Page 6 of Tate: Gemini King
“Ew!” I cry out. My face twists up like I just inhaled the scent three-day-old dookie.
Tate laughs. “Wow. You have no sense of humor.”
I have a sense of humor. Just when I’m about to tell Tate, I feel something warm and wet soaking my feet and toes. What is that? I look down and Terrorist somehow got himself down there and the puppy is pissing on my foot. The warm stream of piss splatters between my toes and fills up my house shoes like a soup bowl.
“Terrorist, no!” I scream and stumble backwards splashing the pee everywhere. The chihuahua puppy vibrates violently and squirts out the rest of the pee in a surprisingly large puddle. I screech again, trying to get ahold of myself and failing as my splashing spreads everywhere and I stumble around trying to find dry ground to step on.
Terrorist finds my fear hilarious and starts yapping and jumping around my feet, going crazy. Tate is laughing his ass off while trying to catch the dog. I leave his ass in hysterics as I run down the hall back to my room, splashing piss everywhere and stripping my clothes off so I can jump into the shower.
I am not a pet person. It’s nothing against animals, I just never had another living thing piss all over me and I don’t know what to do. I get my clothes off and leap into the shower while I’m screaming from disgust. I don’t even care that I just took a shower. I’m not running around with dog piss all over me.
Over the sound of water roaring out of my shower head, I can hear Tate talking to the dog and then talking to himself. Nasty ass. I bet he’s stepping in the dog piss on purpose or something equally depraved. I lather my body with soap and scrub myself like I am covered in a thick layer of dirt until I hear a voice coming from two feet away. That voice is too damn close.
“Hey Natasha, are you all good?” Tate asks from the other side of the shower curtain.
I shriek. Loudly.
“TATE! I am naked!”
He’s in my bathroom. My crazy ass roommate is inches away from me while I’m naked in the shower and he doesn’t appear to think this is a problem.
“I hope so. You’re in the shower.”
“WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?!”
I freeze beneath the stream of hot water because I obviously can’t leap out there and fight him. I’m naked. My throat feels like it’s going to close up. Tate has never been this close to me before. Even if there’s a shower curtain between us, his closeness while I’m completely naked feels wrong and gross.
He’s the worst person I’ve ever met and apparently, he’s even worse than I thought, because I know he’s about to do something unhinged. I know it’s wrong to wish death on a firefighter when they are technically small town heroes, but this man is not a hero. He is insane.
“I’m checking on you,” he says calmly. “Making sure you survive pee-gate.”
Okay, maybe there’s nothing sexual about him standing there. The lump in my throat expands, but I do my best to sound totally chill and swat down that idiotic roommate of mine.
“Shut up, Tate. Don’t violate my privacy just to make fun of me.”
“How am I violating your privacy?” he asks with genuine confusion. Then, I hear him peeing. Thankfully, it sounds like he’s peeing in the toilet but I let out the most aggressive shriek of my life.
“What?!” he asks. “Everything okay in there?!”
“Do not touch that shower curtain Tate Whitmarsh!”
I don’t even bother telling him to stop peeing. I just hope he finishes soon. The stream continues for a few more seconds.
“Fine,” he says. “I won’t touch it. I swear.” I hear the sound of him shaking the pee off his dick. I want to die. This is the worst day of my life. My roommate has no boundaries and he just peed in front of me. There is something seriously wrong with him. Sure, there is a shower curtain between us, but I heard everything. And I mean everything.
“You are an animal,” I say coldly, hoping he doesn’t start tooting on the other side of that damn shower curtain. If he starts to fart and shit, I will kill him on the toilet.
“What is your problem?” he says in a frustratingly arrogant tone, like I’m the problem. “Terrorist only peed on you because he likes you. There’s no need for you to panic.”
“We can’t have a dog in this apartment. I don’t want to look after a dog and… most importantly… Why are you in my bathroom, Tate?”
“Terrorist already lives here,” Tate responds. “I’m not taking him back. And I know where I am, Natasha. Exactly where I am.”
That does not answer my question. This defiant, uncontrolled bastard is the most entitled and delusional man I have ever met. I get ready to tell him that when he does something even crazier than all the other crazy shit he did already.
I hear a sound almost like a rip and Tate yanks the shower curtain back. I yelp loudly. Tate just stands there clutching a shower curtain and staring at my naked, soapy body with a look on his face that can only be described as disturbing me to my core. He has absolutely no remorse on his face, just pleasure.
“Hot damn,” he whispers as he looks me up and down slowly from the top of my head all the way to my feet. He stops staring right when his eyes land down there and I grab the shower curtain, trying to snatch it away from him, but Tate clutches it tighter.