Dallas Winston Has A Sister? 2 (Outsiders Fanfic)

Nice Muscles

Note to Readers:  This one might be a little weird, but I hope you like it.

Pony came into the living room, pulling a shirt over his head.

"Forget you have to wear clothes or something?" I asked him, glancing up from one of the million books he left sitting around that I was flipping through.

"No," he answered, turning on the T.V. before flopping down on the couch, stretching out as he lay down across it. "I have a reason," he remarked, meaning running around without a shirt on half the time today, I assumed.

"What reason?" I asked, wondering what crazy thing he'd come up with this time as I stood up from where I'd been sitting on the edge of the coffee table that was in front of the couch, planning on going to steal a Pepsi from the icebox.

"This," he said, grabbing my wrists and sliding my hands under the hem of his T-shirt.

I gave him a what-exactly-are-you-doing look, but I could feel his hard flat muscles under my fingers.  Weird, and I quickly slid my hands out, mockingly patting his stomach over his T-shirt and saying sarcastically, "Nice muscles.  But what the hell is wrong with you?" I demanded, definitely creeped out.

"What?  I've been working out, cause I figured you'd like someone with muscles better than a scrawny geek," he replied defensively, sounding a little ashamed.

"Pony, I like scrawny geeks way more than guys with muscles.  You can stop working out to try and impress me.  Unless of course you're one of those health and fitness freaks," I remarked, because none of us were.  The guys were all a bunch of lazy teenagers who could eat all day and never gain a pound, and I was like that, too.

"But if you get as buff as Darry, I'll dump you," I added as an afterthought, because though I had no problem with Darry, his huge muscles were kind of intimidating.

Pony laughed and agreed, "Okay," grinning.

"I'm hungry," I said suddenly, heading for the kitchen, "Let's bake something," cause thinking about food had made my stomach growl.

I started searching through the cupboards, pulling out bowls and measuring cups and seeing what they had for ingredients.

Pony leaned in the doorway, watching me, and I asked him, "Are you helping or not?"

He came into the kitchen and asked, 'What are we making?"

"Food would be nice.  Unless you want a mud pie.  Then you can go in the backyard and get the worms," I answered sarcastically.

We eventually decided to make chocolate chip cookies, which ended up with more flour all over ourselves and the kitchen than in the bowl and more raw cookie dough in our mouths than on the pan.  Darry would probably kill us when he saw how messy the kitchen was, but though I thought he was intimidating, I wasn't actually scared of him.