Ignoring him, I kept going.
“Ey! Ey! Poo!” Cypress barked after me.
My hackles rose but I didn’t take the bait.
The brat knew I hated when he called me that.
“Ey, Poob! Pooby! Poo-be Doobydoo!” he called louder.
Maybe I’d have been embarrassed, any other day for sure, but it was closing time, not a customer in sight, just me, him, his brothers, no other witnesses, and we weren’t children anymore. He could Poo-be-dooby-doo me all he liked, the dipwad. Pube-y, so original. Har-dee-har-har. It just made him look all the more the ass he still was.
“Not funny,” Birch grunted out loudly— loud enough to be heard over his sibling’s caterwauling.
“Ey!” Cy was right on me, his loud boot stomps trailing the sharp clop of my snowboots as I practically ran to my car.
A heavy weight dropped down atop my shoulder, jerking me to a stop.
Jumping at the contact, I whirled around, arms waving about frantically. “Oy! Get your paw offa me, Ferdinand!”
My super savvy windmill ninja moves knocked his hand away from me, the scowl on his face deepening as my brow puckered, my lips thinned, and I end up looking like an off brand imitation of the death glare he was giving me.
“Forgets something, Poo dense?” he grumbled down at me.
A burst of laughter from Birch broke the tension as Cy stared me down and I glared right back.
“She say- Rue say Ferdin-nand, like- like cow,” the youngest of their bunch choked out between loud guffaws.
At least one of us was having a grand ol’ time.
I was hoping my snarky remark would send Cy storming off and pouting, his typical I’ve just pissed him off ‘cause I’m such a big ol’ meanie head response. Then again, we weren’t kids anymore and he’s definitely grown a bit since then.
Tipping my head back to meet his stubborn glare, I had to correct, he’s grown a bit plus some. We used to meet eye to eye, evenly. It made me feel like I was on even ground with the guy. When did he pass me up?
“It’s been lovely slinging insults and whatnot, Clarabelle, but I’ve got a house to pack. Perhaps in our next existence? Rain check? We can bump into each other again… maybe never? That sounds good to me.” Spinning around yet again to leave, I found my upper arm captured this time.
Whirling back around with a snarl, I was all set to give the pushy brute a piece of my mind when Elm stepped up behind him at the sight, making a grumble-growling noise so loud I couldn’t help but wonder for what feels like the thousandth time if it really wasn’t a secret language between them.
Elm’s voice deepened, so deep and rumbling that whatever he was saying was lost to me. He wasn’t happy and he was letting Cy know, from the tone.
Cy grumble-growled in response, then turned to me with a teeth baring noise that had me fighting harder to free myself from his grip.
“Don’t bare your teeth at me, Cypress Rowan Tree!” I snarled right back. “Maybe your mama brought you into this world but, boy, if you don’t release me right now, I’ll help kick ya out of it!” I threatened.
Attention fully on me now, Cy paused mid snarl back at me, ignoring whatever Elm was quietly grumbling at him to his back, blinked, grim expression dissolving into something close to humor, amusement, or perhaps both, and the fool rumbled, “That so?”
His voice was soft, that deep rumble washing over me. I shivered despite it all.
Damn it. He still did that to me. I tried to forget about the odd, shivery tingles my battles with Cy produced. He did so love to nettle me and with Cy he wasn’t about to give up without some kind of verbal sparring.
Lifting my chin, I stubbornly barked, “Wanna find out…fluffy wuffy widdle man?”
Whatever he may have been about to say died a very short death as I threw his childhood moniker back at him. Sunny called him her widdle fluffy wuffy man when she thought no one was within earshot. Of course, I’d heard this and socked it away. Elm was her sweet Elmy welmy, and Birch was her lil snooky wooky.
Cy’s mouth began to move as he did this weird blink-blink thing, a shocked stupor if I’d ever witnessed one, but all that happened after that was his lips flapping open and closed until he was full on fish-mouthed gaping.
Well, that’ll definitely buy me a minute or two.
When I would have pulled away, he gave a single hard blink and then his grip tightened.
