You’re Mine

Chapter 137

Chapter 137 Easton There are moments in a guy's life where he questions if he’s seen it all.

I had about a million of those moments tonight.

Never thought I'd be the sort of guy to stare longingly at the knives just a little bit too hard and wonder how the hell I could get just injured enough that I'd have to go to the ER by way of an ambulance.

I mean, I clearly couldn't escape in my own car, why not use the health insurance my dad so generously provides?

People slip all the time, right?

It's the holidays! Turkeys explode.

Houses burn down.

Tree's get desecrated.

It could have worked.

So could making a run for it into oncoming traffic, but I couldn't do that to Harper, I doubt she'd want my death on her hands by way of her dad scaring me shitless and mentioning trigger words like pregnancy, buns, and tree.

I shudder and find myself laying on the couch, staring up at the ceiling, high as fuck, missing my girl and sleeping like shit.

My eyes get heavy as I turn on my side and throw my arm over my eyes since I'm in direct sight of the Christmas tree.

Motherfucker, was that on purpose?

I groan and flip to my other side toward the couch and finally settle in with visions of sugarplums and Harper's dad dancing on my grave in my head.

Nice.

“Get up!"

Harper's voice hisses from behind me.

I nearly fall off the couch in an attempt to turn around and stare up at my girlfriend.

Ryan's sleepy gaze goes from high to completely sober as he stares at her holding up her phone at me.

This can't be good.

I literally can't see at first, despite how bright her screen is and have to rub my eyes a few times before things get more clear.

“Are you kidding me?"

I grab her phone, fully aware my girl has tears of anger in her eyes and that this could potentially be really bad for me—again.

Should I just start expecting this on the daily?

I momentarily wonder if I need to have a therapist on speed dial, then I think of Leigh, and see the picture of us talking, along with a video that seems to have just posted, showing me reaching for her.

I want to snort. Content is property of NôvelDrama.Org.

Yeah, I wasn't reaching out for a hug, can nobody tell that it was total self defense on my part?

The woman's like a leach and the last thing I needed was her trying to touch me or hug me.

I shudder.

What the hell did I ever even see other than an easy way to keep an easy A?

Ryan gives me an oh shit look.

And Harper looks ready to legit bang her cell over my head until either my skull cracks or her screen.

Perfect.

More certain death.

Ryan is the first to speak, “Harper, as angry as you look right now, you still gotta keep it down so Mom and Dad don't come out here and lecture us again, mention the tree, or make it so I can't get laid because you can't keep quiet.

I get low key stressed every time you get upset and, yes, that's selfish, but damn guys have needs, too!"

Harper lets out a sigh and stares down her brother in a way that sends alerts all over my brain and toward my body, like I might need to actually cover my dick, so she doesn't just start kicking random dicks out of anger.

“Ryan,"

she says through clenched teeth.

Ryan, good friend that he is, starts to bolt from the room, then suddenly stops and looks over his shoulder.

"I'm always on your side, Harper, you're my sister.

But, honestly, those bitches are just jealous whores and at some point you have to know that shit's gonna happen.

And they arent going to leave you guys alone, at least not anytime soon."

He sighs and looks up while I lick my lips, waiting to defend myself.

“Look..."

Ryan strolls over to her and pulls out his phone.

“These are the texts from Easton the day some idiot took that video and picture."

Harper slowly grabs his phone and stares down at the screen.

I know what they'll say.

They'll say that Ryan said not to stress Harper out and to keep it to myself, not because I need to hide shit, but because she wasn't feeling well and she's dealt with enough.

I wait for her to finish reading.

She lowers the phone and hands it back to Ryan.

"So..."

He yawns.

"I'm off for cupcakes, and when I say cupcakes, I mean I'm off to lick Sadie's—"

"Not now,’ I interrupt.

He just grins and slowly makes his way toward Harper's bedroom, like he's Tom Cruise in Mission Impossible.

The idiot even skips two of the creaky stairs and crawls across the floor.

"Damn, he's still high, I say to myself as I fall back against the couch and stare up at my girl.

Harper slumps her shoulders and drops her phone onto the carpet, then crawls onto me, straddling my body.

“I'm sorry, I just...panicked.

People are going to talk and—"

"People always talk,’ I interrupt with a shrug.

"But what's most important is how you feel and what you believe."

I lightly grip her chin between my fingers.

"So, what is it, Harper?

What do you believe?"

“You."

She leans forward, our foreheads softly touch.

“Il believe in you."

I smile despite the stress of the night and the sudden wake up call.

"Good."

It feels good that she has no hesitation.

“Now, can we please all put this night of horror behind us?"

She laughs then jumps off my lap and grabs my hand.

"Come on."

We both tiptoe into the kitchen.

Two cupcakes are left.

“Is she here?"

I look from left to right.

Harper holds up her hand and walks around the corner toward the master and turns back to me in triumph.

“She's showering and getting ready, it's gonna be at least another hour."

"Yessss."

Harper approaches and grabs one of the cupcakes then, looks around the corner toward the master, then pulls me into the pantry and turns on the light.

“Are we making soup?"

I joke.

She hands me the cupcake.

Okay?

I take it.

She pulls her shirt over her head and I thank God she's not wearing a bra.

Damn, her tits are the thing of dreams, legends, and wars.

She holds out her hand.

I give her the cupcake, expecting her to eat it topless which hey, that's the sort of porn I could jack off to for an eternity.

Instead, she presses the top of the cupcake between her tits, letting the frosting smear down the middle.

I gawk.

Like a horny, pre—teen who can't control his boner, I feel myself surge to life, my cock pressing so hard against my briefs that I want to jack off to a fucking cupcake with pink sprinkles.

I'll never be the same after this moment.

She shoves me back against the shelf of cereal, then runs the cupcake down toward her pajama shorts until frosting touches the waistband, wraps a leg around my waist, nearly knocking over the Lucky Charms as she whispers, "Eat me."

I don't have to be told twice.