Page 19 of The Story of You
What the…?
Shane’s laughing. I raise a brow at him. “It’s probably a spider.”
“A vet student, a farm boy, and a … Darius can’t handle a spider?”
“Go see,” he says.
In our room—the one I share with Darius that might soon be shared with Asher too—the three of them are huddled on the bed together, naked.
Darius points toward the window. “The murdering psychopath is over there.”
“Murdering psychopath?”
“Yeah. What else do you call a creature who spins a fucking trap and lies in wait to mummify and then suck the blood from its victim while it’s still alive? That’s the behavior of a serial killer.”
God, he’s funny. I laugh looking to the next one. “Simon?” I leave the “you’re a vet student” as a given.
“I like animals. Arachnids can burn in hell.”
“What do you have to say for yourself, farm boy?”
He stands up taller and I think, yeah, IthinkI see the hint of a blush. “Technically, we’re all farm boys if you count where we grew up, but that’s why I hate’em. They fall on you while you’re doing stuff. Only thing I wanna do is take a blow torch to it, but Shane won’t let us.”
On cue, Shane saunters in with a glass jar and a piece of paper. “You want to do it, Wyatt? Or should I?”
I’m indifferent to the eight-legged interloper, so if Shane wants to save it fine, but I wouldn’t oppose Asher taking its life in his hands. Except, Darius called me and that means something. He wanted me to protect him. “I can do it,” I say. I take the jar and paper and capture the creature who stares confused through the glass.
“Sure. We’ll put him outside and then he’ll crawl right back in here. Don’t come back, eight-legged Ted Bundy,” Darius calls as I leave the room.
I carry the jar to the deck and then into the yard, releasing him into a tree he might be happier in. “Godspeed, Ted. I hope you find some tasty victims.”
“You talking to spiders, Major?” Darius is there, barefoot, wrapped in a blue blanket.
His hair is soft, free of the gel that usually weighs it down. The morning breeze lifts the tendrils falling over his forehead. “C’mere, darlin’.”
He pads over to me, and I capture his lips in a sweet kiss. “You saved us,” he says.
“Always will.”
“Kay. Now use those big muscles to carry me inside. The grass is wet.”
I flash a fondly exasperated expression at him, handing him the glass and the paper and then lift him bridal style. “Where are your shoes?”
I trek toward the house with my Darius bundle.
“I wasn’t thinking about them. Still sex drunk. We did good sex before the spider ruined our vibe.”
I spy a hardened member beneath the thin sheet. “Then why are you still awake?”
He smiles and presses a kiss on my cheek before leaning his head into my shoulder. “Because you give me the refractory period of a teenager. Will you fuck me, Daddy?”
“After breakfast.” He’s too thin.
“Did you make me bacon?”
“Lots of bacon, but you’re eatin’ other stuff too—not just coffee,” I add quickly.
He wrinkles his nose. “If I must.”
