My Mafia Boytoy

Chapter 7 - Punch

‘What is she doing here?’ Leo sits at a gaming computer streaked with red fabric.

Oliver pays attention to me, specifically where Derek’s not released my hand. He slides his headphones off, backing off the wall he’s leant on, scrolling on his phone.

Four guys I don’t recognize glance at me, crowded round two monitors on a gaming desk. One smirks and leans to whisper to another friend. Probably about how I’m the chick who ruined Leo’s relationship with Yazmin.

‘Derek, Sam, you came?’ Oliver pockets his phone.

‘I heard there was a party,’ says Derek, immediately met with a mimic of his accent by a muscular brown guy in a singlet.

‘You’re not funny,’ I say.

‘Guys, do you hear that? She said I wasn’t funny. What will I do?’ His friends chuckle. He looks at me. ‘How about next time I make a joke I’ll run it through you.’

His friends jeer, flicking at the controllers, working what looks to be a soccer game on the monitor.

‘Shut up.’ Oliver swats Singlet’s arm.

‘What? I’m joking. I’m sure she’s funny.’

Derek’s pleasant smile doesn’t fade. ‘Not nearly as funny as the baby s**t on your upper lip.’

The guy to Singlet’s left—wearing square glasses—bloats with a laugh, before a boo echoes from the game. Square curses, reintensifying his efforts on his controller.

Singlet snorts and refocuses on the game, too, realizing while he might not win against Derek and Oliver, he can win elsewhere.

‘Leo.’ Derek nods towards him. ‘Samara wants a word with you?’

Leo doesn’t respond for a total of five, awkward seconds. Oliver looks at me commiseratingly, which is ten times worse. Before I turn to leave, Leo thrusts his controller into Oliver’s empty hands, and spins round in his gaming chair. Leo stands, pushing his hair back with his palm.

‘Fine.’

So he can’t resist Yaz.

‘Talk.’

Or maybe he can’t resist getting back at me for all the times I snatched Yaz away. It could be both.

‘Isn’t this matter better handled privately?’ Derek tilts his head over to a door down the hallway, from the upstairs living space they transformed to a gaming room. ‘You—’

‘My dorm,’ Leo drawls, ‘my terms.’

His stupid friends giggle. They glance at us, peeling headphones off one ear, pretending not to pay attention. I start anyway. This is a time as good as any and I don’t know if I could be distraught enough to try and apologize later.

‘You care about Yazmin, I think.’

‘She’s my girlfriend.’ He squints. ‘I’ve never had one like her.’

‘I know.’

‘She’s so special,’ he says, dreamily, red blotching his cheeks.

‘I know,’ I repeat, because I have known for months longer. Far before he could have conceived her beauty, I’d finished my hundredth process of it. I could smell her shampoo by closing my eyes in a scentless void.

‘So why are you just like… I don’t know? That fat chick who stops you from collecting her hot friend’s number? You know she’s special. Guys want Yaz. Is it jealousy?’

‘No. What?’ I’ve pondered that, too, long enough to confirm it was not jealousy.

‘Sorry, sorry. But don’t get me wrong. But just look at you. You’re probably a hundred pounds soaking wet.’ He pinches my arm and attempts to flail it but I draw back.

‘Hands to yourself.’

His brows collude, messy and in need of a trim. He balls his hands into a fist and releases, like he’s holding off on touching something other than himself. ‘You don’t gotta be such a b***h about it.’

Jeering, a shock of laughter, ripple from his friends. Oliver does not partake, surprisingly. ‘Sorry?’

‘That’s a first. Just. Why can’t we all get along? You’re gonna have to deal with me, you know, Sams, and there’s nothing you can do about it. You know why?’

Oliver drops his controller on the table, and not one of his friends whine about him ditching the game. They’ve all ditched it. He approaches Leo.

‘I don’t care why,’ I say, ‘but I came here trying to apologize to you for it. Not get called a b***h and touched by your dirty fingers.’

‘Shut up, Sams. Okay? Shut up. It’s my party, my dorm.’ He grabs my shoulders, about to thrash me. ‘I can do anything I f*****g—’

Oliver tugs Leo back, snapping, ‘That’s enough,’ right as Derek’s fist flies forward, smashing against Leo’s cheekbone. I jump back.

Leo screams. Oliver tucks an arm round his neck. When Leo lunges forward, he catches against Oliver’s arm, and wheezes. My heart jags as his fingers bound for me and stop short.

‘Oh s**t!’ Singlet yells. ‘Fight, fight—’

‘Are you trying to get us all in trouble?’

Oliver shouts back.

‘Let me go!’ Leo screams. ‘Let me go!’

Derek gapes, blood draining from his face. He grabs my hand shakily and tugs. ‘Let’s go.’

‘p***y! Get back here! p*****s! If I ever see you, I swear, I’ll f**k you up, Derek! I’ll f**k you up so good you’ll beg me to f**k you down!’

I cast a backwards glance at Leo, frothing at the mouth, throttling about, but held in by Oliver who doesn’t budge. Then Derek drags me where I cannot see him, down the stairs, and hurries us out the party. We don’t stop until we’re outside, until the momentum drags us out of the halls, exhausting at daylight.

Outside, I shudder with a laugh, exuberance leaking out of me and trembling down my skin. Derek’s blue eyes peer down at me, colour of day.

‘I’ve never thrown a punch.’

‘It was good.’ I giggle, not because it’s funny, but because adrenaline does that. I’m contagious because he chuckles, too. I bring his hand up and inspect it. Just a touch of redness blushing his knuckles. ‘Does it hurt?’

His hand lifts out of my grip, sweeps along my cheek. ‘Unbearably.’

My heart slows. Adrenaline gushes into my veins and dizzies my head. Derek looks too good. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘Nothing to be sorry for. I’m—’ He laughs breathily. ‘It’s not even noon yet.’

‘Really?’

‘Really.’

I must be so off-kilter, because he crooks his head into me, and faintly, I perceive the party beer from his lips, but I still let him continue. Let his lips come onto mine and his hand to nudge me closer and for my eyes to shut. I’m too wound up to relax, and he is, too, his shoulders high when I dare my hands there.

I puff a laugh against him.

‘What?’ He asks, pulling back, concerned.

‘Just shaky.’

‘Is this your first kiss?’

I give him an incredulous look before my hands scrunch the shoulder sleeves of his shirt and drag him in. He falls into it. His hands cradle my face. Our tongues drift into each other’s. I run hands along his firm arms, back, and can’t recall the last time I’ve blown off steam.

We have a good buzz going. So it doesn’t take over four words to lay down a verdict.

‘My dorm?’ He asks.

‘Mine’s closer.’

A frantic nod and we’re off.