A Dude like her✔️

Chapter Twelve|| You can't Touch my Tits

Chapter Twelve|| You Can't Touch my Tits

I didn't know how I had ended up here. Well, I actually did.

I had snuck into Sam's backseat, in hopes of me scaring him when he arrived to his destination.

I was hoping to spit out something funny when he was about to fuck some girl or going to order some fries, I don't fucking know, but I sure hadn't expected to end up in the woods somewhere while watching Sam and some other fuckers beat some poor moron up.

"You know, I usually don't come to these little interventions," Coen smirked as he punched a man in the stomach, "But you're a special occasion Eddie."

Sam was leaning against a tree, he looked bored as fuck as he watched the scene play out in front of him.

I, on the other hand, was hiding behind a tree on the other end, wishing I had never gotten out of Sam's car.

Maybe I could make it back to his car. Fuck, it was parked far away.

"Eddie, just tell him what you took so that I can get the fuck out of here, I have a family dinner to go to," Sam spat as he looked at his watch.

How could he be so casual about this?

I grabbed onto the tips of my hair nervously. It was already starting to grow. I really needed to cut it again.

"I-I didn't take a-anything!" Eddie cried out, choking on his own blood.

"Sammy, my hand is getting a bit tired, can you take over for me?"

"Not in the mood," Sam said.

Coen sighed and shook his head before shooting Eddie.

What the fuck? I had- oh fuck- I need to get the fuck out of here before I vomi-

So tell me what you want, what you really, really want. I'll tell you what I want, what I really, really want.

I fucking love that song- wait, why is it playing in the middle of the woods?

I looked down to my pocket, and- yes, you've guessed it. My phone was ringing, blaring out the words to Wannabe.

I looked up and- of course- found Coen and Sam looking at me. I couldn't blame them. This was a fucking good song.

"Get her," Coen growled to Sam.

Shit, bye, I'm out.

I started running, thanking God that I was in track in my last school.

My phone rang again, and I answered it despite the current situation. I mean, even if Sam did catch me, he wasn't going to kill me. . . was he?

"Hello, mom," I said in between breaths.

"Hey, baby, are- wait, are you running?" She asked abruptly.

"Yes," I answered.

I could practically see her raising her eyebrows through the phone. "Okay. . ." She trailed off, "Don't forget to come home at 7:00, we're having dinner with the Beckhams."