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Iris struts, and he spins, continuously reaching into a black fanny pack around his waist to pull out more petals.
“I can’t wait to see it.” “The asteroid?” “You. Falling ass over tit in love.”
“Who are you, and where is the real Zeus?” Iris steps in. “The real Zeus is being drowned by drunk Zeus.”
And now, the open bar has shut down for me. I can’t drink, I can’t fuck … I may as well get to work.
“What’s the update?” “Well, I found him.” “Alive?” Atlas croaks. “And fiery as fuck. Asshole threw me off the hood of his car. While. It. Was. Moving.” Atlas tries to cover a chuckle but fails. “Is your face okay?” “Luckily for him.
I should probably see a shrink about that, but meh. Why pay for therapy when C4, guns, and a good old game of cat and mouse can be as cathartic?
To laugh or slap the shit out of him? It’s a difficult choice.
I’m beginning to think Trav’s rules are all bullshit. Or that they only apply to me because … okay, yeah, fair enough.
The only thing I’ve ever craved from a partner. To be choked in bed but loved outside of it. Is that so much to ask?
“I’ve got you,” Zeus says, trying to reassure me some more. “You don’t have to worry about me breaking you.” “I already know you won’t do that.” He frowns. “You do?” “You can’t break a man who’s already broken.”
Who would’ve thought the notorious manwhore was a cuddler?
I fight the urge to hold his hand, to show him that I’m here for him, but if we walked out there hand in hand, I would never hear the end of it. Ever. Like, the guys would write it on my tombstone. “Here lies Zeus. He liked to pretend he was a fuckboy, but let it be said, he once held a boy’s hand.”
“Fine, I swear on the Kama Sutra, if one hair on his pretty little head gets hurt, I’ll go on a rampage that will take down all of the crooks in Las Vegas.”
Living doesn’t have to mean success. Living is the feeling of being content. And I am content. Lonely but content.
