Promiscuous (Who's the slut?)

Chapter Seven

"You! Moron!" I threw my pillows at him. He ducked one after the other. When the last one was on my hand I hit him with full force. But he was stronger, he wrestled me into the bed.

I was panting. I gulped when I felt him towering me, his body heat was intoxicating me.

"Will you get off me?" I croaked.

"Of course," If I could just close my eyes I could hear Chuck Bass's bedroom voice. Low. Bored. Husky. But will surely ignite the ice on Atlantica. Gee, I'm getting redundant.

He stood up not minding how his body rubbed against mine as he lifted himself off me. He headed to the sofa bed and unbuttoned his crumpled polo shirt.

"What the hell are you doing?" My voice was in a panic as I saw an almost impeccable form of physique. It was sculpted into perfection. Wide bronzed chest. Six-pack abs. And strong bands of muscle on his arm. He was tall, lean and muscular. Perfect.

"Did I pass?"

"What?"

His lips slowly twitched upward. Sinfully attractive. It reminded me of Johnny Depp's lazy grin. Damn. I snorted.

"Jack Sparrow." I grimaced. He laughed.

"You're not sleeping here!" I glared at him. Before I knew it, he was already making himself comfortable on the sofa bed. His legs were too long so he anchored it on my bed. I couldn't just stare at him as I'm a twit not knowing what to do next.

"How old are you?" I thought he wasn't going to answer me as silence passed. He just shrugged. Closed his eyes.

"I said how old are you? Do I have to repeat everything that I have to ask you?" I said exasperated. I could see that he struggled to open his one eye.

"Twenty Three." He drawled.

"23? That old?"

"Darling... Twenty three is ancient compared to your boys." I bit my lower lip hard enough not to lose patience. He's goading me. He took great pleasure in seeing me mad. Two can play this game.

"You're rude." I said casually.

"In some things, you are right."

I nodded. Of course, I was always right. My head swung in his direction.

"What do you mean?"

"I heard you telling your father that answering a question when being asked isn't rude. I agree with that."

He was such a pig! So he was getting my words back at me, huh? I exploded. I run out of the room in haste. It was so unlady like of me. So what?

"Where are you going?"

I turned to look at him with fire that can smolder an ice bucket. "In case you wanted to follow me, in hell!" I shouted. No. I screamed. I was dragging my footsteps just to find him.

"Dad!" I panted as I thrust myself inside his library. At times like this I only called him that.

"Problem?" I heard the gritting of my teeth. Can't help it. I'm always a problem, huh?

"I don't need a bodyguard." I pointed the direction of my room when my forefinger stopped on air. He was there, leaning casually on the door frame. My father had this irritatingly you-better-get-this-over-and-done-with look.

"I don't need him." I pointed at Rave.

"He's your bodyguard."

"I'm 18, not 8! Why should I need one? I'm even two months older than Laina. But then... then..." I bet the whole house could hear it. I was yelling my head off. "With both of us having different mothers, conceived at the same time." I muttered under my breath.

"Bigyan mo na ko ng kahit sino. Wag lang siya!"

"What's the matter?" my father asked him.

"She's probably afraid of me." I gasped. I heard the note of amusement in his voice. Me? Afraid? When hell freezes over! He won't win.

Yeah, right he won't.

It's so unfair! I hate my Father.

All night I tossed and turned while the jerk snored softly on his back. I couldn't sleep! Especially with a stranger. You're not sleeping with him Marie Claire! Not figuratively... then I felt the crisp hairs on his legs tickled mine underneathe the sheet. I'd like to kick him. So childish of me...

I picked up the phone.

"Hello?"

"Who's this? My God. It's 3 in the morning." I heard the yawn through the phone.

"Yep. Good morning to you, too Lucy."

"Marie Claire? Why, I've just been finding the best spot to sleep in. Thanks to you I wouldn't be able to do that now."

"So you've just come home? Oh, just the usual. Remember the guy at the bar?"

"Which one? Marie Claire! For Pete's sake. They're too many."

"The guy I thought who was Mickey Salazar?"

"Uh-huh," I could feel her interest getting piqued.

"He's sleeping with me." I heard a gasp of astonishment. Then my eyes grew wide as the realization of my words hit me.

"You screwed him?"

Oh no. Bull.