Chapter Two: Will

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A/N: This used to be chapter four. Rearranging made it chapter two. If you're a new reader disregard this message! Just letting people who've already read the first draft know. 


Kidnap My Heart 

Chapter 2: Will 

“Babe, I gotta go,” I said, resisting the urge to roll my eyes. Jesus Christ. If this was how this girl acted in what was supposed to be a relationship with no strings attached, how would she act if I’d done as she wanted and made her my girlfriend? I shuddered at the thought.

“Why can’t you stay a little longer?” Her pout had turned into a shrill, demanding tone, and when she spoke, she sat up, letting the sheet fall away from her body.

I don’t know how I did it. To this day, I still don’t know how I did it, but I somehow managed to ignore my hormones and say, “I just can’t. Sorry, babe. I’ll call you sometime.” Keeping my gaze on her face was a struggle, but I knew if I looked downwards, I’d fall into the temptation to sleep with her again.

“Sometime?” Her shrill tone had now turned into a piercing screech, and I flinched at the sound. “Willy-Bear, I am tired of hearing ‘sometime’ and ‘maybe!’ I want something concrete! I want something real!”

I was too focused on the atrocious nickname to realize what she was saying at first, to be honest. Willy-Bear? Come on! Of all the nicknames in the world. Why couldn’t girls ever pick a manly nickname, like Big Daddy or Stud or Tank? No, I had it! Pimp Daddy. Why couldn’t girls ever call me Pimp Daddy?

“Willy-Bear? Hello?”

Oh, God, how had I not noticed this before? I mean, I’d been a victim to some of the worst pet names in the world, but Willy-Bear had to be one of the very worst. Among Willy-Bear’s top competitors were Snugglebunny, Honeybucket, Pookie, and Foofie Poops. That last one was understandably at the top of the list. Why a girl would choose a nickname involving what goes on in her toilet was beyond me.


I still didn’t reply, too horrified by the prospect of being called Willy-Bear in public, or worse, in front of my brother, Eric. He’d never let me live that one down.

“Are you even listening to me?” All of a sudden, she was right in my face, glaring down at me.

I quickly backed up, grabbing my jeans and shirt as I did. “Listen, Natasha—”

“Natasha?” she cried, nearly falling over as she abruptly backed away. “My name is Natalie!”

Shit. See? This was why I used pet names myself, although mine were a million times better than the ones girls gave me. I stuck with the simple ones: babe, baby, sweetheart. I wasn’t sure why I made the mistake of attempting to remember her name. Maybe I subconsciously wanted to get her off my back. I couldn’t blame myself; she was a nightmare.

“That’s what I meant,” I said. “Listen, Natalie. I don’t think we should hang out anymore.” Hang out was the PG way to phrase what we were doing, if you know what I mean.

“What?” Her face fell. “Is this about my pushiness? Because if it is, I’m sorry, Willy-Bear! I didn’t meant to pressure you. Please forgive me!”

I shook my head. “I just need… space. Yeah, space.” Yeah, that sounded good. The space excuse was a great way to let someone down without getting kicked in the nuts. “Sorry. Besides, you deserve a real relationship, not whatever this is.” Actually, I kind of thought she didn’t. She was kind of a whore, and she was pretty annoying, but I wasn’t going to be the one to tell her that. That wasn’t the kind of thing you told a softball player who had all of her bats in the house.

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