Page 248 of Cloudy With a Chance of Bad Decisions

Some of them were on the cuter side. Adorable little anime-men snuggled up together. Some with ears, and tails. Some smooching. Some simply leaning into each other’s sides innocently—hiding the filth that populated the last quarter of the book’s pages.

Okay, yes, I definitely skimmed a lot of the volumes as I put them in the boxes.

But who could blame me?

The art was cute and I was curious.

I was certainly not disappointed, and made a mental note to ask George to recommend me his favorites when we got home.

Anyway—I was distracted by censored penis illustrations, and cute twinks getting railed—which was why George was quicker than I was, and made it to the door first.

“I’m surprised he let you touch those,” Missy said from the back corner of the room where she was messily folding George’s casual wardrobe. Neither of us were “permitted” to touch his suits. It was a rule.

“Oh, me too,” I agreed, flipping to the end of another book and whistling. “Jesus this dude’s dick is huge. Like. The size of his forearm.”

Missy tittered.

“I’m not complaining,” I shut the volume before George could catch me. Looking at it reminded me of how much I liked to stick my very own massive cock inside George’s tight little—nope. Nope. Do not get a boner right now, Alex.

It’s pizza time.

Not boner time.

Only…I could still hear George talking—and there was no pizza.

I swear to god, if the delivery man was hitting on him, I was not going to be happy. Mangas abandoned, I rose from my seat with a groan, and headed out of his bedroom and into the main room to defend my territory.

I froze, frowning, when I spotted what was most definitely not a pizzadelivery man standing in the open doorway. His hand was on George’s wrist. His brown hair was immaculately styled, and his dark eyes were dead, steely, as he stared at George like he was his property.

“Get your hands off me,” George’s voice was clipped. “I’m serious, Brendon.”

Brendon.

Brendon.

Bren—

I was across the room in seconds. I even leapt over the fucking couch in my haste to get between them. Through a red haze, I recognized how my own behavior might’ve been frightening to George—but…when he turned and saw my approach, the only look on his face was relief.

Relief.

Not fear.

Because while I knew George could fight his own battles—and he had, for over a fucking year, Jesus.

He shouldn’t have to.

“Please tell me I can punch him,” I begged the second I was close enough for him to hear. Brendon’s eyes widened but I barely noticed, all my attention on George. “Please.”

He laughed, this soft, airy sound.

Then he yanked his wrist out of Brendon’s grip and stepped to the side.

I grinned, wide and unrepentant.

“Fuck yes. I have been dying to do this since the day I heard your name, Brandon with an E.” I cracked my knuckles, hopping from side to side as I revved myself up. “You’ve got three seconds.”

He was within the doorway still. On George’s property.

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