𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐁𝐚𝐝 𝐁𝐨𝐲'𝐬 𝐃𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐢𝐩𝐥𝐞

25 | 𝑁𝑒𝑢𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑒𝑑 𝑃𝑢𝑝𝑝𝑦

"No one is going to want to see a used condom," he lectured pointedly.

"You never know with teenagers now-a-days, they go crazy over these types of things," I admitted, pushing my toes against the tip of the constricting shoes. "Now, will you tell me why the hell we're here?" I argued, throwing my opposing arm out to the sheet of snow stretching the length of the woods. Trees branches were littered in icing and cone-shaped glass shards.

My other hand, well, was clammy in the warmth-filled hold that Victor provided in his clutch.

"Are you kidding?" Victor laughed, the blades beneath his skates slicing through the ice and abruptly cutting in front of me, causing my body to tremble with preparation to fall.

His  hand snagged onto my waist and kept me stable. "Rhy," he began gently, making me dumbly assume that whatever was to follow my nickname would be sincere. "You are a terrible ice skater."

"In my defense, your mom has tiny feet!" I deadpanned, prodding a finger towards the skates I wore. "Victor, why are we in the woods?" I beckoned a hand to the frosted lake we balanced on. "More importantly, here?" 

"Because, dating is like ice skating," he announced, proud of himself. I was also proud up until he tried to make a point by releasing my hand and freeing me. 

"Aw--hell no!" I shrieked, waving my arms like a flightless bird. "I need you!"

"I'm flattered, but one day, you'll be stranded atop a frozen-over lake and you won't have me to hold your hand," he sarcastically described, encircling the perimeter of the lake in one fluid, effortless motion. He shouted, "time to fly, baby bird!" 

I really want to understand how he knows ice skating? Like does this bitch practice on the weekends? What the hell? 

I stabilized myself, standing awkwardly on thin blades. "You still haven't told me why we're here... or why we need to tell teenagers we slept together?" I replied in a questioning tone. He floated towards me, scraping the ice, a blizzard of flakes dusting into the air.

"Think about it," he started with a creepy, lopsided grin. His eyes were darkening and I knew that was a bad sign. I quickly scanned his gray sweatpants, hugging his waist loosely with the ebony sweatshirt. The hood hung over his black hair, swept in gel. If he thought that wouldn't kill me, he sure as hell made sure I was dead when he picked me up in his jeep with a red checkered flannel on top.

He continued, "if I let it slip to the school that we're friends with benefits, forget about it," he laughed maniacally. "I'll give a few rumors here and there, and bam, you got yourself a hunter."

My nose wrinkled. "I don't want a hunter, Vicky. I want someone who genuinely wants me."

"He will," Victor assured, smacking his lips. "After he hunts." He progressively skated backwards, his arms outstretched towards me. "Come on, Rhy. You aren't going to get in a relationship by just standing on the ice."

"That's not true," I sternly declared, wrinkling my nose and crossing my arms in refusal to obey to his simple commands. "In all the movies I've watched, it's always the guy who has the balls."

"Well," he uncomfortably began, ceasing his movement. "Time to grow a pair, Rhy, because I'm afraid you've fallen for a neutered puppy."

I rolled my eyes, beginning to lift my foot off the ice when my body started to propel backwards, a blur of the woods and mountain curves flew towards the sky. My tailbone slammed to the sheet of ice, a groan of agony drawing out between my lips as the glossy frost shot up through the palms of my hands in sync with the sharpening splinter of pain. I laid dead on the ice when Victor bent over me with a quirked eyebrow.