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Apparently, the cure to toxic masculinity is to show them how it feels to be talked about like a piece of meat. You’re welcome, ladies.
Anton takes two steps back. “Wait, you think I’m straight?” I blink. Then blink again. How drunk am I? Did I hear him right, or is my mind playing tricks on me? “Y-you’re not? How did I not know this, and why haven’t we had sex yet if that’s the case?”
I take it back. The third worst thing is being cornered by Philly fans. Second worst thing is being saved by someone I hate. But the worst thing by far is realizing that for years I’ve thought the tension between Anton and me came from a place of resentment. It turns out it’s because I want to fuck Anton Hayes. I did not see that coming.
My alarm goes off at dark o’clock so I can get my ass to the fucking animal shelter to do this charity shit because fucking Anton Hayes is a fucking fuck fuck asshole fuck.
“Hey, I can be a decent human being and be full of shit at the same time, thank you very much. It’s called multitasking.”
I’ll wait and see what happens. I never claimed to be a genius.
People. Relationships. Love. I don’t want any of it. Except when he leans over and presses a kiss to the top of my head, I’m starting to suspect that I really, really do.
“You’re trying to get me jealous.” “You look so sexy when you’re trying not to deck someone.” “Why do I always need to remind you who you belong to?”
“Nope.” He pinches my chin and leans in, dark eyes locked with mine. “No joking. You are an awesome person, Ez. And while we do this thing, you’re also my person. If anyone says that shit to you, they get to face both of us.”
His pouty face is pouty. I poke his cheek. “Are you sulking?” “She thought you were hot.” “And?” “And? You’re mine.”
“You’re not a fuckboy, but you act like one because deep down you don’t want to feel the rejection your parents inflicted on you your whole life. You treat people as disposable so they can’t do it to you first.”
