Page 43 of Fight or Flight
“Not my fault you picked the same one I want to use.”
He stops hitting his bag and turns to glare at me. “You’re either an idiot or a glutton for punishment.”
“Well, I’m not an idiot, so I guess we’ll have to go with door number two.”
“Why do you like pissing me off so much?” he demands.
“Because it’s fun.” I roll one shoulder in a shrug. “Which is pretty much the reason I do anything, FYI.”
“Are you trying to goad me into attacking you again?” He crosses his arms over his chest, making the muscles in his arms pop enticingly. “Because it’s not going to happen.”
“I’m not trying to do anything,” I tell him. “And I only piss you off so much because you let me.”
“What?” he splutters. “Are you saying it’smyfault you’re an asshole?”
“No, I’m saying that I’m only matching your energy. It’s only fun when you fight back, so if you stopped reacting to everything I say, then I’d stop saying it. I can only piss you off if you let me, and from where I’m standing, you enjoy it as much as I do.”
“You’re wrong.”
“Am I?” I take a step closer to him. “Because I don’t think I am.”
He drops his arms and glares at me. “You’re delusional if you think I enjoy any of this.”
“Really?” I take another step closer. “Because I recall a few moments the other night where you were definitely enjoying yourself.”
“Shut up,” he grumbles.
“Why? Do you not want to be reminded thatyouput hands on me first? Or maybe you forgot how you were the one on top of me, who rubbed off on me. I might have started things, but you sure as fuck finished them.”
He cuts his gaze to the doors of the gym and swallows, his throat working as his Adam’s apple bobs.
“Are you afraid someone is going to walk in and hear me talking about how hard you came while you were frotting against me? How you’re the one who finished us off?”
“No,” he mumbles, but the way he flicks his gaze to the doors again says otherwise.
“Don’t worry, Shaney. I’ve got you.” I shoot him a little wink and cross the room so I can tap my master card against the sensor that logs our comings and goings.
“What the fuck is that supposed to do?” he asks as I stand in front of him again.
“It locked the door.”
He lets out a dubious snort. “Yeah, right. You must think I have the IQ of a potato if you believe I’m going to fall for that.”
“Go ahead and test it.” I wave at the door.
He rolls his eyes and stomps over to it like a kid who’s been sent to his room for a time-out, and gives the door handle a hard yank.
“What the fuck?” he exclaims when it doesn’t budge.
“Told ya.”
“How did you do that?” he demands and pulls on the door again.
“Well, there’s this invention called a lock. And a while ago, someone figured out the technology to make it electronic, and?—”
“I mean, how did you lock it withyourID? That’s not a thing. No one else can do that.”
“I can do that because this isn’t my ID.” I spin the card over my knuckles a few times.
