Gezza was standing under the shower of Mia where the hot water was scalding his skin and the steam had filled the little bathroom.
He wiped himself against the sweat, and odors, vanilla-rose, leather, peppermint, that the bedroom of the sisters pressed against him.
His tattered sneakers lay near the door with their laces knotted about, their soles sandy.
"Fuck, I am a king", he said, with a smile, and in his head he was playing Tara moaning in fear and Mia kissing him with her drool.
The magic of the Playbook had made him a loser in the basement, a stud; yet the cold of the cold before was still in him, a smarting in his chest.
Just tired, that's all. Toweling himself off, he used rough cotton, which was painfully cheap, and tugged at his dirty hoodie and jeans, which were also claggy on his body.
His Playbook laden backpack bumped his shoulder and he slid his way out, Mia and Tara sprawling on the bed with their breaths slowing under the dim fairylight.
The night street was swarming with the chirrup of the crickets and the blink of the streetlights, with their yellow light lying upon fissured sidewalks.
Gezza was stamping away with his sneakers, his footsteps uneasy, his body throbbing with victory, and weighed down by his tiredness. Two sisters in one day. Legend status.
His smile wavered when he caught a glimpse of Mike, the ex of Elena, hanging around the crossroads, with his broad shoulders stooped over a cigarette in his hand.
The gut of Gezza knotted, his fingers wrapped around the strap of his backpack.
No longer having to deal with that meathead. Mike looked his way, but he shook his head and walked off into the night.
Gezza sighed and his breath could be felt faintly in the cool air and continued on with the walk, the smoldering smell of exhaust and baked bread in the local shop following him.
The house of his mom lay ahead, with its flaking paint and crumbling verge, a reminder of his life in the basement.
He searched his pockets, the cold metal of the keys in his palm, when a voice purred out of the darkness.
"Back already, stud?" El itena was leaning on her next-door fence with her yoga pants clinging to her curves, with her tank top clung to her sweat-covered shelf of a body.
Her black hair was by no means tied back, and the strands snarled against the street-light as she brushed one of them behind her ear, her jasmine fragrance zipping through the night air.
Gezza felt his heart skip as it was the body that shook, notwithstanding the pain in his bones. Fuck, she's still under it.
She had the glow of hungry, unnatural eyes that the Playbook had given her.
"Yo, Elena, he said ", and his voice broke, and his fingers were playing with his keys.
Don't need this right now. I'm beat. "Just, uh, heading in." His legs were like lead, but his untrue body was leaning towards her, like a moth towards a flame.
She moved closer, and her bare feet made no sound on the grass, and her hips swung.
"You look like you had fun", her lips curled, her nails scraping his arm through his hoodie.
The feel gave him a shiver, his trousers drawing up. "Come over. I'm all alone." Her voice was honey, dripping promise and Gezza knew with his head that he should say no, but his feet waddled to her door the wooden step creaking under the sneakers. I'm screwed. Can't say no to that.
The room was hot and sickeningly sweet with jasmine and candle wax, and the light of a lamp made shadows on her curves as she stood in her own living room.
Elena pressed him to the wall, her lips crashed against his, hot and desperate, her tongue tangled in his in a wet, wanton minuet.
Gezza scowled, his hands clinging on the waist, the tender material of her tank top knitting together in his fingers.
Mint and sweat were her tastes that had been pouring him, and her body was closer and closer, her breasts pressed against his chest.
"Oh, missed you", she said, scraping her nails on his jaw. The inner perv of Gezza screamed at the thought of her lying naked on the couch her moans matching those of Mia and Tara.
Gotta keep up. His attention as he came, eager to have the Playbook magic take effect, and he directed the passion which had operated on the sisters--her body in his, and her uttersance heard in the air.
What he pictured in his mind was the image of the scene, dirty, bright and stark, but there was a sharp thing that tore in him, like a knife that twisted in his stomach.
He gaped, fell backwards, his sneakers hooked on the carpet. "Fuck", he said, his eyes tearing, the pain more intense than the kitchen shocks, and cutting through his chest.
Her eyes opened and her hands were fluttering, Elena. "Gezza? You okay?"
He made an attempt to nod, the palm of his hand against the wall, and the plaster was chilled where his hand was.
Push through it. I'm the man. He tried the lust once more, and imagined the shaping of Elena and her jasmine-scentedskin, but the pain burst, a dart of white-hot steel that took away his breath.
His knees wobbled and his backpack dropped to the floor with a bang, the Playbook burning his canvas. Too much... too fast.
His sight grew dark, the anxious face of Elena faded, her voice was an echo in the distance as he fell to the ground, and the world became black.