Scarletts P.O.V

Afteryou'reyour dressed you decide to go find him. You search the house.

Where the hell is he? Maybe he left.

You checked the driveway and notice his car is still parked there.

Okay, but he's not in his room.

It's not until you hear the music coming from the garage that you find him. He shirtless, sweat dripping down his body and disappearing into shorts as he punches away at the punching bag that hung from the stand in the corner of the garage.

When the hell did they put that there?

Your eyes linger on the sculpted muscles of his back as he throws more blows at the back.

Damn... he's really fit.

"Are you just going to stand there staring at me?"

"Shit, sorry. Didn't think you noticed me."

"Of course, I noticed you!"

You wrap your arms around yourself and step forward. He turns the music down and twist his head to look at you.

" just fucking leave, Scarlett"

You frown and place your hands on your hips.

until you fucking talk

You shrug.

keep all that shit

used to wonder whether we'd have a warm place to lay our heads when i was younger. No stability. Keeping it bottled up just makes the problems

the fuck do you

punching bag, panting loudly. His hair is coated with sweat, slicking it to his head.

that to

needs to fucking know. I

letting

you a good two feet. You see then tension throughout his body

you understand, I don't want to be

You scoff.

firsthand what

same shit you do to me. Pestering the hell out of you

arms defeatedly before he runs his tongue

will you leave me

"I can't guarantee that."

piece of

"He hit you?"

"No shit"

did he

you I'd tell you who hit me. That's it. The door

points towards the

don't fucking know where there door is...

some actually gives

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