“How ‘bout we play f-u-c-k?” Simon asked, his head dipping down slightly as he looked through his brows, blue eyes piercing into your own as he stood in front of the garage door, right below the hoop.

“You ever play f-u-c-k before?” He inquired once more, tilting his head to the side as he placed his hands into his pockets, waiting for your answer.

You two were outside on a nice day. He was staying at your house for a week while he hid away from the cops from arson and assault— which the assault charge was total shit because the lady lied.

When you didn’t answer and started to bounce the basketball again, he slowly walked his way over towards you on the driveway. His eyes were on you the whole time, blocking your attempt to brush him off to play a game called horse.

Frankly, he really wasn’t interested in playing b-ball at this point; if you wanted to play, then maybe he would.

“How come whenever I talk about fucking, you clam up?” He asked, dipping his down slightly to get you to look him in the eyes, purposely making you uncomfortable as he came close to you.

Somehow, how always made the conversation go to a rather sexual one. God, he loved getting to you and on you.. in both ways.