Protecting The Bad Boy

Chapter Eight

It's been so long, I am so sorry! Please forgive me.

Here's a picture of the guy that plays Mason; he's probably very familiar to most of you guys! You're very welcome (;

Please VOTE VOTE VOTE! I know it can sometimes get annoying when I ask you but trust me, it does meant a lot (:

Song of the Chapter: Electric Twist - A Fine Frenzy

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Chapter Eight: The Classic 'Disappearing Clothes' Act

"Now this is only temporary," I remind Houston, swinging my bag off of my shoulder and throwing it on the floor by the front door, "I'll go and talk with the boss after school tomorrow to see what he wants to do with you." The truth is I could have gone to see my father tonight, but I wasn't exactly in the mood to face him. It took me a whole lot of self-control at the best of times not to break his neck.

"Boss?" Houston questions, tearing his eyes away from the glass chandelier that's hung in the hall.

"Yeah, asshole in charge," I mutter earning a low chuckle from Houston. I turn away and head for the kitchen, Houston following behind me shortly after.

"So..." He begins, "We have the house to ourselves? Be a rather big shame if we were to waste this opportunity and not fuck right?"

I slam the glass down that I had just grabbed from the cabinet and spin around to face him, an eyebrow raised so high I wouldn't be surprised if it had disappeared into my hairline. "You stick your magic wand anywhere near me and I won't hesitate before I chop it right off."

"You like magic huh?" He flashes me a cheeky smile. "Well you could just bend over and I'll make this wand disappear."

"Oh my god," I widen my eyes, "I am literally so close to shooting you in the ass right now."

"Oh that's alright, I like it rough," he smirks, accompanied by a wink.

I run a hand through my hair in frustration, tilting my head sarcastically. "You're really something aren't you?"

"When I want to be... Most of the time I'm just your average outrageously hot guy with a charming personality."

"I can think of a few other ways to describe you," I mutter under my breath, turning back around and filling my glass up with water.

-

"No, no, absolutely not," Houston states, shaking his head firmly and snatching the remote from my hands.

"How many times do I have to tell you that I don't give a crap about what you want?" I snarl, ripping the remote back. Nothing made me happier than the thought that I would only have to put up with him for one night, any longer and I may just beat him to death with the box that the pizza came in.

"Say it as many times as you want, we're watching the football."

"Listen here, Saw is on and nothing sounds more appealing right now that a man sawing his foot off. I mean it's a shame it's not you but hey I'll take what I can get," I reply, changing the channel.

He glares at me from the opposite side of the sofa, his jaw tensing. It's very clear to see that ol' Houston is getting irritated.

"Would yo-"

"Listen buddy," I cut him off, "my house, my rules. If you don't like it, there's a perfectly good street for you to sleep on just outside. I heard they've got an average rating of about three and a half shiny empty beer cans, maybe even four."