“The last thing I want to do is—”
“Oh, shut up. You’re obviously in love with her, or you wouldn’t have given up a fortune for her. She seems to be in love with you, too, so get your shit together, because a woman like her only comes around once, and she’s not likely to wait long.”
“She’s better off without an utterly useless, selfish ne’er-do-well.”
“You’re none of those things. You are, however, a coward.”
“Am not.” I give him a bit of a shove for good measure.
Pierce shoves me back. “Are too.”
Pushing harder this time, I say, “I’m not a coward. I’m selfish.”
“Wrong!” he says, this time taking a quick step forward as he pushes me. “You are not selfish.”
“Am so!” I punch his chest.
“Are not!” he says, and the two of us break into a fistfight.
I catch a blow to the chin, then pop him one in the gut. He bends over, moaning, and I immediately feel awful.
I put my hand on his shoulder. “Are you all right? I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“Just fine!” he says, grabbing my wrist and attempting to flip me onto my back.
I’m too quick and manage to stop him, but we end up wrestling on the floor in the living room, knocking a vase off the end table. We both get soaked with water and covered in poofy purple flowers, but we’re too focussed on besting each other to notice.
Just as I start to get the upper hand, Pierce yells, “Butterfly!”
“Where?” I duck, allowing him to put me in a headlock.
“Get the fuck off me, you arse!” I say in a strangled voice.
“Never.” He tightens his hold. “Not until you tell me one thing you’re good at.”
“Drinking.”
Gripping harder, he says, “I will choke you out if I have to, you little bastard. One real thing that you’re good at and you could make money at. Now!”
“Nothing!”
“You’re smart and kind and you like people,” he says, struggling to keep a hold on me. “Now, what are you going to do with your life, you jackass?”
“Sod off, you wanker!” I say, my voice strained with the pressure on my neck.
“One thing, you tosser, or I swear to God, I will choke you!”
I start to see stars, and out of desperation, I say the first thing that comes to mind, “I think I’d make a good teacher!”
He pauses for a second, obviously too shocked to remember his end of the bargain. Tapping him on the arm, I whisper, “Let. Me. Go.”
He does, and I drop to the ground on my hands and knees, coughing as I try to get a full breath. I’m covered in sweat and filled with rage at being choked.
“You actually would make a very good teacher,” he says with a wide grin. “Good for—”
I stop his praise with a karate chop to his junk. He collapses on the floor beside me, moaning. “What the fuck did you do that for?”
“I’m teaching you not to choke me ever again.”
