A Grudge to Share

Copyright © 2013 . Patricia A. Gray

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ISBN: 978-1-4759-9947-1 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4759-9948-8 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4759-9949-5 (e)

iUniverse rev. date: 8/7/2013

Contents

Foreword

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Books by

PATRICIA A. GRAY

The Loner

Scarred

Ridder of Vermin

Binding Ties

The Fugitive Blues

Ash Man

For those who just can’t get past the past

FOReWoRD

P eople who make a living helping us cope with our issues should give thanks for the past…for that accounts for so many things and it’s what makes us who we are. Sometimes it holds us back; sometimes it pushes us forward. And though it may not always work in our favor, we can at least acknowledge it. Who knows? Maybe there’s a lesson in there somewhere.

Speaking of acknowledgments:

Thanks to all the readers who have supported me through each endeavor. You are very much appreciated. I also want to recognize my parents who are watching from afar. And, as always, thanks to my husband, Carlos, and my daughter, Josie, who are there for me through thick and thin: mí familia, mí vida.

And finally, I need to acknowledge a friend, a co-worker, and a reader who left us way too early. I will miss you, Susan—especially your silky voice and your beautiful blue eyes. May there be plenty of gourmet coffees and gorgeous, vintage jewelry in your next life.

CHAPTER ONE

T he gurgling of the water was almost hypnotic as it bubbled up from the bottom of the plastic bottle. He stared at it, mesmerized for a moment, as it fell into his large, plastic cup. Suddenly, a figure appeared along with a flowery scent. He smelled her right away and glanced up from the water cooler to find a tall, willowy blonde standing within inches of his hand that held the plastic cup.

He forced himself to an upright position only to peruse her credentials immediately. She was long and lean with four-inch heels, a skin tight, black pencil skirt, and a chartreuse, see-through blouse that showed off her fine, perky breasts. He noticed she wore no bra and he cocked a dark eyebrow with the revelation.

When she began to unbutton the blouse, he only turned away in disinterest. Really, how forward could one be? Surely she knew someone like he would never be interested in an obvious whore. But when she sighed in frustration and reached for his hand with the water she rubbed up against him, her breasts peeking out from under the thin material, signaling their readiness—

Shit! He looked down to find his crotch wet from the spilled water. He grabbed her arm to punish her clumsiness and she began to moan in feigned fear with a side of wonderment…

Quickly, he stopped drawing only to bring up his other hand from under the desk. Making a face with the wetness on his jeans, he sighed and threw down the pencil, realizing he’d once again let his imagination and his left hand go too far. Taking a moment to study his X-rated illustrations, he grumbled as he rose from the chair and walked down the hall into the small bathroom. Once again, another dirty piece of art sabotaged way too early.

You think you’ll have the second quarter numbers by this afternoon?

Mathias peered over his computer screen. Yes, Ms. Wilkins.

You know I’m counting on you to come through for me, Margolis. This is an important budget I’m presenting and those numbers better be right or— She attempted to raise an eyebrow in preface to another reprimanding, but he knew that with all of her cosmetic surgeries it would be difficult to assume the pose. Instead, she just exhaled deeply, pointed at him in warning, and turned her thin, aging frame away before she exited from his small, gray cubicle.

Mathias continued staring over the monitor as his fingers kept moving. His green eyes drifted back to the screen only to realize that in the middle of his most important spreadsheet due by the afternoon he had typed fuck you, old witch. Removing his black-framed glasses to rub his strained eyes, he pursed his lips with the devilish thought that he didn’t really need his eight to five, Monday through Friday, dead-end accounting job; so for fun, he’d just leave it there for the old prune to find. Relishing in that fantasy for about thirty seconds, Mathias then immediately hit the delete key and chided himself for having balls the size of grapes.

After lunch that day, he refilled his cup with water and soon felt a near presence. Just like in his perverted illustrations, there she was: the fine, svelte blonde from the second floor Marketing Department where all the more attractive people seemed to work, unlike the hidden, first floor numbers geeks like him; the ones who made it all come together but not nearly as pretty to look at. Mathias just stood at the cooler remembering what he had drawn only a couple of nights ago. He could feel his heartbeat accelerate with her closeness; only today she wasn’t wearing chartreuse and it wasn’t see-through. Damn.

Are you done?

He stared and swallowed hard.

Well?

When she came closer, he bit his lip. But unlike the drawings where he was in total control, she apparently ran the show today and basically shoved her way to the cooler. Do you mind? I’m late for a meeting.

With that, she bent at the waist to fill her large cup. He watched her from behind and realized the black pencil skirt was accurate as were the four-inch heels. They made her almost as tall as his gangly, six-foot frame. Unfortunately, he noted her bra was in place and doing its job.

Suddenly their moment of potential intimacy was interrupted as a tall, sandy brown-haired intruder walked confidently over to the cooler and Mathias’s willowy prey.

She rose with his appearance and immediately began to blush. Mathias stayed behind and watched as she went from lioness to cub in a matter of seconds.

Oh, hey, Griffin, she cooed, her harsh voice now soft and seductive. Long time no see.

His coolness was obvious and he shoved a coffee cup with a tea bag under the hot water.

Hot tea? she asked. On a hot afternoon?

The guy named Griffin looked up briefly from his cup only to produce an annoyed smile. Yes, uh, uh—

She raised her hand as if in a classroom. Tina, she answered, her proud chest instantly drooping with the realization he did not remember her as well as she remembered him.

Mathias sipped from his cup and pushed up his glasses at the same time. He knew that defeated posture well.

Sure, Tina. Listen, I’ll see you later, right?

And that was it. That was all it took. Tall, sexy Tina watched her boy escape around the corner. When she turned to walk away, she almost ran into her audience.

Are you still here? She cast her eyes up and down the tall, pale, thin frame in the ill-fitting suit. She contorted her lips to show her frustration. Don’t you have a job to do? Shaking her head, she walked back from where she’d come.

Mathias still stood watching her show from behind. He wished there was a toilet nearby to relieve him of all the dirt going through his mind at that moment. He sighed, his heartbeat returning to normal, and he paused to take another sip from his plastic cup. In his version of the story, he was the guy named Griffin.

As he returned to his lonely cubicle, he noticed his boss gearing up for her meeting. He could see her putting papers together in a portfolio. Jumping to his desk, he fell into the chair, put the water down and opened his spreadsheet back up. Shit! He still had a few more columns to populate—

Where were the figures? He glanced frantically around his messy desk and shuffled through the papers. Oh hell, why had he taken lunch? He could’ve finished and been done and not had this last minute crap to deal with. Fuck—

Nervously, he bit his fingernails, ripping one down to the quick. Wincing with the pain and seeing the blood come from the exposed skin he tried to find a napkin to wipe it on but rubbed it on his pants instead. Mathias ran his long fingers through his curly, black hair and shoved the wounded finger into his mouth, sucking away the excess blood. Oh damn, he could see the light go off in her office. The old prune was coming—

Like a madman, he put his fingers to the keyboard, changing formulas, checking balances, anything to help him recollect where he’d hidden those numbers he needed to finish the spreadsheet. Shit, he could see her graying head over the file cabinets—

This was it. She was going to fire him for sure. The last time he’d been careless and hadn’t double-checked the figures she had raked him over the coals. Now, he wasn’t even done. She would surely castrate those grape-sized balls—

I’m going to lunch, Margolis. I’ll be back in an hour and those numbers better be on my desk by the time I return.

He could feel the blood still trickling from his finger. But he just smiled his kiss-ass way and nodded. Yes, Wil—Ms. Wilkins, he caught himself.

She frowned with her best face-lift ability and left.

Mathias exhaled and shoved his finger back between his lips. Just once he wished she’d call him by his first name.

Another day down the tubes. As Mathias shuffled his way through the parking lot to his gas-efficient Honda, he pulled off the heat-holding, stupid suit jacket and threw it into the passenger seat. Then he loosened the tie and pulled off his black-rimmed glasses, rubbing his tired eyes. Surely the computer would make him blind before he turned thirty. Get an accounting degree, Mathias, his parents had said. You can’t go wrong with that. Everyone needs accountants.

Blind accountants. Lots of good that does anyone.

As he threw his gangly leg into the driver’s side, something caught his eye and he stopped, putting his glasses back on. Parked near the edge of the lot was the good-looking guy who had blown off the sexpot blonde of Mathias’s fantasies. He was talking to some male co-workers and they were all laughing, gathered around a silver sports car. Mathias pushed his glasses further up the bridge of his nose and stared. A Corvette. It was the car his father always wanted in his old-man fantasies but never had the means or the guts to buy. Hmm. Now it didn’t look so old man with that young guy propped against the rear with his cool shades and tan, muscular build. Wonder what the fuck he did for a living?

The accountant continued staring over the roof of his old Honda and saw them all give the stud high-fives and walk away. He saw the guy fall into the car effortlessly like he was part of the design. Mathias heard the powerful engine start up, rev a few times for added manliness, and, before he could blink, saw the beast rocket past the back of his economy car. Just like that.

The typical summer heat of his Riverside, California hometown was causing him to perspire, so he opened up his dress shirt by a few buttons. Man. Seeing the stud drive by had truly been an experience. He sneered in disgust and prepared to fall into his own car with the same ease.

Margolis?

He turned his head abruptly. His female boss had appeared out of nowhere. Oh no. She was there to start pulling off the grapes—

I just wanted to tell you the numbers you provided were excellent!

He saw her tight skin work to form a smile. Really? he whispered.

You made me look good in there, Margolis, real good! She reached over to pat him on the shoulder.

His eyes darted to the bone she had just caressed. Yes? he asked. So you’re happy with my work, then?

More than happy, Margolis. Starting tomorrow, you’ll be my new assistant with a hefty increase in salary! Would you like that?

He nodded in shock. Yes, Ms. Wilkins. Wow, that’d be great. Only—

What, Margolis?

Do you think you can call me by my first name?

Your first name?

It’s Mathias, but you can call me Matt if that’s easier—

All of a sudden, she saddled up closer and reached to his unbuttoned shirt, pulling away the fabric and sliding her wrinkled hand inside, caressing the white, hairy skin of his upper chest. I will call you my sex kitten, baby—

What??

She said no more. Mathias’s eyes popped and his mouth fell open when she ripped apart the buttons on her own blouse and those old boobs were shockingly firm with implants. Holy shit—

Instantly, he vomited lunch right next to his car on the steaming asphalt. Bent over, he slowly raised his head, afraid to look again at the sexual beast that was his boss.

Dude, you okay?

Wait. That wasn’t her husky voice. Mathias wiped his mouth as he rose. One of his co-workers was getting into the car next to his. The guy was checking him out like he was crazy.

Where’d she go? Mathias glanced around the parking lot but saw no one. He looked back at the employee next to him. Did you see Ms. Wilkins?

That old vulture? Hell no. I wouldn’t be here talking to you if she was around. I hate her. Everyone hates her. The guy stared at the defiled ground and made a face. You work for her?

Mathias took a second to wipe the corners of his lips. Yes.

No wonder you barfed. That thought would make me sick, too. He shook his head. You haven’t been here long, have you?

Almost two months.

I think that’s the max under her domain. Good luck. She is one fucking bitch.

As he went to step inside his vehicle, Mathias stopped him. Hey, are you sure you didn’t see her at all?

The guy glared. The heat must have you, dude. It’s over a hundred. He motioned to the car. Turn on the air on the way home.

Mathias watched as the other employee started his car and quickly backed out. Even his car was nicer. But it wasn’t a Corvette.

A couple of days passed. Very little was said about the success or failure of his boss’s meeting. But since Mathias still had a job, he presumed his work had been adequate and, to his relief, his boss had not bared her breasts in his cubicle in order to thank him for a job well-done. Best of all, she had left him alone.

As he sat in front of his computer monitor he tried hard to focus on the numbers before him, but all he could think about was that it was Friday and he wouldn’t have to see his boss for two full days. Maybe he’d go somewhere to get away, or get gloriously drunk or high. Shoving his hand into his trousers’ pocket, he pulled out his wallet and opened it up. Forget the travel. He could buy some booze and escape that way. Exhaling with the realization that his college degree was not paying off nearly as well as he had originally hoped, Mathias closed the wallet and stuck it back in his pocket. This is just a stepping stone…this is just a stepping stone. Someday, you’ll have more. You’ll have money, success, respect, and women. He swallowed with his high aspirations. Okay, money and success and respect. Then the women will fall in line. He pulled off his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose. He stared at the dorky things. Money and respect would be nice.

Margolis, get me some water.

He looked up with the command. Holy shit, you fucking bitch, I have a BS in Accounting. I am not your damned servant—

Yes, Ms. Wilkins, he muttered, watching her drop off her cup. She walked back to her office.

Just give me some damn respect. That’s all I want. Angrily clicking away on his adding machine, he added up columns of numbers effortlessly, his fingers moving like a fine instrument, and he reminded himself just how lucky she was to have him there in the little, lonely cubicle that was his office space. You’re better than this, Mathias. You’re better than her. She’s one operation away from plasticity. She’ll never be you. You’re young, smart…

He sat there in mid-stroke of his fingers. He saw the bandaged digit he had ripped open with his teeth the other day. Okay. You’re young and smart. Go with that.

Frustrated, he pushed his chair away from the desk and left his area to travel the various corridors amidst endless cubicles to the water cooler. The whole time it took to get there he kept remembering the horrible, fucked-up fantasy he had of his wretched boss on a hundred-degree afternoon. Mathias, you’re not just young and smart but you’re slightly screwed in the head. You sick, motherfucker, you—

The accountant stopped short. There he was. The well-built, tall, handsome guy. The guy with the Corvette. He was getting more hot water. What was the deal with the tea? He didn’t look like a tea drinker.

Griffin Taylor! An impeccably dressed, older man came up. Such a pleasure to see you! I’ve been hearing great things about you—

Mathias watched the pleasantries as he wedged his way in to get water. He stood close to the guy everyone liked and he wondered just what it was about him that drew people to him like a magnet. Griffin Taylor. Even the name was hard and strong.

The thinner man stood at the water cooler filling the old lady’s cup all the while he took in the popular employee. He wondered how many pussies he’d fucked with that hard and strong name of his—

Shit! The water ran over and both men turned to look at the buffoon next to them. Mathias wiped off his wet hand on his trousers and set the cup down, looking for paper towels to put on the soaked carpet at his feet.

It’s okay, dude, I’ll take care of it.

He stopped. What was that?

Griffin was smiling. Don’t worry. I’ll wipe it up. He motioned to the full cup of water. You better get that back to Wilkins or she’ll have your head on a platter. Suddenly, he laughed.

That laugh. Mathias stared at the face that went with that laugh. Then he checked him out close-up. It wasn’t that he was any taller than Mathias, but he was muscular and toned, an obvious sports enthusiast. He continued smiling and those white teeth stood out against a backdrop of clear, tanned perfection that was his complexion. His brown eyes, light in color, matched his straight, feathery hair which looked so good when he pulled off the football helmet and shook it out—

Oh no! Widening his eyes, Mathias grabbed the cup and hurried back to his department. Shaking, he knocked on her office door and waited for her to call him in. When she did, he opened the door, rushed inside and set the water down on her desk. But before he could escape, she stopped him.

Margolis!

He stood at the door, his back to her. He turned slowly.

I forgot to tell you, good job on the numbers the other day.

Uh oh. Not again. Was it getting hot in the room? He watched her actions carefully. She wasn’t rising from behind the desk nor was she making moves to disrobe. She just sat there and looked at him impatiently.

Close the door on your way out.

Exhaling in relief, Mathias nodded and shut the door. Quickly, he made his way to his cubicle where he got to the chair just in time before his weakened knees gave out.

Number forty-two, Griffin Taylor!

The screams were deafening. The high school senior walked confidently across the stage to accept his football MVP award. The crowd went wild and everyone was on their feet. Everyone except for a lone, black-haired, lanky boy with pale skin sitting in the back of the auditorium…

Margolis, Margolis, the fucking assholis, Mathias chanted as he held the match in preparation for cremation to that page of his senior yearbook, the one that documented the moment Griffin Taylor, star quarterback of Mathias’s high school, had assumed yet another MVP award. There he was, up on stage, looking so good as always. Everyone loved him: the principal, the coach, the teachers, the students, especially the girls. Everyone adored him. The idiots.

Mathias tore out the page and put the match to it, starting the fire with Griffin’s head. He sneered in pleasure as the page went quickly up in flames and he threw the burning paper into his kitchen sink. When the smoke detector in his apartment went off, he glared. Something somewhere always spoiled his fun.

He walked over to disassemble the required noisemaker and he threw the batteries angrily to the floor, watching as they bounced once on the stained, beige carpet and rolled over to the tile in the small kitchen. He stared at the tile, recalling how hard it hurts to fall on it. Or in his case when thrown to it…

Fight! Fight! Fight! The roar of testosterone was all he heard. But there was no chance. They were surrounding him like a wall: a well-built, huge wall. Even if he could take one, he couldn’t take them all. There were too many. And they were a team. They played together; they fought together; hell, they probably fucked together.

He tried to run, but it was no use. They wouldn’t let him go anywhere. Instantly they jumped on him, tackled him to the floor, and beat him again. And again. And—

What’s going on here? an authoritative voice broke in.

The group quickly dispersed. Only Quarterback Griffin Taylor and a couple football buddies were left.

He started it, sir, Griffin said, quickly pulling himself off the nerd.

That’s right, Mr. Haven, one of the fullbacks piped up. He threw the first punch.

The teacher frowned at the pathetic figure crumpled on the floor. "He did? Margolis?"

Yes sir.

"You all were on top of him when I arrived."

Only because he went out of control after he swung at me, Griffin stated solemnly, his big, brown eyes loyal and trusting. He called us all idiots, told us we didn’t know shit about history and that the only reason we were on this field trip was so you could give us another chance to pass your class because you always play favorites with the jocks.

Mathias opened a swelling eye and groaned. Not the best time to discover the fucker could quote him verbatim.

Mr. Haven, a large man himself, and obvious football player in his day, looked down and scowled. Is that true, Margolis?

Mathias struggled to get up from the tiled floor. How appropriate they’d beaten him right in the area devoted to the Holocaust and its survivors. Finding his glasses, he put them back on and stared, rigid and direct, his green eyes unwavering. What does it matter what I say? You wouldn’t believe me over them anyway, he said. You like them…

As Mathias thought back on that fateful day absorbing history in one of Southern California’s fine museums, he now realized it hadn’t been the most opportune time to be forthright and honest. As usual, he had been the one to get the disciplinary notice, the paper he had to have signed by his parents so they’d know what a violent Jew they were raising. Obviously, all his time spent listening to the rabbi was in vain. He was just bad. His mother would’ve keeled over, distraught with the knowledge that her only son and future CPA was on his way to becoming one of America’s Ten Most Wanted. No. He would not let her feel a failure or even stress his father. It would just be best if he forged their signatures, attended detention after school with all the other bad seeds, and just told his folks that he was working on extra-credit activities. They would believe him. They always did.

However, explaining the constant bruises and wounds from getting beat-up was another tough assignment and not so easy to pull off. Too many times his mother would freak with a black eye or scratched-up face or once with a broken rib. But Mathias would always smile and pretend it was all good-natured tussling and part of the male bonding process. His father, on the other hand, never seemed to believe a word of it, yet, like all good, supportive dads, let it go and allowed his son to deal with it like the man he obviously believed him to be.

Now, ten years later, college-educated and part of the corporate world, Mathias hadn’t been beat up in a long time. Yet every chance he visited his parents he could still feel their eyes checking him out for war wounds. Externally there was nothing. But as Mathias grew older, wiser, and more disgruntled with the ways of the real world, the wounds moved internal. Oh, they still hurt, but they were a hell of a lot easier to hide.

The following Monday after a typical lackluster weekend, Mathias walked into his depressing cubicle, spotted the chair he would be forced to sit in eight of his nine hours that day, and stare into a computer monitor he swore could talk back if he just input the right stuff. As he unbuttoned his suit jacket, he sat down and turned on the computer, then waited for it to start up so he could begin another day of ruining his already lousy eyesight. He glanced down at the doodling he’d done on the large calendar situated under his important papers. It was supposed to help him keep track of his precious time and many appointments so that he could move up and ahead of everyone because he was so well-organized. But all he saw were some drawings that he had doodled into the many blank days. He would draw every time he had a chance to look away from the computer or to be an ear on the other end of a long-winded phone call, or whenever his boss would drone on about some earth-shattering set of numbers she needed and needed yesterday. It happened quite a bit, so his calendar of important events was actually full of random drawings of people and images. Mathias smiled with some of them. They were nasty. So he was careful. He always kept important documents on top of the calendar.

He looked closer. There was some juicy stuff. Better be safe. Rip that one off and take it home. He knew he was okay to remove it since it was still on the same month that he was hired. He was now two months behind. Off to a flying start.

He folded the X-rated paper neatly into sections until it easily fit into his suit pocket. Who needed a hankie when there was porn in the front pocket?

Suddenly, a cackling sound was heard and he lifted his head to check out his boss’s office. Was the old bitch actually laughing? Damn, but he’d never heard her crack a bit of a chuckle, let alone laugh out loud. What the hell was she doing? He noted the time: two minutes to eight o’clock. Perhaps a quickie before work? But who the hell would have the nerve to do her? He craned his neck to see an outline of a figure standing in front of her desk. Hmm. She really did have someone in there—

He dropped when the door opened, adjusted his glasses and pulled out his keyboard, moving his fingers rapidly on the keys as if he could type one hundred words a minute. Keeping his head down, he allowed his eyes to roam upwards to follow the lone figure from the office door to—

So this is where you work.

Shit. The football player of his nightmares. Mathias could feel himself sinking in the chair, his poor posture worsening by the second.

Griffin Taylor stood proudly at the entrance to the dismal cubicle looking around the area as if he expected more than the desk and the chair and the skinny guy occupying it. He brushed his light brown, shiny hair away from his face so that he could get a better view of the idiot who had spilled the water on Friday. His eyes twinkled and he smiled, thrusting out his large, football-throwing hand.

I thought I’d properly introduce myself since we didn’t get a chance to make each other’s acquaintance on Friday.

The hand remained pointed in Mathias’s direction. He stared at it, recalling the water cooler action. Seriously, why do you want to know me and not the tall blonde, Tina? You can copulate with her. Me, you can just beat up.

Reluctantly, Mathias got up and extended his thin arm with its long fingered-hands. Actually he liked his dimensions. He was equally proportionate in all areas of his body. All areas. It was the one thing he appreciated about himself. Too bad he only got to flash his size on paper.

Griffin held his hand tight and shook it warmly.

Mathias was starting to sweat. Look away from his face; he’ll see the hate in those green eyes and he’ll smell the fear on you just like ten years ago—

But the good-looking man just nodded as he removed his hand. I’m Griffin Taylor, he said, almost modestly. I work in Public Relations.

A silence. Mathias’s eyes remained lowered.

And you are—

Don’t tell him. Surely he’ll remember the name and instantly begin his horrendous chanting and jeering. You won’t be able to sleep from all the nightmares that seeing your arch nemesis from high school will bring you—

Mathias Margolis, Griffin stated, motioning to the name plate at the edge of the desk. Our newest accountant?

Finally, Mathias looked up when he heard no growling. Was that it? He was just the newest accountant?

Your boss says good things about you.

Can’t you feel my warm blood between your fingers all those times you broke my nose: the one you swore was so big it could sprout off and start its own face—

She was just sharing with me how your spreadsheet proved perfect for her meeting. The guy grinned. You’re pretty lucky she likes you. She’s hard to please. He winked. Ask me how I know.

Maybe if I take off the glasses you’ll remember how much satisfaction you used to get from grabbing me by the shoulders and jamming my face into the grass—

I used to work here, he went on, gazing around the office space. His well-arched, dark brown eyebrow cocked. Not that you asked. He pressed his perfect lips together. You missed that cue.

Why doesn’t he say something?? Mathias’s brain was scrambling the whole time the stud was hanging out in his cubicle. Casually, he pulled off his glasses. Okay, fucker. Remember this eye? You blackened it more than once—

I have glasses, too, Griffin commented, oblivious to the finger situated beneath Mathias’s right eye. But I prefer contacts. Glasses are such a pain for sports and stuff, y’know—

No, I don’t know, asshole. Do I look like a fucking athlete?

But they suit you, he said pleasantly, trying not to stare.

They suit me because they fall easily when hit—

Griffin smiled again, this time, his whole set of gleaming, white teeth showing in all their glory. You’re not much of a talker, are you?

Those teeth. Mathias remembered them well, especially through the fucking football helmet—

"I suppose that’s why she