Page 15 of Seven Year Itch
I bark out a laugh when I can see Dakota’s irritated stance through the see-through fabric.
“This will not work,” she snaps and yanks the curtain open. “Why can’t you go share with one of your brothers?”
“Um... have you not heard about the infamous Fletcher libido?”
“No, señor? Tell me of this libido,” Carlos says, blinking curiously back at me.
I smile at him. “We like to fuck, Carlos. A lot.”
Carlos presses his lips together, his wide eyes turning to get Dakota’s reaction.
“They have to fuck a lot because they only last a couple minutes on a good day. It takes a few tries before they can satisfy their victims.”
“You wish you knew that fact.”
“I don’t have to experience it to know it. The Fletcher brothers’ reputation around town as minute-men is very well known.”
“Ha!” I bark out a laugh. “And what’s your reputation? Besides being a total Karen.”
“I’m a Karen? Well, you’re a Chad... getting ridiculous tattoos every other month and walking around like the president of the douchebag fraternity.”
“Doesn’t she look like a Karen, Carlos?”
“Doesn’t he look like a Chad, Carlos?”
“I think... I will leave you two alone to discuss your room situation.”
“Nothing to figure out,” I state firmly with a glower at Dakota. “I’m perfectly happy with this room. If prudish Karen doesn’t feel safe sleeping next to a Chad, then she can find a couch somewhere in the main house.”
“You think you get the room before me?”
I shrug. “I don’t have any issue with this situation. You seem to.”
“Bullshit,” Dakota snaps and steps into my space, her head tilted back to glare up at me. “You’re just hoping if you act like you’re fine with this, you’ll get the room. I’m not giving it up.”
“Well, neither am I,” I thunder back, looming over her. Ignoring the way her perfume invades my nostrils and causes my body to react.
“¡Bien!” Carlos chimes, clapping his hands between us. “Enjoy your stay at La Casa de los Pájaros.”
Chapter 7
Fuck You, Forrest Gump
Dakota
God, I hate him. I hate everything about him. I hate that stupid beard he’s been sporting for years. I hate his brown hair that’s always sticking up all over the place. I hate those tattoos that completely cover his arms and make him think he’s God’s gift to women. I hate the way his greenish-blue eyes look like a disgusting, infested lake. I hate the way his square jaw always looks clenched like he needs to take a shit. And I hate how his brother is married to my best friend, and now I’m stuck with the asshole until the end of time!
I especially hate that he thinks I’m a Karen just because I don’t want to share a room with him. “I’ll show him a Karen,” I mumble to myself as I yank my clothes out of my suitcase and begin hanging them in the closet.
“Gonna leave any room in there for me, Big K?”
I jut my chin toward him. “There are three hangers left. Here you go, Killer.”
I walk over to where he stands by the balcony, and just as he reaches for the hangers, I toss them out the window onto the sandy beach below.
A slow smile creeps across his face. “Now who’s the mature one?”
“That’s for the Forrest Gump line on the plane.”
