R. Griffin - Seamless

“Fucking press. Everyone feels very sorry for me. Again,” she commented, putting the last bite of snapper in her mouth. “How do people cook like this? I want to be able to cook you meals. I’m a horrible cook,” she rambled.

“You’re not that bad. You have five, wait—six—things you can cook well. Just stick with those.”

“You’re okay with me not being a good cook?” Stella asked.

“I’m okay with just about anything as long as you get naked at the end of the night.” George’s dimples danced in the candlelight.

“Well, that’s true.” She giggled. “Sex makes everything okay for you.”

He smirked as he finished his shrimp and grits. “As a matter of fact, yes it does.”

#whentheshitgoesdownyoubetterbeready

Stella climbed on the back of George’s bike and gave him a squeeze with her thighs to let him know she was ready to go, but it just made his dick hard. He backed them out of the garage slowly, then threw the bike in gear and headed toward Patrick and Millie’s for the game and dinner. He felt Stella lay her chin on his shoulder and snake her right hand underneath his t-shirt and around his waist. He sighed, wishing it was a longer drive. Within a few minutes, they had driven the three miles between the houses and he pulled onto the tree-lined street.

The last few weeks had been insane and they were in need of fun. A BBQ with Stella’s former roommates and best friend was the perfect distraction, not to mention Penn State football was on the agenda. George slowed his bike and pulled up to the curb in front of Stella’s old house. Patrick’s car was gone and there was a different car in the driveway. He cut the engine and Stella leaned closer, kissing his neck.

“Love?” he asked in response to her public display.

Her tender kisses continued down his neck, then he felt her tongue run up the back of his neck and graze his hairline before he twisted sideways and pulled himself off, careful to balance the bike. She cocked her head at him.

“If I stayed on that bike any longer I was just going to drive back home,” he admitted with a grin.

She smiled and pulled at the neckline of her very low, very tight tank top. They were having an extremely warm fall; it was late September and the leaves hadn’t even started to turn yet. As much as George appreciated the view her tank top afforded, he couldn’t wait for sweater weather. Every time he saw her scars it pissed him off—what that fucker had done to her. He’d never tell her that, though.

“We could be a little late,” she suggested and gave him a real smile. He’d missed those lately. “I bet no one here would give a shit.” Stella patted the seat in front of her and George was just about to get back on when the front door opened.

Millie smiled uncomfortably at them. “Hey guys!” Her eyes looked around wildly, clearly confused about something. “Patrick and Billy are grabbing a few last minute things.”

“Hey, Mil. What’s up?” Stella pulled off her helmet and climbed off the bike with George holding her hand for balance. She started smoothing her hand over her hair without much improvement. After she took off her motorcycle helmet, her hair always looked like she’d just been fucked.

His heart felt full, like all was right in the world even though he knew it wasn’t. They’d left the FBI detail and media in front of their house and were having a normal cookout with friends. Normal was possible.

“So, undoubtedly, Patrick invited one of his co-workers over without telling me,” Millie said as she rushed down the stairs toward them. “He’s already here,” she whispered.

“That’s cool, Millie. I brought enough food by yesterday to feed an army,” Stella soothed. “Don’t worry about one more.”

George felt Stella stiffen beside him and his gaze followed hers up to the doorway. Shock . Pure fucking anger . Heat spiked through George as he dropped Stella’s hand and rushed the motherfucker grinning from the doorway. He tackled Jamie at full speed; they fell into the house and hit the hardwood floor with a crash.

Due to his surprise attack, George got in several punches before Jamie got his wits about him. Once he did, Jamie came up fighting immediately; he landed his first punch on George’s eye. George felt a popping sensation, then nothing. He felt nothing. No pain, no fear, not a single blow that Jamie landed, not a single punch he managed to connect. George barely heard Millie and Stella screaming, but couldn’t focus on the words.

It was as if he was watching himself from above. George watched as he pushed himself off the floor and hit the motherfucker who almost took El from him. He hit him as many times as he could before he felt arms pulling at him. George felt the bone in his nose break and heard the snapping sound. He threw all his weight into the next punch and blood spurted from the rip in Jamie’s flesh.

“George! George!” Stella was screaming.

The arms on him pulled harder, dragging him off the guy he’d like to kill with his bare fucking hands. Billy and Patrick were suddenly there. Where did they come from?

Patrick had Jamie and was dragging him out the front door. Stella was following them; she was yelling something. There was a rushing sound in his ears, but he couldn’t actually hear anything. He felt nothing except fury now. Rage hit him like a wave crashing onto the shore. What the fuck was Jamie doing here, at our BBQ? Why was he in DC at all? Did Patrick know he was back ?

He scrambled to shake off Billy’s grip. Billy’s fingers slipped on the sweat and blood on George’s arm and George was suddenly free from his grasp. He saw Billy’s lips moving, but he could only hear the rushing. George pushed off Billy and ran outside, tackling Jamie again, this time from behind. They both hit the sidewalk hard, Jamie’s face bouncing off the concrete as they hit. George’s skin burned from the friction, but he didn’t care. All his rage, all his fear and pain, everything he and Stella had endured over the last couple of months, came out through his fists. He wanted to kill this fucker, to make him hurt as much as Stella had in the last few years. He threw punch after punch and Jamie kept fighting back, which made George even angrier. Billy and Patrick were trying to separate them again, not very successfully. Not being able to pull George off Jamie himself, Billy called for reinforcements.

“El, come help me!”

Stella bent down and put her face in his line of sight. “George, that’s enough.”

He could almost see her; almost see her face through the haze of his fury, through the bubbling of his rage. Was she talking?

“George, please,” she said without emotion, then grabbed his right arm.

Her touch brought him back to reality; George stopped mid-punch and looked in her eyes. Pain skittered across them, along with anger. Jamie writhed in pain under him.

“This is nowhere close to enough,” George said between clenched teeth.

Before he could land the next punch, Patrick and Billy were able to separate Jamie from him and walked him down the block. Jamie wasn’t very mobile and they were sort of dragging him down the sidewalk. Patrick was yelling, mostly obscenities. George couldn’t make out the words, but he didn’t care where the fucker was going anyway, as long as it was away from him. Maybe they’d get lucky and he’d get hit by a car crawling back into his fucking hole.

Billy turned and looked back at them, making eye contact with Stella. George’s rage was red hot and pulsed through his entire body. He clenched and released his fists rhythmically while he tried to calm his fury.