Page 69 of Not Like The Other Girls

Strong hands, strong hands.

Yeah, Lily decides as she stares at it further, that mean-looking thing is in fact just plastic.

No worries.

Now, it is his turn to do damage next. The rich billionaire CEO strikes a pose, his bare-chested beauty striking his enemy harder than any bomb would. His chiseled abs are harder than diamond, and all eight slabs of them pierce right into his enemy’s eyes. Fernando stumbles on his New Balance-clad feet and falls to the ground, toppling over and rolling three times before going still with his eyes shut.

But the blackout only lasts a second.

He springs back to his feet in what could only be an ancient, forgotten Tai-Chi move, and continues the catfight as he lunges towards Every. The hero of this story dodges, then grabs his chin-length blonde hair, wrapping it around his fist. But Fernando pushes with his whole two hundred thirty-five pounds of weight that rivals his two-fifteen, and they both dive down to the ground like Humpty Dumpty.

Who had a great fall.

And cracked.

But the two determined men aren’t eggs, so they don’t crack.

So they go on, punching the air around each other’s faces, because each time a blow lands from one, the other dodges so fast it misses. Lily, watching from a distance, starts getting a little dizzy from the hurricane they kickstarted from the speed of their dodges. Then they roll over the snow-clad soil like Jack and Jill.

When they tumbled down the hill.

Every manages to find his feet (bare and freezing), and, getting up, pulls his archenemy along with him. Short, opaque nails dig into Ferny’s back, and both men screech like fucking banshees.

“You motherfucking bastard son of a bitch,” Every yells, his voice getting somewhat hoarse.

Still cute, though.

“Don’t swear, buddy.” The mouse king gives him one of his signature evil-man grins.

“I’m not your buddy.” Every gets his nails off his foe’s back.

Then he slaps Ferny, the mouse king, on the face once, twice, and thrice for causing chaos in his previously peaceful, minimalistic life, and tackles him back onto the dirty ground once more. Ferny twists in his grasp, managing to free himself from the other man’s tight hold. Then he runs back, bounces over imaginary ring ropes all WWE style, dodges a random kick thrown his way, and jumps onto Every. They fall to the ground for the second time.

Every huffs, weary to the bones. Always being on a run without getting to go home to his permanent abode of a penthouse must be taking a toll on him. That, and neglecting his strict fourteen-hours-a-day main-love-interest cardio routine.

Lily suddenly decides that now is the perfect time to go aid her man. “Oh, Every, are you alright? Do you want me to help you up?”

“Should have come earlier when I was standing: you’re asking that question a little bit too late, but thanks, sugar.” He smirks up at her, his pretty face dusted with soil.

He licks the corner of his own lips, tasting the soil. “Sweet.”

All the while, Fernando is still on top of him, growling down like a male lion over a female one in mating season.

Saw that once as a kid—pretty traumatic scene, but whatever.

At least it gave me the revelation that sex is real and not just another internet joke.

Whatever.

Fernando, the ketchup-flavored popcorn, decides to bite down on Every’s thick scalp below him, having never been warned before that he has an inhumanly thick head. Physically and subjectively. Every knocks his head back up—an illegal move in most boxing practices except for street fighting, which this technically is, so he gets a pass—and gets up.

“Fuck, my teeth,” Ferny the mouse king groans as he’s pushed aside.

“No, that’ll hurt,” Every jokes back before slapping his cheek again.

Too bad he doesn’t have a rubber slipper to use in this moment.

He’d willingly trade a piece of it with his fuzzy pink pants just so he could slap Ferny’s face with it. The satisfaction will be worth it. Really.