Red waited in the rain, mind running in at least a dozen directions.
For one, it would really fucking suck to get caught in the rain while curled up in his sleeping bag in the orange grove, which was his current favorite plan for the summer. Would that be better or worse than going home? Probably he could go home and hide in his room for three months. Then again, the orange grove would have the added bonus of potential sex with Bad.
He definitely couldn’t tell Bad he was sleeping rough somewhere. Also, he needed a job if he wanted to afford books next semester, and not having a handy shower would be inconvenient. If he went home, he could pick up shifts at the pizza place where he worked in high school, like the last two years.
God. He couldn’t go home. He couldn’t.
Rain made him cold, cold made him shiver, and shivering made his sore ass and nipples freak out a little.
Lunch had been…crazy. Crazy fucking hot. And Tony, after, was like weirdly deferential. Red kept catching him staring, which kind of made sense, but he kept his voice low and never made a single crack about Red sucking cock or taking it up the ass.
Which was weird, because he’d kind of seen Red take it—or rather them, Bad’s handful of Sharpies—up the ass, so he thought the teasing would ramp up, that Tony wouldn’t be able to control himself.
He’d been respectful. That was the word. Respectful of Red. Respectful of whatever he thought he’d seen (and Red wasn’t really sure what that was, because at least half the time he’d forgotten Tony was even there). The whole thing was fucking weird, but he wasn’t too worried about Tony wigging out and hate-criming him on the way home from the Spark some night, so that was good.
Red crossed his arms over his chest to stay warm, then shuddered against the pain in his nipples and unfolded them again.
He was trying really hard not to check his phone every twenty-two seconds, but Bad’s truck was black and big, and looked like every other big, black truck, so he wasn’t totally sure he’d recognize it from far away, but he also didn’t want to stand right on the curb, like an idiot, just in case Bad never showed.
Bad would show. Wouldn’t he? Bad, who’d told him he did good, who’d said when you’re on screen, I can’t fucking look anywhere else, which Red had repeated in his head over and over again, picturing how fucking deep Bad’s eyes had been.
Bar clothes were not good for waiting in the rain. Water was now dripping off his hair and down his back.
What if Bad didn’t come? What if he stood Red up, after all that today, after the whole damn thing?
“Red! For fuck’s sake, get in the truck!”
He’d been staring into space, shivering. He jogged up to the street and pulled the door open, avoiding Bad’s eye as he got in and curled into the corner of the seat.
“You don’t have a coat?”
“Not one I want to wear to the Spark.”
“Is that where you think we’re going?”
He glared at Bad. “Well, yeah. That’s where we usually go.” Although, Room 111 would be so much more comfortable. Maybe he could find a blanket or something in one of the cabinets. “Do you have heat in this thing? I’m freezing.”
“Standing in the rain in a tight tank top and a crummy little vest will do that.” Bad flicked his vest, right over his nipple. (Red controlled his wince as well as he could.) “Whatever this is. Polyester, or something. Wool would keep you warmer.”
“Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind for the next time I decide to stand in the rain.”
Bad looked over in the red glow from a stop light. “You pissed at me, Red?”
“By eleven minutes.”
“You’re never late. You’re always early, so I was early, and you were late.” He knew, even as he was saying it, that eleven minutes wasn’t a big deal, and it wasn’t Bad’s fault he’d decided to stand in the rain instead of under the overhang. “Never mind.”
“We aren’t going to the Spark.”
But they were leaving campus, so they weren’t going to Room 111, either.
“You don’t even want to know where we’re going? What if I’m kidnapping you?”
Red laughed. “God, do me a favor, Bad. Kidnap me. Because it’s finals next week, then they kick us out of the dorms, and that’s it. Kidnap me, keep me in your closet.” He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. “Feed me enough to live and let me out in September, okay, Bad? Because I really do not want to go home.”
“They that bad?”
“It’s not them. I mean, it is, but it isn’t. It’s just—” It sounded so stupid when he said it. “Look, I don’t have it that bad, I get that. No one beats me or anything, so it’s really fucked up that I’m even complaining. I’m just tired of it. I didn’t mind being nothing when I was in high school. But every summer I go back there and it’s worse. It’s like I know what it’s like to be awake, but then I plug back in, hibernating, being a nothing for three months while they pretend I’m this—this—”
“This what, Red?”
“I don’t know. It’s like I go back there and all of us pretend we get along, that we’re halfway interested in knowing each other, when the truth is that we might as well all be strangers for how much we really care about one another. And that’s depressing. But depressing isn’t life threatening, so I should just suck it up.”
“I thought you said college was the same as everywhere else.”
There’s no Bad at home. “I guess it’s not, since I like it a lot more here. Anyway. Ignore me. I fucking hate whining. Especially—”
“Just, you’re not, you aren’t the kind of guy who likes whining, so let’s just pretend I didn’t.”
“Yeah, okay, Red. Because pretending shit seems to be working out so well for you.” Bad pulled into a spot on the street and cut the engine. “Get out of the car.”
For a terrible, paralyzing moment, Red thought Bad was just dumping him out on the side of the road. Then Bad got out and looked at him.
“Right, sure. Um.” Red got out, shivering again, and hoped like hell they were going somewhere with a towel.
He followed, distracted by how cold he was, wary of saying anything to Bad when he’d been bitching and moaning the whole car ride. Actually, he must have been really distracted; he wasn’t entirely sure where in town he was. Some kind of neighborhood, and Bad was leading him up to a house.
Whoa, shit. Was this some kind of thing? Like, how Bad was always talking about farming him out to people? What if they were at someone’s house?
“Bad.” Red stopped walking, just outside the front porch.
“What? Jesus, you’re standing in the rain again?”
Red relented and stood at the edge of the steps, just inside the dry zone. “Where the fuck are we right now?”
When Bad turned, he had keys in his hands. “We’re at my house, Red. Where the hell did you think we were going?” He gestured to the neighborhood, which yeah, okay, looked like the kind of place people lived, but Bad—Bad living in a residential neighborhood on a quaint street in a cute little house seemed so weird. So totally not fitting.
“So why’d we park on the street, then?”
Bad grimaced. “Because I had a guy out this morning to do the driveway, and this afternoon it fucking rained, that’s why. The finish is probably all screwed to hell anyway, but I’m not supposed to drive on it, so I’m not.” His eyes narrowed. “We got a problem, Red?”
His house. Bad took me to his fucking house.
“No,” Red said. This time he wasn’t so sure he was shivering from cold.
“Can we go inside, then?” Bad stepped up, until their shoes touched. “Red? If you’d rather go to Spark Plug, we will. I just figured you’d performed enough today for the public.”
“Ha. Yeah.” Now you’ll perform for me. “Um, no. No, I’m freezing. If you have a blanket, maybe a towel, I’m sold.”
“I have a blanket. And a towel.” The key extended toward him and he went cross-eyed watching it, right up until it tucked under his chin and tilted his head up. “I’m unlocking the door now. Take off your shoes.”
“Yeah, okay.” But Red’s brain did some kind of jump, some kind of weird sideways slide, and instead of just taking off his shoes, he took off everything. He wasn’t even thinking about it, didn’t make a decision, didn’t hold an internal debate. He took his shoes off, his socks, his pants had to be peeled off, and so did his shirt. Then he knelt, right fucking there, on the rug in Bad’s entryway.
Bad had walked away, but it hardly mattered. Red knelt shivering, naked, wet, and waited for him to come back.
Footsteps. Feet in sports socks poking out from the damp legs of Bad’s pants stopped right in Red’s line of sight.
A beer, already opened, in Bad’s hand, held out.
“Thought we could drink cheaper here. Let me get you that blanket.”
Red, shaking now from some mental imbalance he couldn’t name, got slowly to his feet and took the beer.
“Living room, Red. Through here.”
He didn’t see much. He couldn’t seem to pick up his head, couldn’t seem to look around. It was too much. This was Bad’s house? He should be excited, but instead he was…full of dread. Bad’s house. Bad had a house. Bad was a guy with a house and a driveway he’d just had re-done. He had bills, and went to the grocery store, and probably called his mom on Christmas.
Since all of that was completely obvious, Red didn’t know why it was fucking with his head so badly, but it was. Maybe he didn’t want to see Bad as a man, a man named Charles, just a normal guy who liked to smack twinks around before coming all over them for kicks. He wanted the fantasy of the big, scary top, with the huge hands and the split-you-in-half dick, the guy who didn’t believe in safewords and made all the rules.
The guy Bad had been until about ten minutes ago.
A blanket landed in his lap. He put the beer he had yet to drink aside, and pulled the blanket around his shoulders.
That guy wouldn’t get you a blanket if you were cold. Actually, that guy probably wouldn’t have done anything with him after he handed over his phone number in a book of stamps. Maybe Bad had never actually been that guy anyway.
“You in some kind of shock, Red? You’re shaking there.”
“Just cold,” he lied.
Bad stood back up, put Red’s beer on a side table, and sent all the shit on the coffee table clattering to the ground so he could sit down right there in front of Red. Red stared at the battery lid for the remote, which had popped off and landed propped against the foot of the couch. He didn’t move. Or couldn’t.
“Yeah. Okay. You want me to take you home?”
Red shook his head, slowly, trying to do some kind of mental trick so he wouldn’t start crying.
“Is this about earlier today? That thing in the mail room?”
Red shook his head again.
“Is it about you not having a place for the summer, Red?”
“Then I give up. Tell me what the fuck’s going on and why you were standing in the rain.”
“I don’t know. I didn’t picture you in a house in the suburbs. It’s—weird.”
“My house is weird?” But Bad sounded a little entertained by that, not offended, which was good.
“Yeah, you know, a guy rubs jizz in your pit hair and forces you to kneel in a fuckin’ piss-covered bar bathroom, you don’t think of him having, like, a driveway he’s gotta get re-paved, or whatever. Shit, Bad, I don’t know.”
“Right. Yeah, okay. Figured this would happen. I’ll take you to the Spark and fuck you on the floor again, Red. It’s fine.”
Oh my god, no, don’t. “No. Orange. Don’t do that. Please, Bad.”
Bad tapped his cheek, so he looked over, and fuck, Bad’s eyes were a low dirty green right now, like water unsettled by a storm. “You don’t want to be here, you don’t want to go to the Spark, you don’t want to go back to the dorms.”
“I—I want to be here, I just—it’s not how I pictured it.”
“Where’d you think I lived, Red? A cave?”
“Maybe. Maybe like the Bat Cave, only instead of weapons, it’d be, like, whips and stuff. But not—this. Like you probably have a vacuum. And, I don’t know, you probably have a toothbrush. God, that’s so stupid, it’s just—I didn’t think about any of that. In my head you were—not vulnerable to cavities, I guess.”
“You worried I’m secretly vanilla, Red?”
“Not that. Secretly mundane, I think. I mean, if you have a subscription to, like, Sunset Magazine, I might have to leave.”
Bad smiled, not a real friendly smile, either. “No such luck. Come with me, Red.”
Back to something he understood, at least. “Yes, sir.”
He followed Bad back through the house (and it was bigger than he’d expected, like two, maybe three bedrooms), careful to keep the blanket from dragging on the floor.
“My last place was this little apartment, before I got the job at the school. The landlord fuckin’ loved me, because I did all my own repairs and never bothered him unless something needed to be replaced.”
“Okay. So it seems like you want me to ask you why you did your own repairs.”
“Good guess, there, genius.” Bad pushed open a door. “I make modifications, on a larger scale than binder clips.”
Holy crap. Bad had a fucking sex swing, hanging up in the corner of the bedroom. Other hooks, too, on the ceiling. Also, there was a bed, and Red could see a strap hanging out from one side, like the kind you keep for tying people down.
He was breathing fast, and suddenly the blanket felt hot and scratchy against his skin. His dick was hard and every stripe from the afternoon felt like it was glowing on his ass.
“What’s that? In the holder by the dresser.”
Red rolled his eyes, and Bad kept staring at him, but smiling, too. “The other thing.”
“Spreader bar.” Bad advanced and gripped Red’s shoulders hard while using his own feet to knock Red’s out wider. “Keep you nice and open for me.”
Please, god. When do we do that?
Red made his voice even. “You want to show me more stuff? You got anything I haven’t seen walking by a row of porn movies?”
“Mouthy slut. You want to see the setup I’ve got in the bathroom, little Red?”
“Gotta be cleaner than the Spark, right?”
Bad leaned in real close. “Glad you’re back, boy. Lose the blanket.”
Which was possibly the greatest thing anyone had ever said to him in his life, because now he could breathe, now he could clear his mind and stop fucking thinking of whether Bad ever had ants in his kitchen, or if he ever stubbed his toe taking a piss in the middle of the night.
None of that mattered, because Bad was looking at him like he could see right through into his darkest fucking thoughts, and now Red could relax.
“Yes, sir,” he said, and folded the blanket before setting it on top of the dresser. “What are the tape X’s for?”
“Camera angles. This one works for the swing. This one for the bed. This one for that dresser, which is a good height for leaning on to take a whipping.”
Red just fucking blinked, because what?
“Never without permission, Red, and always with masks. I can’t afford someone tracing shit back to me.”
“Tracing—you mean—you put them online, or something?”
“Uh huh. Like I said, never without permission.”
“Damn. Um. I just never—damn.”
“Yeah, I’m fuckin’ full of surprises. Move your ass.”
He followed Bad into a nice, clean bathroom. The toilet lid was down, there weren’t hairs all over everything, and the little rug in front of the shower looked pretty clean.
Bad was kind of a neat freak, which actually made a lot of sense.
Red stepped in, as expected, and didn’t see anything that weird, except the shower didn’t have a bath tub, but did have a leftover bath faucet. Then Bad toed open the cabinet under the sink, and yeah, okay, that’s where he kept the freaky stuff.
That right there was one of those fucking things you put on a guy’s face to make him drink piss. And that looked like a hose attachment that would go on a faucet, with the kind of nozzle on the end that could really only fit in one or two places. A couple of rolled-up rubber mats. A big-ass first aid kit.
Red was breathing really fucking fast, staring at all that shit. All that forbidden, disgusting, terrible shit.
“Too much now, Little Red?” Bad asked, but not like he was asking so much as he was taunting.
“Fuck you, Bad. What else you got?”
Bad pulled a drawer open and pulled out the biggest fucking dildo Red had ever seen. That’d be like having a fucking leg in your ass. There was no goddamn way the human body could hold a monster like that. Not without killing you.
Fucking sonofabitch was toying with him. Red walked out of the bathroom and back to the living room. He picked up his beer and took a long gulp, not turning around when he heard Bad’s steps. (Light steps, because instead of his boots, Bad had on socks. Why did he have on socks? Because apparently Big Bad Charles Campion, Cowerer of Tony, Master of Mail Room Kink, didn’t allow shoes in his fucking house. What was he, Buddhist?)
“Are you Buddhist?”
“No, Red. But I think some of that shit has merit, like leaving the outside outside.”
“Then what the fuck am I doing here?”
“You sulking because I’m not scary enough, or because I’m too scary?”
“You’re definitely an asshole, either way.”
Bad laughed. “No argument there. Sit down, Red. And drink your beer, I have ideas.”
“That require me to be drunk?”
“I’ve seen you drink a beer and I’ve never seen you drunk, so no. Though if you’d rather get drunk than have sex, I have more beer.”
Red turned around, pointing his bottle. “You mean actual sex, or you fucking with me and hurting me until you get off sex?”
“Only difference between the two is that you come in the shower later after the second one. Both are sex.”
“Uh, no, Bad. I think I’m gonna decide for my own fucking self what sex is, and it’s not you rubbing jizz in my goddamn armpits.”
“No?” Bad reached over, grabbed his non-beer hand, lifted it up high and took a good sniff, nose practically in his pit hair. “I just don’t think you smell right unless you smell like me fucking you, Red. Tell me you don’t agree.”
“Fuck you,” Red muttered.
“Yeah, you’re gonna need correction tonight, but that’s okay. Me whipping your ass is sex, too.”
“Goddammit.” He tried to turn away again, but Bad had a hand around his throat before he could go anywhere. “I don’t know what you want from me. I—why are we here? So you can piss on me? So you can tie me to your bed? I don’t know what you want.”
“Didn’t you ask me to keep you in my closet for the summer?”
“I was joking.”
“Red.” The hand tightened, turning his face until Bad’s eyes bore into his. “You want me to piss on you?”
Christ, if that was all. “Sometimes I want you to take me to the Spark, chain me to the urinals, and get all the guys in there to piss on me at the same time, until I can’t breathe,” he said, blinking back tears. “When we were walking up here, to this house, I didn’t know whose it was, and for a minute I thought it was that couple from the other night, that you’d talked to them after I left, that you were gonna let them do whatever they wanted to me.”
Bad’s pupils were dime-sized, inches away from Red’s. “I could do that. Take you inside a house, blindfolded, cut your clothes off so you couldn’t run away, tie you over a bench with your legs real wide, and just watch how they used you. That sound good to you, Red?”
“Yeah. Me, too.”
Oh my god, kiss me, kiss me right now, please, Bad, kiss me—
Bad dropped his hand. “Drink your fucking beer, Red. And play with yourself while you’re doing it.”
He stumbled, almost falling, and when he got his balance back, Bad was standing there watching him, looking a little pale.
“Sit in that chair. And spread your legs over the arms, so I get a good view. Don’t forget to keep drinking.”
Red did as ordered, but fuck, this would be so much better with kissing.
* * *
Bad started on the couch, but soon moved back to the coffee table, watching Red’s hand on his dick, urging him to drink faster. Red expected all kinds of instructions, but there weren’t any, and in the absence of structure he felt obscurely like he was doing it wrong, like the way he masturbated was incorrect, and Bad was gonna give him an earful about it (or maybe a whipping).
“Give me that.”
He handed over the beer and Bad drained the rest of it, then put it on the ground.
“Scoot down, Red, so your ass is hanging over the edge. Yeah. Like that.”
“What, you don’t have one of those tables with stirrups?”
Bad gave him a narrow look. “You know how fucking expensive those things are? Go back to playing with your clit, Red.” He squirted more lube on Red’s stomach and still more in his own hand.
God, Bad was gonna give him a hand job? Or finger-fuck him again? Please, yes.
Then Bad picked up the beer bottle.
Red’s hand moved mechanically on his dick, watching Bad lube up the mouth and neck of the bottle, real carefully, running his fingers all over the goddamn thing.
Oh my GOD.
“This is gonna look real sweet plowing in and out of your pussy, Red. I wonder how much of it you can take. You’re pretty tight, you might not be able to handle it.”
“I can handle it.”
“Well, you’re about to find out, aren’t you?” Jesus, the way the man touched the bottle was so wrong and so—did he have to caress it like that? “Push up, Red, so I have a better angle.”
Red tilted his pelvis a little and Bad kicked the coffee table back so he could sit on the floor. With his slicked up beer bottle and his lube.
“Yeah,” he said, sliding his hand all over Red’s crack. “Yeah, boy, it’s gonna be fun to fuck you with this. You don’t even like beer, do you, Red?”
Was that a real question? Red, eyes trained on the bottle, shook his head.
“Guess it’s time to find out if beer likes you.”
The bottle was cold, despite Bad stroking it off. He pressed the tip against Red’s hole and Red sucked in a breath.
Smack. “You gonna resist me, Little Red? Loosen that pussy up or I’ll loosen it up with my strap.”
Red exhaled, forcing his body to press into the cold glass.
“Oh yeah. Yeah, open for me, boy. That’s real nice. Push out some more, let me see that thirsty pussy drink.”
Jesus, that should have been such a stupid line, but Red was so fucking hard right now he didn’t dare touch himself or he’d blow his load before Bad even had the thing in him.
The tip of the bottle slid in and Red had to muscle his body to stay still while Bad turned it this way and that way, pushing, pulling, playing.
“I’d like to do this with a champagne bottle,” Bad said, watching the bottle. “Nice long neck, nice fat base. Fuck you all the way up into your guts. Would you like that, Little Red?”
“Anything. Anything, sir.”
Bad’s eyes came up, trapping his. “Don’t ever say that. You have no fucking idea what you’re saying, so don’t.”
“Yes, sir. I—sorry, I—”
“Some dumb top might take you at your word, and you don’t want that, Red, so trust me, and don’t ever say ‘anything’ to a guy like me.” He twisted the bottle and went deeper, and Red arched his back, moaning. “Yeah, that’s good. Keep playing with your clit, Red. You want to come, boy? You did good work today, with your friend watching. You want to come?”
Pleasure intensified, spiraling darkly in Red’s brain, spinning out through his body and making his toes curl. “Yes—yes, please, Bad—please—”
“That’s right,” Bad said, fucking him deeper. “That’s right. Pull on that little clit until it comes, Red. I want to see that little clit make a mess all over you.” Deeper, harder, burning as it stretched his ass, and it would have been too much if Red hadn’t been so fucking hard. “Do it. Come, Red.”
One final twist and Bad held still, letting him writhe on the bottle, skewered as he came, balls tight and pulsing, jizz everywhere like a fucking geyser.
“Oh yeah, Red, that’s nice.” Bad scooped jizz up in his fingers and pressed them into Red’s mouth. “Clean up your mess, Little Red. Look me in the eye while you suck.”
The hottest thing he’d ever done. His ass twitched aftershocks against the beer bottle while Bad fed him his own come, looking down into his eyes like he was trying to see the future, like Red’s eyes were a crystal ball and Bad needed to know what was gonna happen next.
It was stupidly, impossibly hot. Red wanted to kiss him again, but he didn’t.
* * *
Bad also had a washing machine and a dryer.
“Should’ve thrown these in earlier,” he said, shoveling Red’s soaked clothes into the dryer. “Be another half hour or so, but at least they’ll be warm.”
Red expected innuendo about what they could do with half an hour, lewd suggestions about all the things he’d seen in Bad’s bedroom (and bathroom).
What he got was dinner.
“Have you eaten?” Bad pulled a boxed pizza out of his freezer and looked over.
“Not—no.” He’d skipped lunch to play with Bad, and he’d skipped dinner to get ready to play with Bad more. Not that there hadn’t been time to eat, he just…hadn’t.
Bad pulled out a second box and hit the oven on. “Pepperoni okay with you?”
Boxes open, plastic slit, pizzas in the oven, timer on. 18 minutes.
“Get back on that chair. I want to play with your balls.”
But before Red did that, he stood there for a long moment, wondering what the hell was going on in his life that Get back on that chair, I want to play with your balls was a thing that barely pinged a pause.
Then he got back on the chair.
Bad “playing” included a lot of Bad shoving his legs open again and tapping his balls with some new thing that occurred to him, like the remote, or his thick-ass wallet. (You know what they say about a guy with thick fingers—you should see his wallet!) Then he had a lot of fun running the button side of the remote all over Red’s sac, where it pulled every tiny hair growing there.
“Gonna need to take care of this,” Bad said, plucking a few hairs between his fingertips and pulling.
“Ow, shit!” Red really wasn’t trying to close his legs, they just closed naturally, in self-defense.
“Yeah. This is sloppy, Red. You use a beard trimmer or something?”
“Well, little boys who want to play with me have to do a hell of a lot better than this.” He looked up, eyes dancing wickedly. “Don’t worry, Red. I’ll help.”
Ding, ding, ding.
“Dinner.” Bad gave his sac a squeeze before letting it go and Red moaned, trying to pull his balls back into his body. “You need some training, boy. Those balls need some serious training. That tight little pussy of yours, too. Good thing for you that I’m here to offer my generous fuckin’ assistance, isn’t it?”
But the weird thing was that he was joking, like basically Bad’s idea of “help” was more like “torture”, but even as he was saying it, he was getting pizza out of the oven, and paper towels, and setting both pizzas on a cutting board, which he put between them on the coffee table.
“Eat up, scrawny.”
“I’m not scrawny, Bad.”
Bad held up his thumb and index finger half an inch apart. “Your muscle mass is pretty much nonexistent.”
“I work out!”
“What, on a treadmill?”
Obviously saying, No, an elliptical! would not have the intended effect of increasing his manliness.
“Weights, Red. You need weights.”
“Well, they’re always taken by asshole jocks, so whatever. Plus, I don’t know what I’m supposed to be doing, and I don’t want to fuck myself up.”
“Nah. I’ll show you. I got a kind of makeshift home gym out back. Easier to walk up to the free weights when you know what to do with them.”
Red sat there, chewing slowly on his pizza, trying to work out if Bad was saying he’d be bringing Red to his house again. All that shit about those balls need training or whatever was just trash talk, not a promise. But I’ll show you how to use free weights was the kind of thing that nice people said when they maybe meant it or maybe didn’t, and the kind of thing a guy like Bad would only say if he actually meant it.
“Did Anthony behave? I had to do a couple of rounds in the afternoon, but every time I was watching, he seemed all right.”
“Yeah.” Red swallowed and cleared his throat. “Yeah, actually it was weird. I think he might like me more now.”
“Like you as in he thinks you’re gonna throw a fuck his way, or—?”
“No. I think he just kind of—respects me. Or something. Weird, right?”
“Good. He fucking should respect you after that.” Bad picked up the second to last piece of pizza on his side of the cutting board. “You better eat faster. I’m coming for yours next.”
Red ate faster, but he was pretty sure Bad slowed down to a pace intended to ensure Red ate all of his dinner.
God. This was the most confusing night ever.
Bad dropped him back at the horseshoe around two and said, “See you tomorrow, Little Red.”
Red had no fucking clue what that meant, but he was too damn tired to care. He waved goodbye and dodged back through the rain to the dorms.