𝐑𝐀𝐘𝐍𝐄 𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐑 is your average do-good lawyer on the rise to fame as a representative of young victims. Except her motivations aren't all that innocent. Rayne's only goal is to run from her past, to leave confrontation for the courtroom, no...
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RUEBEN TOOK A SIP OF HIS BEER AND hissedinternally as the cold assaulted his teeth. Sitting in the single-seating grey chair along the wall of the living room, he huffed a breath to revoke the feeling and tuned in on the conversation around him.
Laughs and bouts of delight escaped Taryn's throat as Isaac's hands wrapped around her lower waist and pulled her onto his lap. A tickling motion sent the already chaotic setting into an uproar as she squirmed and put the biggest, soppiest grin on Isaac's face.
Something like jealousy twinged in his chest, but he bypassed it and scoped out the other half of his black and grey designed living area and focused on Mason standing by the easel, drawing. A tongue lapping at the corner of his lips, he concentrated deeply—so much so that he didn't see Rueben adjusting himself to get a sneak peek.
He regretted it upon seeing the blue and pink scribbles.
"I'm almost done," Mason announced.
"Thank god," Taryn mused, coming down from her tickle high.
"Hush—you can fuck your boyfriend in five."
Rueben snorted, Taryn looked disgusted—and Isaac had stars in his eyes at the thought. With a slap, that look ceased to exist and to distract him from starting another tickle match with the scowl settling across his cheeks, he mocked the way Mason concentrated.
His face pulled into surprise as streaks of saliva dangled off the edge of his mouth when Mason turned. He feigned innocence, but his friend didn't seem to notice, too embedded in the game.
"Done!" he exclaimed, capping his marker.
Isaac's amused expression tightened into a flat line as he turned his head to the easel. Rueben stood up and walked closer, tilting his chin to the side when he couldn't find any clues vertically. Blue squares took up the majority of the white paper, but in the far left corner was a pink stick figure with squiggles for hair.
Rueben roughly swallowed his sip, feeling a sputtering laugh catch in his throat.
"That is the ugliest fucking thing I've ever seen," he put his hand on Mason's shoulder.
Disgruntled by his comment, Mason shoved him in his chest.
"You sound jealous."
"Sure," he snickered, "That's what I am."
"It's perfect to me."
Rueben nodded his head non-committedly as he rounded the couch and leaned his elbows across the back of it. They never played Charades in teams, it was just one versus the rest of the room. With Mason, it was always unpredictable, and unsurprisingly, it seemed no one wanted to step up to the plate and play guessing games with the moron.
"C'mon, guess!" he urged.
Before he could stop him, he tipped the rim of the bottle in Isaac's direction, telling him without words that the round was all his. He shot a glare straight through his eyes, which only entertained Rueben more.
