Page 21 of Stitch
Me:Just so you know, there’s not much I wouldn’t enjoy.
Damn, I just kept flirting, and he might not be. What if he was being sensible, and I was hitting on him? I went back and re-read every message in a panic. The buzz in my hand told me there was a new message, so I nervously scrolled down to read it.
Stitch:I’m looking forward to finding out whether you’ll enjoy what I have in mind.
Be still my lady parts, he really is flirting! My god. I felt like sliding my fingers into my underwear, and stroking myself as we flirted, because this was the most action I’d had in forever. Wasn’t that incredibly lame? Don’t worry, I know the answer is yes.
Twelve
What the fuck wasI doing? Texting some girl I barely knew? Flirting with her like I was a normal guy, who didn’t have a fucking axe hanging over his head? And it was fun. God, it really was. It was like I could just be me for a while. The old me, before the universe decided to fuck me over, by deciding I’d grown old enough already.
Me:Keep guessing, lady. You need to rack up more… penalties…
Fuck me, I’m still doing it. I glanced over at Elise’s bed, but she was out for the count. She was exhausted from her nursemaid duties, even though I barely needed any help now. I should send her home, so she can start living again. Why hadn’t I done that yet?
Camille:Is it because you had stitches somewhere weird?
Just like that, reality slapped me right in the face. How the hell hadn’t I made that connection yet? My road name was Stitch, but I was wearing stitches right now, that likely signified the end of my life. Why the fuck did I have to have that name?
I sat up, rubbed a hand over my eyes, and pulled it back, noticing my eyes were damp. Were they, or was I just sweating, or something else manly and not pathetic. I’m going with sweat. I got up and grabbed a glass of water from the kitchen, gulping it down to try to clear the lump from my throat. Never worksthough.
When I returned to my bed, there was a message waiting, the little light blinking insistently.
Camille:Is it because you’re the club’s medic? Do you stitch them up when they fall off their bikes?
I smirked, caught up in our game again for a moment. Thank god she didn’t take my silence as a rejection, because it definitely hadn’t been one.
Me:You’re really racking up these penalties, girl. This is gonna be fun.
I sat back against the headboard again, feeling the weirdest, and most inappropriate urge, to slide my hand into my boxers, and stroke myself. I hadn’t had that urge since the day I found ‘the thing’. And my sister was in the damn room, so what the fuck was going on with me?
Camille:Can you give me a hint? This could take all night.
Ha! She’d never get it.
Me:I have the stamina to go all night… don’t you?
Hell, that was even more forward than anything I’d said so far. I wondered if she was in her bed like me. Whether she wore her gorgeous dark hair down, with it tumbling over her shoulders, almost covering her breasts, because of course, in my mind she was naked and squirming on her bed.
Camille:I’ve had wine, so I don’t know… could you really keep me from getting bored all night though?
Camille:Okay, I’ve got it. You ready for this? You thought I wouldn’t figure it out.
I grinned, sending back a response telling her to go for it.
Camille:You’re a serial killer, and your signature is a stitch on the forehead of each victim.
Whoa. She was scarily close. Not about the serial killer thing, but damn… I wasn’t sure how to answer that.
Me:Do you normally flirtwith and snog serial killers? Your taste in men concerns me.
I imagined her giggling, and tossing her hair back as she read that. Fuck me. I wished I could see her.
Me:Send me a pic of you right now. I want to see you.
After I sent it, I smacked myself in the forehead, a literal facepalm, and I don’t recommend it. It hurts.
That was so intrusive of me! As I started frantically typing to tell her not to bother, I realised a picture was loading. Fuck. Me.She sent one.
