*COMPLETED* (18+) MATURE
Wrong number...usually a person would delete the number, right? A mistaken text leads to blood money and danger. Chris Johnson, a gender fluid male, receives a text from a mystery guy who shares a card number. Aware that i...
"So you snuck out?" Sam says when the apartment door closes behind me. He wasn't entirely wrong...I did wait until he went to piss to slip out the door. But...who is he, my dad?
"I can go places alone." I snap as I head in the direction of his voice. The kitchen. "Anyway, I got in contact with that site, but the thing is there's a...raaa." It dawns on me that he's making breakfast. Bacon, sausages, and eggs fry in pans on the stove....sizzling. French toast drifts from the oven. He hates cooking, he preferred takeout, yet he's doing it.....for me? Making the things I like? I smile a bit, ripping my eyes from the cooking food.
Sam flips the meat and scrabbles the eggs simultaneously, using both hands like a chef. His veiny arms flexing. While I just do that irritating shy thing, where I lower my head and kick my foot forward.
"What's the thing?" He asks curiously.
"Um....in order to get the money hacked, I gotta provide proof first and then pay a team. I don't know how many are on this team. So...think up a plan, Sherlock."
"I'm just a genius now, huh?"
I walk and slide onto a counter's barstool and remove my crossbody bag. "Yeah, compared to me, you are." His dimples show in a laugh. "Please? I'm not about to share my money with these assholes, if it's even five of them on the team, that's thousands gone if not more." Sam uses silicone spatulas to turn over the bacon and eggs. Sizzling. The kitchen smells up like a barbecue. Sam places the utensils down aside the stove and begins pacing the room like the actual Sherlock. Brooding. "Say brain blast when you get it." I tease, but his concentration doesn't break; he's like the fucking thinking statute.
"You're getting too possessive." This catches me off guard; I get offended, pulling my eyebrows down profoundly. "Look...my advice is the same, leave it alone. It's dirty money, it has to be to jump up to a million that quick. The owner located your place, threatened to kill you. I mean how more illegal do you want this to get?"
"What do you want me to do...give up a million dollars?" I argue.
"I want to protect you...this will end bad if you keep at it. I thought you worked at 8 am, did you really quit a job you liked? Are you fucking thinking about spending illegal money for a living? Tracked money?!! Are you that gullible?!" He blows up, not filtering himself. "That is either blood or drug money, THINK BEFORE YOU ACT!!" He points out, pissed.
"Why can't you just support me? Especially after what you did?? You said something similar when I found out you cheated, "don't act like a dumb ass, own up to it, you fucked up." You... hold this high ass pedestal you want me to live up too just because you do. WELL I'M NOT YOU!" I spit viciously.
"I don't want you to be..."
My hands shake uncontrollably. "Right, so you're just lecturing me for no damn reason, think smart, be smart, maybe I'm just not smart!"
"Baby..." Sam stops and corrects himself. "Chris, don't say that." He hesitantly walks to me, nearing closer to the bar's counter, and takes my hands in his. "You are smart...you're playing it close to the chest, you really are. You ditched your phones, left your apartment. If you did none of that you'd be locked up or worse. I'm sorry if I'm putting pressure on you. It's just the money is iffy, you might get hurt." Sam's voice falters sensitively.
I look away stubbornly, still pissed and unmoved by his sweet words. A burnt smell rises from the stove, along with faster sizzling. "The bacon is burning." I remove my hands from his and place them in my lap.
He cups my cheeks in his rough palms. I lower my eyes from his as Sam strokes my face gently. He lifts my chin and leans on the bar's counter to make intense eye contact. Sam's pretty green eyes hold regret...and a strange kind of hurt that I didn't want to analyze, because it'll put me in a silly romance cage again.
Not again.
He wants me back, but that path died months ago.
Sam doesn't hide his desperation. Right now, he resembles a puppy waiting for approval from their owner. Anxious and seemingly loyal. Seemingly.
Aww. Fuck...
I sigh weakly, eyeing his lips in what seems like slow motion. My soul fantasizing the familiar, soft feel of them. "It's your move." His thumb sweetly traces my full lips. My body's chemistry pulls towards his handsome face. Going under an enchantment. My lips part, my mouth waters, my face nears his. My hands wring around his wrists. So tempted. My heart so hungry.
A flashback stops my next advance: a memory of crying in the dark, on my bed, swiping through our couple pictures on my phone. My finger hovering over a delete button as I sob, my shoulders jerking. I delete a large amount of pictures in bulk. 538 photos.
My eyes go glossy. I push away from Sam, getting up from the barstool, and leave to the front door.
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