Creed re-directed his attention towards Storm, and grinned as he observed her defensive posture.
“If I said ‘no’, you’d just tag along anyway.” Slowly, he walked towards the oversized refrigerator, opened the door and scanned the myriad of contents inside. “You guys hold each other’s hands fer’ everything, so it’s expected.” Creed took a quart of orange juice and nudged the door shut. He paused for a moment to open the carton and drink directly from it – like any true unmannered hooligan - boldly consuming a third of the tasty liquid with a few gulps.
“Might as well warn ya’ now…” Victor cautioned while he wiped his mouth clean with the back of his hand. “…if yer’ anythin’ like th’ dude version of you, try not ta’ blast me while my back’s turned, yeah? I’d almost feel a little guilty if I had ta’ cut up a hot little sugar tart like you outta self defense.” Creed chugged more juice, and continued to leer at the goddess.
“Almost…” Who knew if the savage was trying to flirt, provoke a fight, or just burrow under the woman’s ebony skin and unsettle her nerves. But she’d be wise to simply assume all three possibilities.