Her Knight In Rusty Armor

Chapter XXV

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On A Tightrope
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Slam.

"I'm gonna break your kneecaps, you dingus! What did you do with her? Tell me everything!"

He sucked in a breath, indifferently boring his deep eyes into mine.

"You really want all the details?" He almost broke out into a laugh, and his indifference made me feel even more furious. "I slammed her against a wall, kissed her, took her clothes off, she took off mine, we lay on the bed and-"

I rose my fist in the air, the bile crawling up my throat threatening to give the guy before me a vomit-bath about any second now. With my knuckles almost about to collide with his face, I braced myself for the impact, but he ducked against the wall at the last second.

Wincing as my fist rammed into the wall, I pulled it back with a groan, rubbing my knuckles in annoyance and eyeing a fresh cut that spat out two drops of blood.

"I'm just messin' with you!" he yelled, finally letting out an amused cackle.

Narrowing my eyes at him, I let go of the hem of his shirt; almost immediately, he began patting down the wrinkles on it.

Marc Jacobs: My best friend since middle school, who also had a tendency to crack inappropriate jokes at the wrong place and the wrong time.

We were quite similar in that specific way.

"So," I continued, narrowing my eyes at him as he plopped on the swivelling seat in the far corner of my room and brushing my burning knuckles against my sweater, "I take it you and Beth are together. And don't make disgusting jokes about her ever again."

Seeing his amusement falter upon the warning, I nodded in satisfaction.

"Note taken," he replied, pulling his lips into a firm line. "And I'm not with her officially, man; needed your consent for that. I'm sorry I didn't tell you about it earlier."

"Sorry's just a damn word, Marc..."

"I really, really like her, Ash..." he mumbled, his eyes glinting with hope. "I don't intend on ditchin' her. I promise, I don't. And I could never hurt an angel like her."

Falling silent, I plopped onto my bed in the corner of the room, placed against the wall that homed the door. Marc was one of the few guys whom I actually trusted, the list previously bearing Drake's name as well.

Trusting people blindly screws one up, I'm telling you.

Twisting the black hoop dangling before my ear, I sighed and met his gaze.

"I'm only letting you date her 'cause I trust you. Don't lose that pinch of trust, okay?"

"Yeah, okay."

He smiled at me, and I sensed an end coming to that conversation.

"So," I moved on, "how long have you been staying here?"

"About two weeks," he replied, swivelling in the seat placed by my desk. "Oh, and don't mind Ethan; he's just a guy Dave hired for another mission. I brought him with me 'cause we've both got family feuds. Amara's lasagna is just a plus point for me." Rubbing the back of his neck, he shrugged at me.

I recalled how his parents always used to neglect his presence, holding his elder siblings on a pedestal so high that his fingertips could barely brush against it. I guessed that they were still as stuck up as ever, so I nodded at Marc in sympathy.