The Fighter and the Lover: Don't Mess with Loco Tex

Chapter 3: butterflies?

|| 3. butterflies? ||

My mood had turned a tad sour because a detention slip was sent my way at the end of my following class. I reached my locker between passing periods, a scowl on my face. "I know it isn't any fun, Bruno, but you kinda did flash the principal," Becky reasoned with a shrug. "Even I wouldn't do that."

"Yeah, well, like I said, I had my reasons," I defended dismissively, shoving my books into my locker and trying to cram them in. Frustrated, I clipped the slip amongst the other countless ones in there — a bit of a collector's shelf.

"What could you possibly— holy hot-n-spicy f**k," she suddenly said under her breath. I glanced over at her in bewilderment.

I heard an impressed whistle behind me. "Nice rack."

The annoyance immediately flared and scoffing quietly, my sarcasm rammed up before I could stop myself. "Gee thanks, try thirty-two double D, they're a real b*tch to deal wi— ffffffffffffff..." I had started to quip back on instinct and had turned to find, what do you know...

Carter. Niko. F**king. Tal-i-VINCI! (note: please read his last name in the tone of a screaming goat. Thanks.)

I turned back to Becky with a sheepish grin and wide, rage-filled eyes and uttered through clenched teeth, "Why did you say nothing?"

"Well, I was more confused about why he was here– but damn, are you really–?"

"Shut up."

"I'm jealous–"

"Becky, shut the f**k up, go– go-go-go, not helping," I hissed and pushed her along toward class.

Becky whined in disappointment, calling back, "Fine, but fill me in later on how you financially and emotionally recover from this, Bruno!"

"What did I just say?" I muttered exasperatedly, looking up helplessly. Then, only because of politeness kicking me in the ass, I turned back around slowly while biting my lip, trying to put down the embarrassment.

Carter arched a brow and smiled in a way that just seemed like he was trying to swallow back a laugh, or maybe even a smart comment. "Uh, hah...just...if I can just clarify one thing– I was referring to your little trophy case of detention slips," he said and pointed at my hall of fame.

I glanced over at what had to be hundreds of slips in my locker, clustered on a rack of their own, and wanted to rip my arm off. Instead I bit the inside of my cheek. Of course that's what he meant, you're a f**king idiot, Bruno—! "Okay, yeah, sure, but that had to be a little intentional, especially after earlier."

"Maybe...subconsciously, but not...shamelessly conscious," he conceded, an amused and sheepish look in his eyes. "Not to imply otherwise, or whatever– but since you seem just a tad prickly about it, I'll take a wild guess and say we should...divert the subject?"

I grunted wearily. "Yes, otherwise I have to assume you guilty by pattern of association of how most communicate here, in which case could get your ish rocked."

Perhaps encouraged by my not-too-serious warning tone, Carter nodded seriously. "Understood, as I've witnessed, up close and personal...a few times," he remarked with a slightly nervous smile, much to my delight. "I wouldn't speak negatively about your body, or anyone's for that matter, though. I...I'd compliment you, but I don't wanna say anything that might make you uncomfortable, so I'm just gonna take the simple route here, and say..."