Page 42 of Manhattan Tormentor

“And what’s that in gay speak?”

I see white brick and a wall of tools behind him. Is he in a garage? A murder house? He’s weird enough to have one.

“It means I’ve never been with a girl, sex or otherwise.”

“Never wanted to try?”

“What’s this about, Maverick? I’m busy.”

My eyes slit.

The hot nerd should be blessed by my presence. A tick moves through my jaw and I take a last toke of the blunt before stubbing it out on the sole of my boot. I blow the smoke at the screen.

“You notice the pattern of how you get drunk or stoned before calling me?”

He’s right, but I don’t tell him that, he’d probably get a big head for the praise. “What are you up to?”

Sage sighs, flipping the camera around. I’ve no idea what I’m looking at other than his ever faithful notebooks are present. Surrounded by tools and electronic shit.

“That tells me nothing, Damsel.”

His face comes back on screen and it tugs low in my stomach, it’s a hot claw of need.

He’s still not smiling; in fact, he’s scowling and yeah… it does it for me.

“If you continue calling me that, I’m cutting you off.”

“Oh, keep your panties on,Sage.” I stress his name.

“Why are you such an asshole?”

It’s easy to smirk, pushing my head back on the wall, holding the bluest stare of all. “Someone has to be.”

“Yeah and you shoved yourself to the front of the line to volunteer.”

He’s not wrong.

He’s also not right.

Someone like Sage Fierro wouldn’t understand. To be a jackass means I don’t get walked on.

“Seriously, what are you doing?”

He sighs again and drags a hand through his already messy hair. The camera moves when he sits somewhere. “I’m working on something.”

“What?”

“You don’t need to know.”

I laugh. “Think I’m gonna steal your invention, Damsel?”

The screen goes black. That little shit hung up on me. I’m laughing my ass off when I call him back. His scowl is more pronounced this time, and I want to suck so fucking hard on his lip.

It’s getting to the point where I can’t hide behind my own fictitious truth anymore. Not when it’s so real looking back at me.

It’s a fluke.

School stress.

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