's not play good cop-bad cop. We're not even cops." Mr. Muscle groaned. "You just don't want to play the good cop."
Shaggy ignored him. He grabbed a chair, turned it around and sat infront of me, eyeing me as Mr. Muscle stood behind him, his arms crossed.
"So you're her." Shaggy rested his head on his arms as he looked at me from head to toe. "I always pictured him choosing someone...what's the word..." He trailed off and Mr. Muscle snickered. "Hotter?"
Shaggy snapped his finger and turned to the latter to give him a high-five.
Well okay. Talk about being rude.
"Aside from criticising me,why am I here for?" Sounding like a professional comes in handy sometimes. It covers the fact that I'm freaking out and I might just pee in my pants right now.
"The mistress would like to talk to you." Shaggy said quite casually. Mr. Muscle frowned and whispered a little too loudly. "I thought we took her as bait." Shaggy quickly punched his stomach, making Mr. Muscle hunch over.
"You're not even sure that I'm the one your mistress wants." They stopped their bickering and turned their heads towards me.
"Oh we're sure. We would've preferred the redhead but you got his stench." I frowned. I lifted my arm and sniffed. What stench?
"So we're just going to stay here until she comes." Mr. Muscle produced a deck of cards from his back pocket and placed them on the centre of the table. One of the three furnitures in the room.
"Now who's up for some blackjack?"
"You're fcking cheating!" Mr. Muscle threw himself at Shaggy, grabbing his shirt.
This. In only three rounds. Wow.
I pushed myself out of my chair carefully. They're really into it so I suppose they wouldn't notice if I backed up a little...
I was almost at the door when I bumped into something soft.
I turned around to see piercing brown eyes, red lips and l'oreal worthy hair.
"I asked you two baboons to get me the woman. Not just any grandma you picked on Death knows where." My brawling captors instantly stopped what they're doing and quickly got to their feet.
"That is her, mistress." Shaggy explained and the woman looked at me. "Step back." I frowned, hearing her order me. But I did what I was told and subjected myself to her scrutinizing eyes.
She reminded me of Mariah Carey. You know, back in the 90s.
It was like Mariah meets Jessica Rabbit. She was wearing this blood red, form-fitting strapless dress, with a high slit on her right thigh that would make Ellie cover her with ten layers of blankets.
YOU ARE READING
Her, Saving GraceRomance
She wasn't that drunk. So the six-foot something creature rummaging through her fridge half-naked, at eight in the morning was real. Now here's the tinsy winsy problem; She lives alone. ------------------------------------------------ Let's just say...