Page 15 of Cloudy With a Chance of Bad Decisions

“Youactuallystabbed me.” Alex gasped, shocked. He was gaping at me like I’d grown a second head. For once, that infuriating smirk was absent. “Holy shit.”

“I said I would,” I replied immediately. To be honest, I was a bit surprised too. Not that he needed to know that.

“Yeah, but I didn’t think you were serious?—”

“Not thinking is probably a common problem for you,” I interrupted, recapping and returning my pen back into my pocket. Finally, I had the upper hand.

My skin was buzzing.

Electrified.

I’d never fought back before.

This was…invigorating.

God. I’d never been this turned on in all my life. I was half-tempted to stab him again just to see what face he’d make. More surprised? Shocked? The first time had certainly been satisfying.

“I was only trying to be friendly,” Alex grumbled. Though he didn’t actually look upset, merely puzzled, like he’d thought he had me figured out, only to be proven wrong.

I shrugged, reaching for my headphones and popping them in with a grin of my own.

“So was I,” I replied, tipping my head back, closing my eyes, and tapping play on my book.

Maybe my day wasn’t ruined after all.

Alex’s shoulder continued to brush against mine, warm and somewhat comforting. I didn’t pull my Kindle from my bag, content to bask in superiority for as long as it lasted. I was sure, soon enough, Alex would do something to steal my attention again.

And even though he kept accidentally touching me, I didn’t push him away.

Instead, as the plane took to the sky and the tarmac disappeared, I simply enjoyed my win.

I hadn’t had one of those in a long, long time.

George-Arthur Milton was nothing like I’d expected. Sure, he was blond. That part was no surprise. Every single member of his family was. He had the Milton charm—serious to a fault. Just like his dad and his three siblings, he was tall with a pale complexion and a smattering of moles on his throat. But aside from that, he wasn’t at all who I’d thought he’d be.

For one thing, rather than exhibit the stoic demeanor his siblings shared, George was positively fiery. He was an open book. His nose scrunched, his eyes squinted. Wrinkles and divots, and pursed lips to demonstrate his displeasure. His facial features were so incredibly responsive, I had the urge to collect each new expression like they were Pokémon.

He was also gorgeous.

A delicate, sharp sort of pretty. Constantly marred by each scrunch and scowl.

The most interesting thing about George, however, wasn’t his expressiveness or his fire. It was the fact that, unlike the rest of his family, he didn’t fall formy charm.

I spent the majority of our shared flight doing my best to crack his hard shell, only to be wildly unsuccessful. He didn’t respond to my flirting the way most people did. Questions only seemed to make his hackles rise. And like a grouchy cat, he was unafraid to swipe me with his goddamn claws.

He showed no remorse about that either. In fact, his soft-looking lips and been pulled into what could only be described as a triumphant smile as he’d pocketed his pen and proceeded to ignore me immediately after he’d literally fucking stabbed me in the leg.

Unexpected—totally fucking unexpected.

He was a challenge.

It wasn’t often that I encountered challenges.

Most of the time, all it took was a flash of my dimples to get what I desired.

George was honestly the first person I’d met in a very long time who didn’t simply bend over and take my flirty bullshit. His dark blue eyes held a guardedness that I could relate to, even if I couldn’t understand. When I pushed, he pushed back. Unyielding.

Which was, suffice to say, electric.

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