Page 141 of Satan's Spawn
“So he does have some manners.” I lift my chin, smirking, hoping it’ll lighten his mood.
Of course it doesn’t.
“I pay out of pity.” He collects his change from the man.
“Asshole.”
“Oooh…I love a good compliment.”
“Some honey roasted peanuts for the lady?” The cart guy asks before I can think of a rebuttal.
“Never had ’em. They any good?” I ask him curiously.
Crayton grumbles some curse word under his breath and snatches the two small white bags from the man, throwing a few more singles on the counter. “Who the fuck has never tried a honey roasted peanut?”
Come to think of it, it is pretty odd I never have, but screw him and his rhetorical judgment.
“I don’t know, maybe the same person who never tries wearing a different shirt?” My eyes dart to the overworn black tee covering his furry black friend.
Crayton looks down at his attire, then shrugs. “It matches my mood.”
“And your soul.” I stroll past him, leaving his grumpy ass behind as I go back to the bench we were previously sitting on and take my first bite of the spicy fried chickpea concoction. I can barely contain the moan when the flavors explode on my tongue.
It’s really freaking good.
Crayton joins me shortly after, already halfway through his hotdog, and just as I suspected, we spend the majority of our meal, and then some, in silence and stolen glances.
“I heard you were sick.” I note after the quiet becomes deafening.
“From who?” He shoves his hand inside my bag of peanuts.
Not wanting to throw Mr. Beckett under the bus, I respond, “Some girls were talking about your disappearance at lunch.”
He tosses a couple peanuts into his mouth. “Doubt they were complaining.”
“Nobody cared, really. It was business as usual.”
He barely reacts as he reaches for the umpteenth cigarette since we sat down, seeming so much less hostile it’s dizzying.
Crayton came for blood when he showed up at that church, but the only real blood he seems to be spilling is his own.
I’m over the pretenses.
The tit for tat and mixed signals.
The time for answers is now.
I turn to face him. “What are we doing here, Crayton?”
He secures the cigarette between his teeth, saying, “I don’t know, taking in the view?”
“Cut the shit.”
He grins at me as he lights it. “Lick the knife.”
“Crayton, stop fucking around. Why did you really follow me to that church?”
“Because you wanted me to.”
