Fiery Little Thing by Avina St. Graves EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Authors: Avina St. Graves
- Language: English
- Genre: contemporary romance
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 55.8 MB
- Price: Free
Present
“Asshole.”
Both a noun and an unofficial adjective—such a versatile word. Just like
cunt. For example, Kohen Osman is a psychopathic cunt.
Those are the two words that immediately come to mind when I see him
leaning against the tree, carving into his lighter with a switchblade.
Kohen Osman doesn’t necessarily look like an asshole, but he’s the
biggest one in this city.
“Klepto.” The aforesaid bane of my existence pushes off the tree and
pockets his switchblade into his uniform, taking up the entire footpath with
his unwanted presence.
“Fuck off, Pyro.”
My head is pounding, and I’m two minutes away from turning my teeth
to dust. His company is making my hangover worse.
Kohen always hangs around the school corner, leaning against a tree on a
street I have no choice but to take. The only other option would mean
adding an extra ten minutes to my forty-five-minute walk home. I figured
I’d rather deal with the human embodiment of a cold sore than endure ten
more minutes of this freezing weather.
I keep shuffling along. Paying no attention to the asshole by my side, I
quickly check my phone to see if my granddad has decided to transfer
money to fix my bedroom window after one of Dad’s friends threw a rock
at it two nights ago.
Nothing.
Great. My T-shirt taped to the window frame isn’t exactly keeping the
winter chill out.
Digging half-moons into my palm, I glare at Kohen. Every day, I
wrongly assume he’ll leave me alone if I have headphones in or a shiv
ready to pull on him.
But no.
Whether he’s risking giving himself hepatitis B with a stick-and-poke
tattoo, or lighting something on fire, every day those disgustingly pretty
golden-moss eyes of his collide with mine, and every damn day, he opens
his equally disgusting pretty mouth to turn my mood from bad to worse.
He falls into stride beside me, twirling the lighter between his fingers
and then flicking the spark wheel. It’s brand new, with a dazzling gold
surface and a skull he personally engraved.
It would look great on my shelf.
Give me another week, and I’ll probably pocket that one too. Lord
knows how much of his shit I’ve stolen after thirteen years of enduring his
insufferable presence.
I’m pretty sure he knows I’m the one who keeps stealing from him. One
day he’s going to try burning me alive for all the shit I’ve done. I just know
it.
The pyromaniac kills the flame and then lights it again, on and off, on
and off, on and off. He pulls the lighter away before I have the chance to
snatch it from him.
We both look out of place while walking through this part of town—him
with his tattoos and fire fingers, me with my reputation. The caliber of most
students who attend and live around St. Augustine is beyond the type of
suburbia with white picket fences and homey-looking buildings with
children playing on the front lawn. The top ten percent reigns around here.
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