Page 42 of Tainted Love

“So, what’s going on with you and Sash?” Landry asks.

“Nothing,” I reply with a shake of my head, which causes him to narrow his eyes.

“I like her,” I admit. “I always have.”

“Longest. Foreplay. Ever.” Delzy chuckles.

“At least you’re finally admitting it,” Landry says. "But don’t mess around with her, Taz. She’s a good girl. I don’t want to see her get hurt.”

“I have no intentions of hurting her,” I say.

“Keep it that way,” Landry says, leveling me with an icy glare.

“Calm down, Chewbacca,” I reply with a nervous laugh. “I know what I’m doing. Which reminds me, we’re going to the band concert next Friday night.”

Chapter 18

“What I Like About You”

Sascha - Age 18, 1988

The mere presence of Michael Tazman is suffocating. He’s omnipresent—at school, in my bathroom, uninvited into my dreams, and now in my living room on a quiet Sunday evening. I’ve had a peaceful few days since we talked. Mostly because he had an out-of-town hockey trip. But now he’s back. I should’ve known my luck wouldn’t last.

His large frame dominates the couch, sprawled across it with one hand clutching the remote control while flipping through channels until settling on a football game. Of course, he’s here, playing couch commando with the remote control as if he owns the place. I will not allow him to disrupt my Sunday ritual.

I religiously watch 21 Jump Street weekly because Johnny Depp will be my husband someday. This fact has been etched into my heart since I was thirteen years old—Johnny just doesn’t know it yet. And I won’t let Taz steal this precious hour from me.

With my hands balled at my sides in tiny but mighty fists, I march over to Taz and stand in front of him, blocking his view of the competing teams on TV. I plant my feet shoulder-width apart and place my hands firmly on my hips, channeling all my determination and fierce energy into a piercing look at him.

But Michael seems unfazed, leaning back on the couch and dragging his eyes over me from head to toe in a heavy gaze. I might as well be standing there naked for the way he’s openly ogling me.

But I refuse to back down. Not today, not ever. No one interrupts my Johnny Depp time on Sundays.

The tilt of his head is arrogant and infuriating, accentuated by the smug grin on his face. He seems to revel in getting a rise out of me. “Can I help you, Princess?” he asks mockingly, emphasizing the last word.

My eyes narrow as I try to maintain my composure, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing me lose it. “You can crawl up your own ass and die,” I reply through gritted teeth, plastering a fake smile on my face.

His response is immediate and just as infuriating. “I’d rather crawl up yours,” he says with a sly smirk, mischief dancing in his eyes. My molars grind in irritation, but I refuse to let him see me falter. It’s like we’re engaged in a battle of wits, each trying to outdo the other with insults that only serve to fuel our frustration. It’s exhausting and maddening.

I hold out my hand in a gesture of authority, trying to regain control of the situation. “Give me the remote. We’re watching 21 Jump Street.“ But instead of complying, he spreads his arms over the back of the couch and lounges, making himself comfortable. He looks like he’s waiting for a lap dance. My blood boils at his audacity.

“What do I get if I give you the remote?” he taunts, that same mischievous glint returning to his eyes. My patience is wearing thin, but I refuse to let him see me crack.

“The ability to draw breath,” I snap back sharply.

His deep, rumbling chuckle echoes through the room. “You’re truly one of a kind, Sash. You know that?” he teases.

“Yeah, I know,” I reply, tapping my foot impatiently on the ground. “Now give me the remote.”

He holds the remote out of reach and then drops it into his sweatpants.

The intensity in our gaze is palpable, and my heart skips a beat as our eyes lock. But then, the anger surges through me like a tidal wave. How dare he? My eyebrows furrow in annoyance, and I suck on my front teeth, trying to contain my frustration. “Are you kidding me right now?” I snap back. “I wouldn’t consider going into your pants if you were the last man on Earth.”

A smirk tugs at the corner of his lips as he challenges me. “Hmm, I don’t believe you,” he says, his voice dropping to a low, husky tone. “I remember how you looked at me that night.”

The heat rushes to my cheeks when I think about the night I saw him naked. The air between us crackles with an electric energy, each moment growing more tense and uncomfortable.

“If you’re nervous for the first time, I’m happy to walk you through it.”