The bleachers shake, and if I am clueless, then at least I’m observant. Because I catch the way Bunny’s spine stiffens from my presence as she shoots a leg over the metal bench seat to face Ora.
Her denim jeans are already so low. When she sits, the extra fabric opens a slot in the back and shows off her ridiculous back dimples and an infuriating tease of the contoured pure muscle shaped like a heart.
Her ass.
I’m talking about her mind-melting, heart-shaped ass.
A groan stirs, the heat of my need getting caged within my ribs. It pounds my feet harder, climbing the steps until I’m veering to the left in a lunge and landing right next to her. “Bun?”
She’s so beautiful. Even when she’s timid.
“What’s up, Razor?” Ora tosses a fist up with a grin. So, I give her knuckles back and bump her fist, waiting for Bunny’s dark hazel to catch the sunlight.
But her hair moves.
Her fucking hair moves away from the undeniable truth that she’s hit when no one else is around to say something.
“What’s that?” rips through my teeth, and I reach out to pry the hair away from the simmering handprint on her cheek without a second thought.
“Nothing,” she lies, leaning from my touch and giving me her infamous bunny eyes. “What’d you need?”
“Carl hit her again. Obviously,” Ora bites out.
My vision tunnels. The vexation tingling up my arms is encouraging me to flip the switch, go dark and purge what I’ve been internalizing.
I think I ask her if she’s okay. I might just be standing here like an obsessive idiot staring at her.
Would you blame me? If I was? If I was just staring at her without pulling an excuse out of my ass?
She’s alchemy, the brightest star.
“You needed something?”
“It’s not important,” I insist. With rage bubbling in my veins, I start heading back down the bleachers, absently pulling my pack of cigarettes from my pocket.
I begin to tune out Ora’s sarcastic cheer, but Bunny’s light voice running off her tongue at record speed perks my ears up, my pulsing attention draining through the back of my head to hear Ora make a comment about me wanting to know how many fingers Bunny uses.
That clearly does not help my mental state.
I actually fucking hate Bunny’s reaction. I stew on her repulsion while picking a cigarette out and wedging it between my lips, my eyes narrowing to decode whether it’s a skit to save face, or if the thought of me wanting to do “gross things” to her projects her voice the loudest I’ve heard it go because it’s stirring something depraved inside her.
I look back at the hot breeze grazing her hair around her shoulders, subconsciously taking the next step while scratching my nail into the wheel of my lighter.
I wanna do filthy, rotten, vile things to you, little bunny.
And I will.
Until then, I’m lighting my vice and stepping off the creaking metal. Bunny’s never willingly let us see the marks and bruises Carl leaves on her. But Ora sees them all from her side of their room.
The first time seeing her fresh from malevolence with my own eyes is sinking hundreds of razor-sharp teeth into my back and eating my fucking spine.
“Ra-zor!” Cash calls out dramatically.
Ripping the cherry bright, until my lungs can fill, I grow unhealthily aware of innocent eyes on my back.
It breaks a smile on my face. Kind of seems like maybe she’s also shedding shadowed attention.
Xene runs a hand through his shaggy, sun-bleached hair and wipes at the burn reddening his nose. “Where you goin’, dude?!” he shouts, stepping up next to Cash still watching me from his bike.
