No Prince

by Stevie J. Cole

“Do you wanna fuck me, Zepp?” “I wanna ruin you.”

I pressed Monroe against the divider until the metal corners creaked. Anger morphed to lust. A magic trick only her warm body against mine could pull off.

“I’m not having—” Her gaze dropped to my chest, then lower—“sex with you.” “I don’t have sex, Monroe.” I leaned over, gripping the edge of the mattress while I inched close to her reddening face. “I fuck.”

She was the girl who had managed to catch my attention and the only one who didn’t want it.

I didn’t need a white knight or a savior. This was not a fairytale. I was no damsel, and Zeppelin Hunt was certainly no prince.

“I’m gonna go to jail for something, Roe. Might as well be you.”

Zepp was a thug, but I could no longer convince myself that he was bad. And in a world of pure shit, not bad was practically angelic.

“I’m not a nice guy, Roe.” “A bad guy wouldn’t bother with the warning.”

That was when I realized just how much Monroe had fucked me up—I wouldn’t even finger a half-way decent girl.

“You know you’re cryptic as fuck, right?” “And you’re stubborn as fuck.”

My reflection caught in the toothpaste smeared mirror, and I judged the girl staring back at me because she was weak for a hopeless boy.

“You’re the only girl I’ve ever given a shit about.”