Short Stack - Lily Morton Page 0,1
met, but it didn’t matter to me because I never allow people to get inside my head and heart. As long as we were fucking, I never cared what he did. I’ve long been aware of his bitchiness towards Dylan, but Dylan’s always been more than capable of sticking up for himself.
However, Fletcher’s attitude bothered me for the first time in Verbier. It had been obvious that Dylan was uncomfortable with the crowd at the chateau, and he’d seemed uncharacteristically vulnerable. It had stirred an awful feeling of protectiveness in me and I stepped in more times than Dylan knew, to stop the group of them falling on him like a pack of wolves. It caused a lot of arguments with Fletcher, but I couldn’t stop myself.
I look up at the noise as the two men fall into the lounge, and I sit back, raising an eyebrow. “Fletcher, how nice of you to drop by.” I pause. “And look at you being so impulsive, because I don’t actually remember inviting you.”
He smirks at me. “I have a key, Gabe.”
“Which I also don’t remember ever giving you. What a ridiculous scatterbrain I am.”
He huffs and slings his arm around the man he’s with. The stranger is slender with golden-brown hair, green eyes, and full lips with a lip ring. He works the ring with his tongue, as he stares around the room with a hint of attitude. I wait for the twitch in my cock, because Fletcher knows my type. Unfortunately, it doesn’t come, because the prototype of the men I fuck is far away from here, and currently ignoring me because I acted like a wanker in Verbier.
I shake my head at Fletcher. “Not tonight.”
He stares at me, his eyes narrowed in displeasure and calculation. “We haven’t had sex for fucking ages, Gabe. Have you got a problem getting it up now? Because I’ve got some pills somewhere to help with that.”
The other man laughs, and I bare my teeth in a cold smile. “Not as far as I know.” I settle back insolently on the sofa, my arms across the back and my expression challenging. “Have you got any pills to help with your congenital vacuousness?”
The other man snorts, seemingly unable to decide which side he favours, and anger crosses Fletcher’s face. “Well, it seems we’re not welcome here tonight, Michael.”
“My name’s Liam,” the man says huffily, but Fletcher ignores him, instead looking at me challengingly.
“Whatever gave you the clue?” I ask, taking a sip of my drink. “Is it the fact that I never issued you an invitation?”
He huffs petulantly. “If I waited for that, I’d never be here.”
“Exactly,” I drawl. His eyes narrow before something flares in them, that gift of his for being completely self-obsessed but still able to home in on another’s weakness. He wanders over and settles down on the sofa near me. I notice he’s not sitting too close, which I presume is in case I decide to throttle him in the next five minutes.
“Gabe,” he says sweetly. “We spoke about this.”
I sigh loudly. “Spoke about what? The only conversation I’ve had with you lately was about why planes don’t just fall out of the sky.” I shoot him a poisonously sweet glance. “Oh, and about where you’d put your haemorrhoid cream.”
“Mate,” Liam says pityingly, and Fletcher shakes his head.
“I have not got fucking haemorrhoids. Don’t listen to him, Michael.” When Liam shakes his head and wanders off, Fletcher raises his voice. “Gabe’s just bad-tempered because he’s in love with a little bitch, and he’s too chickenshit to do anything about it.”
I manage to hide my wince with long practice, as Fletcher excels in the art of digs that fucking hurt. “I am not in love with anyone,” I say coldly. “And you really should read more, Fletcher. It would improve your vocabulary.” I look him up and down. “Now that your looks are fading.”
“You fucking bitch,” he hisses, and I smirk as he jumps up from the sofa and puts his hands on his hips. He looks like an exceedingly cross Toby Jug. “Well, I’m not stopping here to be insulted like this.”
“I’m sure there are multiple places you can go to for that,” I say smoothly.
“I’m feeling quite uncomfortable now,” Liam says with a sigh, his hip cocked out and all attitude.
I try to repress a smirk. In a funny way, he reminds me of Dylan. Nobody winds Fletcher up quite as much, and it’s a joy to watch. I still