Chapter 10
Chapter ten
Bryce
“A Storm, a Slip-Up, and a Sleeping Beauty”
Iwoke up to the warm and wet suction of something that felt... divine.
Damn.
With my eyes still shut, my head rolled back against the pillows, and my hand instinctively dropped down, tangling in thick hair.
“Mmm, Chess…”
Wrong damn name.
“Excuse me?!”
I blinked myself fully awake, eyes snapping open like a switch had been flipped.
Isis shot up like a demon summoned straight from the pits of hell, face twisted in disbelief, mouth still glistening with betrayal.
“Seriously, Bryce?!” she snapped, wiping her lips. “Let me find out that she’s been on your mind since we got here!”
I sat up, dragging a hand down my face, wishing it could’ve erased the whole damn moment.
This right here is exactly why I haven’t taken a woman seriously since Chesteria. I never brought a female to this cabin for a reason… but I don’ slipped and let a pretty face with some good pussy gas me into inviting chaos into a sacred space.
Lesson learned.
Never bring the substitute to the original’s sanctuary, especially when the original still owns the damn air in it.
I took Isis to a place that still smelled of Chesteria’s hair and echoed with her laughter. And for what? Just to get called out for saying the right name at the wrong damn time? Man, I should’ve dropped her ass off at the bottom of the mountain.
“Isis, it’s too early. And what did I tell you last night about that mouth of yours landing you outside with the furry-ass uninvited mountain guests who don’t knock.”
“And who are those?” she asked stupidly.
“Wolves who don’t pay rent, bears who ain’t got no boundaries or give a fuck about yo’ skincare routine, and whatever else up here treat fresh meat like brunch.
What I said still stands. The only difference is, it’s daylight now, so you’ll get a slightly better chance of being found…
or at least leaving behind a decent set of tracks before one of the locals snatch you up and use them Fashion Nova shorts as a napkin. ”
Isis froze for a split second, like she was actually considering if she could survive in a place where the locals had paws and an appetite for attitude. But the silence didn’t last long—of course it didn’t.
She rolled her neck and kept yapping. “I know what you said, but you heard what I said! So stop trying to change the subject and act like you didn’t just call me your ex’s name while I was giving you the best freakin’ head of your life! And I don’t even do that!”
Isis started pacing again—barefoot, loud, and heated.
“I floss three times a day, Bryce! I don’t play about my teeth! I drink from straws and chew ice with caution! I even brush with the fancy toothpaste in the black box! So do you really think I just do that for anybody?!”
She jabbed a finger toward her mouth like it came with a price tag, dental insurance, and trauma coverage.
“My throat got a savings account! And you really had the nerve to say her name while I was down there?!” She scoffed.
I just stared at her with a blank expression; not because I didn’t have a response, but because the moment didn’t deserve one.
Isis tossed her hands up, clearly overwhelmed. “Of course you’re not going to say anything regarding your precious ex! But you know what… it doesn’t even matter! Good thing we’re about to leave, huh?!”
She stormed over to the corner, ready to make a grand exit, then yanked up one of her luggage, trying to slam her little tantrum into the moment.
I rolled over and grabbed my phone off the nightstand, still half-hard, fully annoyed, and in a cabin with a woman who couldn’t even keep her mouth shut while it was full.
I unlocked the screen and tapped into the weather app.
Winter storm advisory.
Great.
I sighed through my teeth as my eyes dragged over the forecast.
High: 27.
Low: 8.
Visibility: terrible.
Mood: worse.
“I wouldn’t be so sure of that,” I shut down calmly, causing Isis to halt mid-motion, hand still on her bag.
“W-What do you mean?”
I didn’t respond right away. Instead, I slid out of the bed and moved with the kind of patience that pisses people off.
I pulled on a pair of black boxers first, then my gray sweats. Then I grabbed a plain black T-shirt from the dresser and yanked it over my head. I didn’t bother with socks or shoes as I walked barefoot to the living room.
“Bryce!” Isis called behind me, trailing in a panic, still wearing a little crop top and boy shorts—sexy, yeah, but absolutely useless in mountain snow.
I stood at the window.
Just as I figured.
It was snowing… not thick yet, but steady, quiet, and sneaky; the kind that starts innocently, then turns into a white-out with no warning.
The corner of my mouth twitched.
It looks like fate just booked us all another night in hell.
I was a bit torn. Although I had made up my mind that I wasn’t leaving, it was knowing I’d have to spend a possible full day with Chesteria, Isis, and that goofy-ass nigga Adrian. The good part, though? I saw that as an opportunity and extra time.
Time to make a move, and time to say what needed to be said and fix what really needed fixing between me and Chesteria.
“Looks like nobody’s goin’ nowhere,” I announced, still staring out the window, arms crossed, and voice flat.
“Wh-What?!” she stammered behind me, full of attitude and disbelief.
“Stay here. I need to go holla at Chesteria.”
“About what?!” Isis huffed with her arms folded tightly.
I looked over my shoulder, wearing a mug she should’ve been used to by now. “About shit, you can't help me with. I told you about questioning me, Isis. You literally on thin ice… don’t make it crack.”
I walked off without another word.
Just as I raised my hand to knock on Chesteria’s door, it opened with Adrian standing in the doorway, wearing that dumb ass smirk on his face and a pair of pajama bottoms only.
“Morning,” he greeted casually, like we were boys, then brushed past me.
I glared at him, biting down on my response.
As soon as I stepped inside of the room, I closed the door behind me. I didn’t care what Adrian thought was about to take place—I’d let him assume whatever.
Chesteria was still peacefully asleep, draped in the covers like some angelic-ass temptation.
Even in sleep, she was the softest, most dangerous thing I’d ever seen.
I stood there for a minute, then my eyes did a slow sweep of the room.
I was scoping out any signs of fuckin’. To my relief, I didn’t see any panties on the floor, condom wrappers tossed lazily in a trash can or smell any bed-shifted sweat stench in the air.
The room smelled like vanilla, not aftermath.
My eyes then landed on the chair in the corner where that nigga’s bag was chillin’.
I snuck over and opened it up like I was trying to defuse a bomb full of red flags.
Inside, I found the usual suspects—condoms, of course—the cheap kind, wrapped in crinkly foil that screamed “five for a dollar.” Next to them was a half-used bottle of cologne that reeked of hustler dreams, failed aspirations, and questionable hygiene.
Buried beneath the cologne was a couple of crumpled Backwoods and a Ziploc bag of weed, so mid it was practically a misdemeanor.
Right on top was a poorly rolled blunt that was thick in the middle and skinny at the ends, looking like it had body dysmorphia.
I picked it up and brought it to my nose. My nostrils flared as I inhaled.
“Nigga got backyard boof in here, not even gas,” I mumbled, taking another whiff and barely resisting the urge to sneeze. “This shit smells like he clipped it off a bush behind the Dollar Tree. Ain’t no stick, no shine, no nothing. Shit, don’t even got a scent trail.”
The next item that stood out to me was a pair of socks. They weren’t regular socks, though; those were I-grew-up-in-a-praying-household socks. They had holes in the toes, the heel was shredded like it fought a blender, and the fabric was so thin I could see through the damn soles.
“I know this nigga didn’t come here with a pair of holy socks,” I muttered, my lips twisting in a mix of disbelief and humor. “What he out here manifesting? A miracle with every step? Walking by faith and not by funds?”
I held the socks up, staring into the eyes of betrayal, silently demanding an explanation from the universe.
“Damn…” I muttered, “Y’all been through it, huh? Y’all ain’t even socks no more; y’all just suggestions.”
They didn’t respond, but I felt the struggle radiating off them like a cry for help.
This nigga obviously can’t afford no Fruit of the Looms but trying to put dick in rotation.
Nigga, you don’t bring survival socks to the mountains.
I should put his ass out in just his boxers and these tired-ass socks.
Deadass… just to see how long he’ll survive.
I bet he’d come crawling back in three minutes, eyes bloodshot, nose running, and feet looking like they’d tap-danced on a cheese grater.
I tossed the socks back into the bag, showing them zero respect.
I spotted a crusty toothbrush with no cover and damn near threw the whole bag.
I kept digging, relishing the toxic thrill of my little scavenger hunt at that point. That’s when I stumbled across a pair of Polo boxers that actually looked… halfway decent.
I smirked, slow and dark. “If I had some small crabs, I’d slide ‘em in his boxers and have his ass scratching like a DJ at a '90s house party,” I mumbled, voice low and grimy. “Bet he’d remix the whole damn alphabet. DJ Itch and the Funky Bumps, coming to a clinic near you.”
I zipped the bag back like I hadn’t just mentally roasted every damn item in it. Then I took a seat on the bed, stealing another glance at Chesteria, like I wasn’t up doing petty inventory on her plus-one.
Good girl. But yo’ taste in nigga’s these days? Questionable as hell, baby.