Chapter Twenty-One
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And here we have a communication. Rare and unexpected in a rom-com. You’re so welcome.
Poem
There is nothing better for a girl’s day than spending part of it being ravished by a strong, handsome man.
I grin, kicking my feet up against Fox’s wall as I lie upside down on his couch, my skirt falling to reveal the modesty shorts I threw on underneath. Modesty being, clearly, a thing of top importance to me.
“That was wonderful,” I tell Dwaekki, throwing my arms out to tap my thrill against the cushions as my feet wiggle.
“I wanted a brother, but, to be fully honest with you, this works for me, too. Way more enjoyable and I don’t have to reconcile thinking he’s the most jumpable man I’ve ever seen with my desire to be in his family.
I can just kiss him! He says a rude thing about me not belonging?
I kiss! He implies he wants me to go live in Antarctica, as far away from him as possible?
I kiss!” I snort. “It’s the perfect plan to prove my usefulness,” I assure the little rabbit-pig.
“Because it also proves his usefulness. I’d put up with an awful lot of attitude for kisses like that. ”
Dwaekki says nothing, of course, because Dwaekki is a printed character on a T-shirt, but I like to think that he agrees.
I wiggle my toes again as I allow a laugh to bubble its way out of me.
It’s just so ridiculous.
Fox kissed me.
And I kissed him.
And the kisses were so good, I was banished to the apartment for attempting to take them farther than either of us will be ready for anytime this decade, probably.
I’m having the time of my life.
The door to the apartment opens, and I tip my smiling head back to see an upside down Wolfe lead in an also upside down—and visibly distraught?—Fox.
I wave. “Hello, Blackwood brothers.”
Wolfe’s eyes crinkle, and Fox grunts a maybe greeting back.
Hm. Seems like someone didn’t get as much serotonin as I did from our afternoon activities. I try not to be insulted as I spin myself upright on the couch.
“Shouldn’t you two be at work?” I ask.
Fox mumbles something about being unable to work, and I smirk.
Wolfe pokes him in the side. “Fox is here to communicate with you, and I’m here to facilitate that communication, so long as you’re comfortable with me being here.”
“He told you about the ravishing, huh?” I beam.
Twin blushes grace twin cheeks, and my grin spreads ever wider. “I don’t mind you being here,” I tell Wolfe. “Can we have snacks for this, though? I worked up a bit of an appetite earlier.”
Pinks turn to reds, accompanied by stern looks meant to chastise.
I widen my eyes and bat my lashes, ever innocent.
Fox curses, stomping to the kitchen to fulfil my wish of snacks while Wolfe joins me on the couch. “Be nice,” he mutters. “He’s going through something.”
“I’ve been plenty nice to him today,” I assure.
His brows furrow. “Poem, I don’t think that today meant the same thing to you as it did to him. You need to be careful. Gentle. Kind. He already feels bad enough. Please don’t take his crummy sense of self and make it worse. If not for him, then for me.”
My smile falls. “His crummy sense of self?” I echo. “What are you talking about?”
“Here,” Fox grunts, setting a plate of goldfish, oreos, gummy worms, and miniature blueberry muffins on the coffee table.
Wolfe stares at it. “Are these the snacks you feed my child?” he asks.
Fox shrugs. “Yes, but this batch is what Poem requested from the store for herself.”
I grab a muffin, popping the whole thing in my mouth. “Amia’s living large,” I assure Wolfe through the sticky, doughy treat. “These are the best.”
“You ate Amia’s snacks at my house just this morning,” he says. “What portion of that experience makes you think that these snacks are going to give me the warm fuzzies about sending her over here?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. But I thought we were being careful and gentle and kind? Or is this a double standard situation? Do as you say, not as you do? Not to mention, where is Amia? I could be sharing these snacks with her instead of getting a manners lesson from you.”
“She’s with our parents,” he answers as I pop another muffin in my mouth. His eye twitches.
Fox scoffs. “No one needs to be gentle or kind or anything to me.”
“Perfect!” I reply. “Since that’s the case, you can start this illustrious communication we’re supposed to be having. What’s on your mind, Foxy?” I bite a gummy worm’s head off as I patiently await his thoughts on the day. A man’s thoughts on anything are, of course, my utmost concern.
He says nothing. I assume this is because a man’s thoughts consist of nothing, their heads being vast empty spaces. Sympathetically, I whisper, “Do you need me to tell you what to think? It can be hard to come up with the thoughts all on your own.”
“Poem,” Wolfe hisses.
“Well!” I hiss back.
“I’m sorry for kissing you against your will,” Fox does the communicate. Stupidly. “It was unbearably unforgivable of me. I hope that you do not feel uncomfortable with me going forward, but if you do…”
I cut him off expeditiously. “Stop that,” I order. “The only way I’ll be uncomfortable going forward is if we don’t do more kissing. Often. Many times. Lots of it. I have never enjoyed your presence more.”
“Now I’m uncomfortable,” Wolfe mutters.
“You invited yourself to this,” I remind him.
He grimaces.
Fox breathes rapidly, blinks rapidly, and taps the heel of his foot rapidly.
“Stop fidgeting,” I boss him. “Or I’ll change my mind.”
He ceases immediately.
I smirk.
Oh, yeah. This is going to work beautifully for me.
“Can you explain your thought process?” he asks slowly, still as a statue.
I nod amiably. “Of course. My thought process is as follows: You’re hot.
I like kissing you. Kissing you is much more pleasant of an experience than listening to you grumble and grump about, being rude to me because of whatever nonsense you believe about your worth to your parents, as if their hearts—and October as a whole—doesn’t have space for the both of us to live peacefully and happily.
I also like that my new plan, which involves kissing you any time you start to act up, gets rid of the plot holes my you’re-my-brother plan had.
Furthermore!” I wag my headless gummy worm in his direction.
“I feel this situation gives me an immense amount of power over you, which we all know I love and adore. It’s a win-win-win-win-win. ”
Fox doesn’t move a muscle, and I think maybe he even stops breathing.
I take another bite of my worm.
“What about your feelings?” Wolfe prods, glancing between his brother and I.
Uh… “I just told you my feelings,” I answer. “Fox hot. Poem kiss. Lord over him. Poem happy.”
Wolfe, inexplicably, sighs.
“What are your thoughts on the subject?” I ask Fox. “Have you developed any? I’m happy to let you share mine.”
He gulps, and his face turns a splotchy reddish-purple as he most definitely forgets to breathe.
I nibble on some goldfish, pulling my feet up beside me on the couch and arranging my skirt so that it stops flashing Wolfe my shorts. Not that he’s looked, because he is a gentleman through and through, but still. We’re discussing my liaison with his brother here. I should have some class.
“I have my own thoughts,” Fox informs me. “Though I’m wondering if I should share them or not at this time.”
“Sounds like something a No Thoughts, Head Empty would say,” I observe.
He narrows his eyes at me. “You know,” he says slowly, almost angrily, “the phenomenon wherein men fall in love with infuriating women who drive them to the brink of insanity is truly fascinating.”
That… was not No Thoughts, Head Empty. That was, in fact, Big Thoughts, Head Full.
I set down my fourth muffin and fold my hands primly in my lap. “Sorry, could you repeat that?”
“No,” he refuses. “Unless you plan to stop being flippant when I’m clearly having a breakdown because I just kissed you to the point of abandonment of your morals and values. I take it back. Gentle and kind? Not super necessary. I would appreciate serious, though.”
Still caught up on what I think was Fox telling me he’s in love with me, I have no response.
Fox, discovering patience, does not rush me. He sits, nostrils flaring as his sky-blue eyes rage against the shock in mine.
Wolfe clears his throat. “Usually when two people sit down to communicate, they do it without aggression.” He coughs. “Confessions of feelings are typically shared without aggression as well.”
Fox shrugs.
Okay. So. That did seem like what I thought it seemed like, then. Immediately after I told him that I am joyfully going to use this newfound kissing to manipulate him into behaving the way I want, he appears to have confessed to being in love with me.
“What’s going on?” I ask. Just in case.
Fox doesn’t answer, so Wolfe answers for him with a beleaguered sigh, “You want to continue kissing Fox because he’s attractive and you enjoyed it and you can use it to get what you want out of him.
He maybe does, maybe doesn’t want to continue kissing you because he’s madly—as in angrily—in love with you. ”
“I don’t get it,” I tell them. “Like…at all.”
“You’re not stupid,” Fox snaps. “Don’t act like it.”
Irritation simmers in my chest, and I snap back, “You’re right, I’m not stupid, which is why this doesn’t make any freaking sense.”
“Which part doesn’t make sense?” he asks. “The part where I’m a whole person with whole feelings?”
“No,” I hiss, leaning toward him over the coffee table. “The part where you’re supposedly ‘in love’ when all you’ve ever done is be a massive jerk to me. This isn’t kindergarten. I don’t believe in boys being mean to girls because they like them.”
The potty mouth cusses. “I’m not mean to you,” he denies.
“Liar,” I retort. “You’re a jerk and you know it.”
He grunts. “Well, it’s not because I’m using it as some sort of idiotic flirting ritual.”