Page 111 of Silent Damage

“My beer!”

“Fuck your beer!”

He rises from his chair, wiping the beer off his beater. “You’re gonna get it,” he warns. The beer landed on his chest, highlighting his muscles perfectly.

Desire takes over, and I leap out of my chair and push him over. “Not if you can’t catch me!”

I dart into the woods, and he screams, “Fucker! That’s it—”

I look back and see him on his feet, huffing and puffing to catch me.

“Come on, slowpoke! Where’s that HellCats speed?” I yell.

“You know I’m faster than you,” he screams behind me.

I look over my shoulder and yell, “Says the guy trailing behind.”

“Not for long, bitch!”

He picks up speed, and I squeal like a pig and run faster. I hear him laugh at my shriek, and I tell him to fuck off as we race deeper into the woods.

“You’re never gonna get me,” I holler.

“Wanna bet?” he barks back.

I hear his heaving breaths closing in on me, and I can feel my end is nearing.

Damn, those long legs.

“No,” I shout, right before he tackles me to the ground and kneads his knuckles into my thigh.

“OW! STOP THAT! I HATE THAT!”

“I know you do,” he rasps through his laughter. “You always hated this move when we wrestled.”

“NOT THE KNUCKLES,” I beg through my own laughter. “Please!”

“Say uncle,” he orders.

“No!”

“Say it,” he hisses through clenched teeth.

“You’re not my uncle, you’re my STEPBRO,” I clap back.

“Ugh, don’t say that!” He flips me onto my back and starts twisting my nipples.

“Fine,” I shout through the pain. “I’ll call you butt-bro! How’s that?”

His laughter fills the forest. I knew that would do it—it’s the kind of brain-rot humor Jason loves.

He stops torturing me and bites his lower lip. “Butt-bro, huh?”

“Yeah,” I say defiantly, knowing he won't be able to resist the challenge.

“You wanna be butt-bros? Want me to show you how that goes?”

Excitement rushes through me, warm and tingly. “You won’t show me shit, you fuckin’ pussy.”