Page 83 of Driftwood Daffodil 2

Satisfaction warmed my chest as Gio tensed and clenched his jaw.

Gottcha, asshole.

It took everything I had to stay where I was when he stormed forward and roughly grabbed the back of my neck.

“Say his name one more time.” He growled down at me. “I fucking dare you.”

Danger radiated off him in thick waves while his fingers dug into the back of my neck. He was on the precipice of snapping. A predator hiding in the grass waiting to strike. If I said the wrong thing, he’d attack and take me down. But Gio forgot one thing.

I was not prey.

Lifting my chin, I looked him dead in the eye and said, “Atlee.”

There were exactly three things I regretted in my life. Taking the how to eat fried worms challenge with Memphis when we were kids. There was no recipe that made worms taste good. Every single PE class I’d been forced to suffer through, and the day I thought cooking oil would be a good substitute for conditioner.

There wasn’t a single moment where I wished I could take back something I said.

Until Gio began steering me towards his bed.

He didn’t say a word or shoot me a dirty look. Gio just dug his fingers into my neck and marched us forward. All I could do was wince as the obnoxiously ornate footboard got closer.

It wasn’t as if there were fantastical images depicting mythical creates carved into the wood, but the thorny vines etched into the top seemed like unnecessary expense to me.

Then again, it was entirely possible that my opinion stemmed from the annoyance I felt at not being able to stop my feet from moving. It should not be this easy to control someone.

“Let go,” I growled while trying to jerk free from Gio’s grip.

Every try to pull your neck away from someone who had a strong hold… it didn’t work. It didn’t even have the possibility of working. But Maw Maw didn’t raise no quitter, so I did the only thing I could think of and threw my hand back in a chopping motion.

That was about as effective as trying to break free of his hold. I hit him – I think in the side – but my palm clacked off a hard muscle, sending a sharp stabbing ache up my arm that made me shake my hand to alleviate the pain.

Damnit, why did he have to be so hard? Mental note to self, the side is not a soft spot. This wouldn’t be so exhausting if I joined Memphis on his morning runs. Curse my lack of motivation, and curse Gio Mancini for making me consider exercise.

Gio huffed out a breath. “Fight all you want, there’s not a fucking thing you can do.”

My eyes narrowed. Oh, I was gonna fight alright.

I swung out my hand again, aiming for a lower spot, and followed that up with what I thought was a graceful kick. It was not. My awkward in between steps hop/skip was so far from graceful that clumsy people would’ve shaken their heads.

However, I did manage to kick a shin. It wasn’t Gio’s shin, but I still kicked it. After which I tripped over my own feet. The only thing that stopped me from kissing the floor, was the hand Gio had around my neck.

“Are you done, or would you like to continue kicking your own ass?”

Admittedly this wasn’t going well, but I’d hardly call it kicking my own ass.

“Oh yeah?”

I twisted to the side enough so I could see his face, then jumped up to slap him. What I neglected to take into account was how close we were to the footboard now.

When my feet left the ground, my heels clacked off the wood, which caused my body to jerk, redirecting my hand to bounce off his chest and slap me in the face.

Now I was kicking my own ass.

My humiliation continued when Gio apparently had enough my shenanigans, plucked me off the ground to toss me on the bed.

NOVALEE

Iflew through the air like bird soaring in the breeze. It was kind of beautiful for the brief second that it lasted. Then I landed like a sack of potatoes.

---