It pisses me off.

Your embarrassment is replaced with anger, and you immediately turn away from her. “You’re acting like a bitch!”

She swallows. “Don’t you have a sense of humor?”

“Whatever,” you huff. “Let’s head back.”

Alexandra limps along, hauling the toolbox while occasionally giggling to herself. You try not to snap at her, but you're about done with her when you get back to the house.

Before you can go your separate ways, however, she stops you. “Well, we have to open it before you go too far.”

“It’s probably a trail mix or something,” you sigh. “I don't think it'll be that interesting.”

“Aw,” she pouts. “Is little-Warren offended that I waughing at him all the time?”

“You knock that off,” you look around the room to ensure you’re alone. “I mean it.”

Alexandra giggles. “You’re seriously pissed, aren’t you?” She places the box down and looks at you, waiting for you to answer.

“Yeah.”

She rolls her eyes and shifts her legs. “Fine, I’ll lay off a bit then.”

…

…

Alexandra fumbles with the lock for a few seconds. She has her lockpicking tools in hand, working overtime to get the box to open. Finally, she sighs and leans back. “Snacks my ass. This thing is locked up tight!”

You lean in close and study the lock. Unfortunately, you weren’t accustomed to lockpicking, so watching someone who was was kind of interesting.

A few seconds of tampering later, the lock clicks. “Yes!” Alexandra exclaims and opens it.

Everything inside is displayed for your eyes, and you’re surprised to see not goodies and such but Polaroids of naked women. A glance at the first two, and you realize it isn’t the rancher’s wife.

“Huh,” you pick up and examine one of the pictures. “That isn’t his wife.”

Alexandra picks up the other. “These have to be pictures of porn stars.”

She flips the picture around a few times but finds no names or dates tagged anywhere. “You’d think they’d label the broad spreading her legs or something.”

You find another picture and look at it. A petite brunette with perky tits is spreading her pussy with her fingers. “The guy has good taste,” Alexandra says suddenly from behind you.

You look over your shoulder and raise your eyebrows. “Sorry, these aren’t that valuable.”

She plucks the individual pictures and hums. “They’re valuable,” she smirks. “You want any more for your collection? Some of these would go well for the ones you already have of me.”

You snort, unsure of how you should reply at first. “Shoot, we could make some new ones of you and return the box for the old guy.”

“Oo~,” she coos. “I kind of think that’s hot.”

“Huh-uh.”

You finger through the pictures, losing some interest in them, when something flashes behind you. You turn and see Alexandra with the Polaroid you used in an attempt to **** her.

“You kept that?” You ask, and she takes another picture, temporarily blinding you.

“Yee-up,” she laughs. “Should we take some pictures?”

“Even with your fucked up leg?”

Alexandra becomes curt. “Shut up about my leg.”

Realizing you’ve hit a sore spot, you back peddle but don’t apologize. “What are you thinking about? Anything in particular, or…?”

She brushes a nervous hand where she was shot as her mind spins into thought. “Honestly, I was going to take some pictures of you going down on me, but now that you’ve brought up my leg…”

You didn’t fancy the idea of Alexandra having pictures of you going down on HER. You didn’t trust her enough not to use those against you somehow.

“So, what then?”

“You got me all self-conscious now,” she growls. “Forget it.”

Alexandra places the camera down and falls on the bed. “We can discuss doing something sexy later. But, until then, let’s just not.”

You consider apologizing but don’t for some reason. Instead, you step out of her room and bump into Amara. Good thing you weren’t doing anything stupid with Alexandra…

“Hey!” You **** a chuckle, and Amara forces a smile of her own.

“Hi, Warren. Having fun?”

“Not the word I’d use,” you say. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Amara says, but you figure there’s definitely something. “Let’s prep dinner.”

…

…

Tiny’s Tavern was quiet. The girl maintaining the bar had black hair and purple eyes. She gave some small talk for a little while but eased out of the conversation as Amara loosened up.

The girl with black hair tilted her head to one side to get your attention and said. “If you need anything else special, just say the word.”

Amara perked and craned her neck. “Another bottle of Old Forester bourbon. We probably won’t drink more than two.”

“Two?” You ask. Amara nods.

“We have full stomachs, don’t we? Don’t tell me you’re a lightweight.” Amara takes the first shot by knocking her head back.

“Wasn’t expecting a drinking game, is all.”

Amara furrows her brows, coating her face with an expression you still cannot read. “Just talking. No games.”

Amara sucks on her teeth while she studies. You like a dull cover of a book that could be interesting. “Do you play any instruments?” She asks.