That Royal Bad Ass

11. Ain't No Truther

                                    Dedicated to ominous_ for the incredible cover!! :D I mean look at that

-REVISED-

Chapter 11- Monday, Tuesday

I groaned and kicked my shoes off as soon as I closed the door behind me and shook off the surprised expression on my face.

Stephen and his friend were sprawled off on the white leather couch with controllers in their hands. I heard a lot of gun shots and explosions coming from the speakers, I'd bet my jeans—If I had any left—that they were playing the latest Call Of Duty and I am so confident to bet because he overheard my conversation with Mark about me wanting it. Ugh.

"Who's your friend?" I asked in a curious voice standing bare footed on the cool hard wood floor, still in front of the door.

"What are you guys playing?" I asked in the same tone.

"Ooh, can I play?"

"Wait... why the hell are you shirtless?" I asked slapping myself—mentally—for not noticing two very well built—and may I say it?—mighty fit boys, lazing on my couch.

Stephen dropped his controller and gave me a sharp glare.

"This," he waved his hands at his athletic, tanned friend "is Antonio."

"We," he waved his hands between them, "Aren't playing. We are conquering C.O.D: Black Ops 3 and no. You absolutely cannot 'play'"

"And why are we shirtless you ask," he scoffed and looked at Antonio "We are shirtless because WE ARE MEN!" They shouted together pounding on their chests like the apes they were.

"Ch-yeah, cave men," I muttered rolling my eyes.

"What was that woman?" Stephen asked in a threatening tone and raised an eyebrow at him.

Antonio chuckled.

"Now go make us some sammies dammit!" I gave him an unimpressed look, "Please... I meant please.'

"That's what I thought," I responded and smiled smugly making Antonio burst out into a fit of laughter.

I deliberately passed in front of them dragging my feet across the fluffy black rug in front of the screen that was on the gleaming white space saver thingy. This rug felt so good.

How do you guys like your sandwiches?" I asked in a sickening saccharine voice "Lannate or Ricin?"

"Both, hun," Stephen answered in a voice equivalent to the one I just used, "And honey, hold the mustard please!"

I scoffed and went to the black stainless steel fridge and popped open the freezer, I was hit in the face by a breath of cold air. I stepped back and searched its clean white interior for ice-cream sandwiches.

I really hoped they restocked the fridge more often. As in every day.

There were about four left when I took two out and closed the freezer door behind me. I searched the gleaming dark wood cupboards over the counter near the sink for plates and bread then made my way back to the fridge to get the dressings.

I forgot the grater!

"What the hell is this?" Stephen asks scrubbing his tongue with what I assumed was his shirt.

"A sammie!" I replied in an innocent tone.

"What the... is that potato?" Antonio said in a deep nauseated voice, first time I heard him talk, I gave him food poisoning.