Page 64 of Chad's Chase
“Fuck me?” I bit back a laugh. “What are you? Twelve?”
His mighty fists clenched open and close, open and close, open and close. Then, wagging his head as if to clear it, he turned from me and marched out of the room.
Only when he was out the door and out of view, did I yell back, “Well, fuck you, too, asshole!”
And then I put my hand over my mouth and laughed.
Apparently, I was twelve, too.
The next morning I found Chad in the same spot at the breakfast bar. Except this time he wasn’t dressed to go out.
The dragon tattoo a masterpiece on his back; he was in old, faded jeans that rode low on his hips, and nothing else. Nibbling down strawberries and reading the morning paper. Same scene as yesterday morning, but with less clothes and a new haircut.
Vivian was puttering around in the kitchen, but her cheeks were curiously flushed red, as it seemed more like she was surreptitiously eyeballing Chad’s chest than paying attention to her task at hand. Well, she was a woman, after all. No matter the age or occupation, one could not deny Chad’s wickedly powerful magnetism. If he could make me, a straight-up dike, crave him, I could only imagine what he did to the straight women.
Just like yesterday morning, I went to the breakfast bar and sat next to him.
No acknowledgment. Teeth sinking into strawberries, eyes remaining on the paper.
“So…” I dragged, fishing for conversation. “I see you took my advice and got a haircut.”
Nothing.
Vivian poured me coffee and portioned out my breakfast, still sporting a blush as she passed me the tray.
To keep from making further embarrassment of myself, I stuffed my mouth full with eggs and pancakes. But his cold shoulder was starting to bother me big time.
I just couldn’t stand not having his attention. I swallowed my mouthful of food and asked, “You don’t ‘work’ on Thursdays?”
Chad picked up his steaming cup of coffee and the morning paper, then stood and directed at Vivian in Spanish, “When she’s done eating, bring her to the movie room. We have important matters to discuss.”
To Vivian. As if I wasn’t sitting there right next to him. Could this widely feared, eminent, egregious criminal be any morechildish?
As he stalked off, I said to his dragon, “Now you’ve gone from being a twelve-year-old to a six-year-old.”
Of course, he said nothing, just strolled right out of the room.
Jabbing at a piece of pancake with my fork, I asked Vivian, “Is he always such an immature jerk?”
Pursing her lips, Vivian gave me the stink-eye. “Mr. Niiveux nice to everybody. Mr. Niiveux take care everybody. But you,”—she wagged a finger at me, like I was an errant student giving trouble at the back of the classroom—”you do something to him. You make him smile down with frown and bad mood.”
She seriously needed to brush up on her English.
“Me?” I said, indignant. “I don’t do anything to him. He’s just an arrogant dickhead.”
“Sí. Sí. You do something.You,” the woman accused me, pointing at me with her index finger like a M16 or something. Muttering a whole jumble of words in Spanish—which were all curses against me, as she clearly didn’t know I understood Spanish.
Picking up a dishrag, she began wiping down the already clean countertop. “And I no like that you do something to Mr. Niiveux. You trouble. I know from start you trouble. I no like that you upset Mr. Niiveux.”
Okayyyyy. So there’s a loyalhousemaid. Very passionate and concerned about her boss’s disposition. However, she shouldn’t be talking down to me like this. I was pretty sure if I told Chad, she’d lose her job. But I was no tattletale. If she wanted to hate me because I “did something to her boss” that was her problem.
I let her carry on with her curses in Spanish, pretending I didn’t understand.
When I was finished with breakfast, I shoved the dish across the counter, and said to her in Spanish, “Now, where’s the movie room?”
Vivian’s head shot up, eyes widening, her mouth snapping shut. Tossing down the dishrag on the counter, she meekly walked out of the kitchen and I followed.
The movie room had to be accessed through the library. A door I hadn’t noticed at all yesterday was tucked away at the end of the non-fiction shelf. Only noticeable now because the door was left ajar.
