𝚃𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚍𝚊𝚢, 𝙹𝚞𝚗𝚎 𝟷𝟺𝚝𝚑
Griffin POV
Bzzt, bzzt. Bzzt, bzzt.
The entire mattress vibrates. I can feel the sensation against my head, and I grunt, pulling myself out of an already-fading dream as I roll onto my side and smack my hand blindly around the sheets, not bothered enough to open my eyes.
There's absolutely no way that I set an alarm last night.
The vibrating stops. Exhaling a sigh of relief, grogginess starts to pull me back to sleep as I roll onto my side again and nestle deeper under the comforter. Someone must have turned the air conditioning on high before going to bed because it's colder than a witch's tit in here. The box fan running on high in the corner and the ceiling fan doesn't hurt, either. At least it makes for a killer sleep setting.
Bzzt, bzzt. Bzzt, bzzt.
"Holy motherfu—" the first words out of my mouth for the day is a nice, long, filthy string of curses.
The amount of air that comes out of my nose has enough force to give an angry bull a run for its money. Each spring in my mattress creaks as I roll over again, cracking my eyes open. A faint light glows underneath the pillow next to my head, only made obvious because the black-out curtains hanging over my window are doing their job.
Snatching the phone free, I squint against the screen and blink to see who in the fresh hell is calling me. The name shining down makes me scowl, and I slide my thumb against the track before bringing the phone to my ear.
"Miles," I start to say bitterly, "what the fuck is wrong with you? What time zone are you in, you shitface? Do you know that it's currently seven in the goddamn morning?!"
His muffled chuckle makes me want to throw the lamp on my bedside table at the wall. This piss-drinking idiot somehow has the audacity to wake me up at the asscrack of dawn and then laugh at me?
"Buenos días to you too. Sue me because I forgot that you guys are two hours behind."
"Vete a la mierda," I hiss one of the only phrases I remember from Spanish during sophomore year, and that's because it's a curse word. "Keep an eye on your mailbox then because your dad isn't the only one going to jail. I'll throw your black ass in there next week."
"I miss you too," Miles croons. I tighten my grip around the phone. "I wanted to call to talk about two things. One is to ask you who the fuck you think you are for talking to Parker the way you have been recently. Two is to give you an update on the situation."
"Aw, gosh darn. Has he been tattling on me?" I ask mockingly and shut my eyes briefly, running a hand through my disheveled hair. I've been pissing off nearly everyone around me recently, so what's one more person? Especially when it comes to Miles, I could kick his ass any day of the week.
"Griffin," Miles snarls in a tone I've never heard him use before, "seriously, I'm not fuckin' around here. Parker isn't the only one who tells me about shit. If I hear that you're intentionally making him feel bad for your own messed up little fantasies one more time, then the next time I see you, I'll kick your balls so far up your goddamn throat that you'll be choking on your semen for weeks."
I scrunch my nose at the thought. At least he gets points for the most creative insult I've heard in a long time. "You got me there, tough guy."
YOU ARE READING
Breaking The Rules: Book 2
Teen FictionNot everyone's trust issues come from failed relationships. Sometimes, it comes from the family and friends closest to us. Griffin Miller and Parker Graham are living, breathing testaments to this truth. Somewhere on Griffins life path, between livi...
