• dynasty • | gnr | kiss | bon jovi |

•14•

I bite my lip as Stan opens my own front door for me, moving aside so that I can walk in first. I squint at him comically and flounce into the house, waving him toward the kitchen.

"Come on, I'll tell Liza to start the cookies."

Stan shakes his head, his unnaturally large mop of hair moves in the opposite direction.

"Nah, I want you to make me the cookies. Forget the maid."

I cock my head and chuckle. "Why would I do that? I haven't made cookies since I was little, you know... with my grandma. Why would I make them?"

He shoves his hands into his pockets. "Where's the kitchen, kiddo? I'll help ya."

I point him in the right direction and then lead the way. I'm glad that Daddy isn't here, his unpredictable business almost always guarantees that he's never home.

Stan kicks off his Doc Martens and dumps his jacket on the counter. I can't help but notice the way his tight shirt clings to every dip and curve in his chest. He's pretty cut for a guy who never seems to work out or eat healthy, but that's metabolism for you.

"Why don't you get your math stuff?" I ask playfully. He bumps my side with his shoulder.

"Where's the flour?"

"Oh god, you're serious. It's in... that cabinet, above the sink. I think?"

He goes to the cabinet and opens it up, rolling his eyes. "You don't know your way around your own damn kitchen?"

"Not even a little," I laugh.

He goes to the refrigerator and scans the inside for the things he needs. "Kid, uh... I been meanin' to talk to you about something. It's been eating me for a long time, and... I don't really know how to start the conversation."

I smile at him and lean against the counter. I watch the muscles in his back move as he shakes some flour into a glass bowl and begins to crack some eggs.

"You got crabs from a whore and you don't know how to tell me?" I smirk.

He glares at me.

"No, you got them from a toilet seat."

He flicks a chunk of flour at me. "Shut the hell up, I don't have no fuckin' crabs."

"What is it? You can tell me anything, you know that."

He sighs and turns a little bit, carton of milk still in hand. I lean forward just slightly in anticipation.

His breathing hitches for just a second and he nibbles on the corner of his mouth nervously. He swallows hard and turns around again, splashing the milk into the bowl.

"It's about uh... it's um... Marty."

My shoulders slump. "Oh."

"Yeah. I... me an' her kinda had a thing. It never got super serious. I've just been seein' her still, you know. At night, 'cause she's good at that kinda stuff."

I clear my throat uncomfortably. "Nice?"

"She feels threatened by you."

I chuckle in utter disbelief of that. Why would she? She's far prettier than I am, even if her boobs aren't the biggest she's still got a better body. She's so appealing to every guy in school (even the ones who pretend she's beneath them), what could she possibly be threatened by?

"Uh..."

"I just... I wonder if she has a reason to feel threatened."

There's the soft clink of chocolate chips against the glass bowl as he pours them into the dough he's created.