Page 7 of Tate: Gemini King
“Stop,” he says. “I’m taking a look.”
I yank again, failing to grab the curtain from him.
“I know what you’re doing, you big idiot. I would rather not have you look at me naked.”
He stares at my boobs and runs his tongue slowly over his lower lips. Heat rushes to my cheeks as Tate keeps staring at me shamelessly.
“Why not?” he says. “I’m hot. You’re hot. We already live together. We should fuck and get it over with.”
What the hell type of male logic is that?
If he won’t let me grab the shower curtain, I’ll use another weapon. I grab my shampoo bottle and throw it at Tate. He’s a fireman and part of one of our small town’s “football families” so he catches the shampoo bottle effortlessly even if I have the element of surprise. He keeps smiling and staring at me. I throw the conditioner and Tate swats it away with the shampoo.
“Get out of here, Tate!”
“Why? I haven’t seen tits like yours in a while. If I’d known you had tits like that… I would have adopted a dog with you sooner.”
My boobs distract him enough for me to aggressively snatch the shower curtain away and cover myself up. Tate scowls.
“What is your problem?” he snaps like I’m creating unnecessary drama and he’s not some muscular creep who just followed me into the shower. And “we” did not adopt a dog. Tate probably stole it from an innocent family.
“Stop looking at my boobs, Tate!”
Terrorist barks, distracting my stupid roommate. When Tate looks over his shoulder, I jump out of the shower and wrap my towel around me tightly to cover my body and make an effort to push past Tate. He goes football mode on my ass and tackles me against the bathroom door while I scream.
“TATE, LET GO OF ME!”
“Where are you running!?” he says, slamming my back against the door and knocking the wind out of me. I clutch my towel for dear life. There is no way in hell I’m letting this man use my body to ‘take a look’ or whatever other sick intentions he might have running through his mind. I cough as I gasp for breath and claw at Tate’s chest, desperate to do anything to attack the shit out of him.
“I don’t want you touching me or looking at me naked,” I repeat emphatically.
The look of genuine confusion on his face makes me wish I was bigger than him instead of the other way around.
“Why not?” Tate asks.
“Because! I don’t just give my body to random guys just because we’re stuck together in the same location. I’m not that desperate and you’re not that hot.”
I didn’t have to add that last part but it feels like insurance against getting Tate to take this further. I think it’s working. He scowls and then pulls away from me.
“I see.”
“Yeah,” I tell him. “I’m just… not attracted to you.”
“Right. Tall muscular white men aren’t your type.”
“Exactly.”
“Got it,” Tate says darkly. “I’ll see myself out.”
I did it. I got him to give up and now, my spell is about to work. I can feel it. That man is going to die…
* * *
four
Tate
I have to wait for the snowstorm for my plan to work. I take Terrorist back to my bedroom where he curls up on his little doggie bed after soaking a couple of my towels in piss and planting a couple little swirls of poo on his pee-pad. I clean up after him, take a quick shower – and plan my future with Natasha.