“Stupid, toe curling kissing bastard”

R.L. Mathewson

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“If you fuck this up, I’m gonna have to kill you,” Rory swore, leaning in to kiss him. “I’m not gonna fuck this up,” he promised as he met her lips in a hungry kiss.“Good.”


“Hey, those look good! Can I have one?” a man she’d seen hundreds of times around Jason’s house asked, reaching out to take one. “Back the fuck off! She brought them for me, you bastard!” Jason snapped.”


“How dare you touch my cookies, you bastard!” Jason said in utter disgust before popping the cookie into his mouth and heading back to his house. “Damn those looked good, too,” Brad grumbled. Haley sighed. “Don’t worry I have a second plate on my counter.” The words were barely out of her mouth when Jason abruptly changed course and headed towards her house. “Well, there was,” she said, watching Jason walk into her house like he owned it. A minute later he walked out of her house, carrying both plates and the gallon of milk she had in her fridge. He headed back to his house, but not before he glared at Brad. “You cookie thieving bastard,” they heard him mutter. Brad rolled his eyes, chuckling. “And people wonder how I lost weight rooming with him in college.”


“He was so fucking in love with her that he felt sick and empty when she wasn’t around and so unbelievably happy when he saw her that he couldn’t believe his own stupidity”


“I like her," Brad said, chuckling."For a Red Sox tee shirt wearing woman I guess she's okay," Jason grumbled."Does no one care that she just manhandled me?" Trevor demanded, facing the men who should be properly outraged on his behalf.Jason snorted. "A s long as she brings me food she can bitch slap you and call you spanky."Trevor narrowed his eyes on the men who dared laugh at his pain.Betraying bastards.”


“Oh my God! Stop eating that!” “Your trail mix tastes funny,” Trevor said with a cringe. “That wasn’t trail mix, you bastard! That was potpourri!” “Well, that explains a lot,” he said, giving her a sheepish smile as he returned the large wooden bowl back to the side table. She didn’t need to look to know that he’d already eaten half the bowl of potpourri. She didn’t even bother asking him what the hell was wrong with him since she knew the answer. The man was a Bradford. Enough said.”