I stare after Anastasia’s retreating back as the sludge slides down the back of my neck.
My suit is ruined.
My shirt. Probably my fucking shoes, too.
I whirl on a still-laughing Rafe. “Shut. Up.”
But he’s laughing too hard. “Your face,” he gasps. “Sorry.”
“This is your damn fault,” I snap. “She was aiming for you.”
He chokes. “She didn’t look too sorry to have gotten you, though.”
She will be sorry, by the time I get my fucking hands on her. I wasn’t joking when I threatened to spank her infuriating, juvenile ass.
The heat builds up, the urge to follow her, to hunt her down. I don’t know if I want to shake her… or kiss her.
That fucking look she gave me. Challenging, coy, edged with amusement.
I haven’t seen that look on her face… since she came back.
Rafe snorts, and I scoop up a handful of the fucking gloop she managed to put together from the side of my face. I’m covered in it.
And my little brother… is not. I eye him.
“Seems a shame for you to miss out on your gift, brother.”
And I shove it into his face, smearing it as he stumbles back with a curse.
The satisfied grin curls the edges of my mouth as he gapes at me, his face speckled with oats and egg. And then it grows, until the smallest sound of amusement escapes me.
At least, until he retaliates.
His hand lands in my hair, smearing the mess until I shove him off.
And then we’re wrestling, jabbing and pulling, rolling around the damn floor as if we’re little fucking kids again.
When we finally stop, I lay on my back, panting. Rafe does the same next to me. Stasi’s mix covers both of us, head to toe. The floor. Flecks decorate the walls.
Possibly the curtains, too.
Rafe coughs out a laugh. “She’s going to kill us.”
I snort. “I’m not taking the blame for this. I was just caught in the fucking crossfire.”
The initial burst of anger drains away, and I drink in the moment.
We don’t have a lot of fun anymore.
Sighing, Rafe rolls to his feet and offers me a hand. “Yeah. I owe her an apology.”
“You think?”
“I thought she’d prefer that I keep my distance.” He stares after her. “I didn’t… didn’t want to make things any worse.”
“Good plan,” I say drily. I try to brush off some of the mix, but it sticks to my fingers and I shake them in disgust. “What the fuck did she put in this? Cement?”
I have to admire her ingenuity. Childish as fuck, but effective.
I’m still going to make her clean every inch of it, though.
It takes me more than an hour to scrub off the concoction in the shower, and when I jog down the kitchen steps, I’m expecting to see Stasi.
I check my watch. She should be here.
Ellen twists, a questioning look on her face. “Not here. I assumed you’d asked her to do something else.”
I did. I told her to run.
I wasn’t expecting her to actually fucking run, through.
I wave Ellen off, jogging to the door. “Anastasia!”
My bellow sends a flock of birds soaring from the trees, but there’s no sign of our wayward houseguest.
“Stasi!”
Nothing. Not that I can really blame her.
Swearing, I slam the door behind me and stalk towards the trees. She can’t be far.
But as I walk through the orchard, down towards the stream, I can’t find any trace of her anywhere. I retrace my steps, circling back on myself and searching through the thick trunks, my feet squelching in mounds of abandoned fruit that’s fallen from the trees around me.
And as the day crawls on, minutes turning into hours, the irritation starts to work its way back in. If she’s run from me – if she’s tried to use this as an opportunity to escape… I really will fucking spank her.
The thought sends a flicker of heat up my spine.
Where are you, Anastasia?
