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

Chapter 6: reflection

|| 6. reflection ||

The first thing I felt was my body being moved.

Shifting in my sleep, my face contorted into an irritable pout. I felt the floor pass underneath whatever cushiony thing I was wrapped up in. I could feel a turn, with whatever tugging me doing a one eighty. I was then acutely aware of the floor becoming nonexistent for a moment as my body was dragged on. And then...

And. Then.

My consciousness became aware of this suspension, and I jolted until my head slipped over the edge. My core tightened, instinctually trying to protect my head and curl upward, my shoulder taking the quiet thud against a short, flat surface. I let out a whining groan drowsily, and honestly not all that loudly, in irritation. It wasn't really painful given I was wrapped up in thick, cushiony blankets. "What the hell," I grumbled, squirming in annoyance and confusion as my grouchy mood made an appearance.

There was a boyish titter. "A deal's a deal, little Miss Burrito. Told you I'd drag you out of bed if I had to."

Brow creased, I began blinking away bleariness as quickly as I could, fumbling a bit to sit up on my arms to glare at thee supposedly "sweet" Niko Talivinci. "...fffaAWK you," I seethed with a morning temper. "When you said drag, I wasn't agreeing to literally."

"Huh. Guess you should clarify a deal before it's made," he retorted cheekily. "Wouldn't you agree, Hunny Bunny?"

My eye twitched. It seemed to be doing that a lot these past two weeks. "I suggest you find a better nickname before I start taking drastic measures, Sweet Tea." He straightened his back with an arched brow, maintaining a lightly self-satisfied expression. At the same time, he released his hold where my ankles were underneath the wrapped up duvet. As I lowered and drew my legs back to myself, I could take in his full appearance and ho-ho-holy ffffuuuuugh...

I may have mentioned it already that he was good looking as all unfair hell, but dressed up the way he was...he looked F-I-N-E, fine.

Black knee-high riding boots, off-white breeches, and a dark hunter green dress shirt that hugged his lean torso nicely, sleeves rolled up about half the length of his toned forearms. As per guidelines, the shirt was tucked in while the top few buttons were undone, revealing a bit of a smooth, strong chest. He had a golden watch around his wrist, probably a Rolex or something. His hair was damp, giving away that he'd showered sometime before the crack of dawn. It was tousled about in a way that one might consider irresistible. I wondered then how soft his hair was, what it'd feel like to run my fingers through those darkened, enchanting locks of his. The image alone was just...

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

In other words, the cactus prick had gone from blushin'-n'-stupidly-giggling-inducing attractive to a ten car pile-up good-looking. Unfair, without warning, disarming in my hazy too-early-for-anything state, and overall just...rRrrrRRGH.

Speaking of which, I probably looked like a total potato beneath a rat's nest right now. Also, he pulled me out of my own bed. Also, he had to have picked me up...while looking like that. My stomach suddenly felt like it was flip-flopping under the influence of zero gravity, making my body want to float on thin air. It was a highly unfamiliar feeling.

"Alright then, my bitter crumpet, what might thee sweet southern bella donna suggest?" He quizzed in a quieted voice, a little husky with the yearning for sleep with a note of consciousness for the rest of the house. I knew he was playing, but it sounded eerily close to flirtatious.