Loose by Coo Sweet Page B

still? You’re making me nauseous again,” Raven complained. 
     
    “Really? ‘Cause you sound like your old grouchy self,” said Sage, with a smirk. 
     
    Raven set her glass down. She scooted over until their hips touched. Sage lunged for some distance between them. He didn’t get far because the armrest hemmed him in. Raven rolled her eyes and huffed. 
     
    “Yeah, so I feel a little better. Must have been something I ate.” 
     
    Sage looked puzzled. “But we’d just gotten there. You hadn't—“ 
     
    “Something I ate at school.” 
     
    “Oh. Okay. Hey, listen, I have homework to do. Since you’re alright now, I really need to go,” said Sage. 
     
    He scrambled up from the couch. Raven sprang up, too. She grabbed his hand and pulled him into a sloppy embrace. Sage untangled himself as gently as he could. 
     
    “Don’t do that,” Sage said. 
     
    Raven crossed her arms behind her back to keep from making him more skittish.
     
    “Stay for a little while. Please? What if I get sick again? Granny won't be here for a few hours.” 
     
    Raven moved closer to him. She placed her hands on the sides of his head plastering his rigid face and neck with kisses. Sage wrestled his head away. In the process, he spied her earrings. It was the same pair from the previous night. 
     
    Sage froze as he felt that familiar icy feeling creep into his bones. 
     
    Raven saw her opening and tried to ratchet up her game. She went to work on his zipper. The sound of the metal teeth peeling apart snapped Sage back to the moment and his frantic effort to make a run for it. He pulled away from Raven so fast he accidentally kicked the coffee table. It rocked enough to topple his drink over. 
     
    Sage started toward the door. Raven clung to him every step of the way. 
     
    “Stop it, Raven. Let go. I need to get out of here. Now.”
     
    Sage pried her arms off him. He moved her out of his path to freedom. She saw how serious he was and stopped resisting his departure. Her body sagged right where she stood. 
     
    “Fine. Go then.” 
     
    Raven pushed him away from her. She stomped back to the couch, flinging herself on it, cradling her stomach. Sage rushed to the door and yanked it open. His foot caught on something and he tripped over it. He barely gave a backward glance to the piece of pottery that fell behind him. It shattered to pieces a few feet from his heels. 
     
    “Sorry,” he yelled, over his shoulder. 
     
    “You got that right, asshole!” Raven snapped back. 
     
    She yanked a throw pillow off the couch and launched it in his direction. Then she grabbed a second one and punched it as hard as she could. 
     
    In his haste to leave, Sage had failed to fully close the door. It creaked open, but the sound was muffled by Raven's epic tantrum. So was the sound of her grandmother whooshing over the threshold.
     
    Celia Mason was a big-boned woman in her early fifties. Not one to waste time or money on niceties, she was dressed in drab muted-colored work clothes, wore no jewelry other than a cheap Timex watch, and the graying edges of her hairline stood in stark contrast to the rich black ponytail that fell just past her neck. 
     
    Celia, or Granny as Raven called her, marched in the house with the precision of a commander-in-chief--which she was, having ruled her dedicated troop of one--Raven--with an iron fist for more than a decade. 
     
    After crossing the doorway, Celia stopped in front of the broken pottery. She kicked a piece of it with the tip of her worn leather shoe. Raven snapped to attention when she heard the hollow sound of the broken stoneware rolling on the floor. She flew off the couch. 
     
    Celia scoured the room with her eyes. As attuned as any sophisticated tracking system, she scoped out the glasses sitting on the coffee table. Raven was too distracted by the loud thumping her heartbeat was making against her ribcage to realize exactly what her grandmother was looking