Pistol

Chapter Nine

The movie credits rolled, and her hand tightened around her solution for the Possible Pete Problem. Yep, that's right—she had named the conundrum in the course of the movie.

He sat relaxed, reclined into the back of the sofa—not going anywhere.

"Comfortable?" she cooed.

"For now." He traced a lazy line up her arm with a finger.

"You know, I'm kind of tired. I think I might—"

"Are ya tryin' to blow me off, Cutie?" He twisted in the seat to face her better.

"I've already asked you to leave, and yet here you still are. Would you rather I got nasty about it?"

He chuckled, and she caught herself laugh with him. "Ya don't know much about me, huh?"

"Don't get the chance with you," she retorted.

He soured. "Never heard ya complain."

"So you've said." Steph gave him her best 'I-mean-it' glower. "So, are you leaving, or what?"

"Nah." He grinned.

Why did he have to look so boyishly cute when he grinned? Such innocence almost had her go soft on him—almost. "For the last time, you're making me uncomfortable. Please leave."

Pete's gaze dragged the length of her, and settled on her chest. "They don't think so."

She followed his line of sight to her breasts, and gasped. Heat flushed her cheeks when she saw what he referred to. Her nipples were hard enough to make soft peaks of her t-shirt. Oh God, kill me now.

Pete laughed, softly at first, but louder as her embarrassment grew. "Yer body don't lie, Love. It wants what it wants."

Enough. The guy wouldn't leave when asked, and now he made a mockery of her situation ... in her home. Steph brought her hand wielding the weapon up, and rammed the fork into his thigh. He hollered a litany of curses, and grabbed at the handle which merrily sat upright from his leg. Acid roiled in her stomach at the sight, and she leapt off the seat. In no way had she intended to be so brutal. Still, she took the chance and bolted to her bedroom, slammed the door and snatched the phone from the nightstand. Her finger hovered over the third zero, when he called to her through the door.

"Fine. Have it yer way. I'm leavin'." The metallic ting as the fork hit the tiles echoed through her unit, before the dull thud of the front door punctuated his exit.

Her head spun with the craziness of what happened. Since when did she take to stabbing people who refused to leave? Had she been too rash? Acted on impulse? Perhaps he wasn't as dangerous as she thought? Guilt buzzed in her temple as she thought it over. Maybe she had been a bit rough. Steph placed her phone down on the bed, and got to her feet. She paused by the door, and listened for movement. All that responded was the dull hum of ads on her TV. She inched the door open, and listened again. Still nothing. A little braver, she pushed it wide and stepped out into the short hallway. As she rounded the corner into the lounge, a hand clamped down over her mouth.

"Jesus, you're gullible." She caught the amusement in Pete's words.

She tried to scream, kick, thrash her way free, but he held on. He wrapped his arm about her middle and pulled her into his body. Warmth spread across the back of her thigh where the blood from his wound soaked into her trackies. He crushed her to him to shush her, calm her.

"It's okay. I'm not gonna hurt ya."

She let off a string of profanities which lost all effect under the dampener of his hand.