~ 37 ~
RIPLEY
The snow made everything more quiet. Even out here on the lava fields, with the wind blowing drifts in thin ribbons, everything was muffled, almost silent.
“You ready?”
Peyton nodded once, briskly.
“Don’t nod. Just answer.”
Her pretty face screwed tighter with determination.
“I’m ready.”
I circled her slowly; the icy crust crunching beneath my boots. Peyton’s eyes tracked me carefully, waiting for my first move. There was no panic in them, though. Only resolve.
“That guy who came through our window, back in Belize?”
“The one that grabbed me?”
“Yes,” I confirmed. “You did good, but you got lucky.”
Peyton’s smirk was borderline evil. “Oh?”
“Yeah. You tried pulling away at first, but you couldn’t. And if that bottle of rum hadn’t been there, things would’ve gotten ugly.”
I feinted a move. She flinched, but didn’t commit.
“So you’re going to teach me the rules of fighting?”
“Yes.”
“Can’t wait,” she quipped.
In one swift movement I kicked forward, driving a clod of snow directly into her face. As her arms went up to block it, I rushed past her, and thumped her hard on the ass.
“Rule number one,” I grinned, “is that there are no rules.”
Peyton reached back with one hand and rubbed at her ass. But she nodded anyway.
“What’s rule number two? You grab my tits?”
“Close.”
I looked directly over her shoulder, my expression turning to pure, horrified shock. Peyton’s eyes opened wide in alarm, her head whipping around to see what I was looking at.
By the time she realized her mistake, I had both arms wrapped around her from behind.
“That was a dirty trick,” she spat, still struggling.
“Sure was.”
She stomped at my foot, but I moved. She tried throwing an elbow, but I squeezed her even tighter.
“Rule number two,” I grunted. “See rule number one.”
Eventually I let go and stepped back. Peyton whirled to face me, her face flush with frustration. With the snow blanketing us on all sides, creating our own little arena, she looked even more beautiful than before.
