Ficlets

Ryan stared dully ahead of him while his companion blabbered on. They’d been on this island (one of those tiny cliché sand bars with one palm tree in the center) for what—a day now? And Mason hadn’t shut up yet.

“Know what I like on a woman? Legs. I love a woman with a pair of legs.”

Ryan snorted briefly, mentally noting that most women (and men!) had legs.

“I mean, they’re so hot. Legs. On women, that is.”

The man had to be joking. Ryan’s eyes rolled, barely hearing the incessant chatter.

“And when chicks wear those, ah…knee-high socks! Yeah, that’s the things…”

The poor grammar made Ryan feel like someone had just kicked him in the ribs. His hand began groping around in the sand.

“With like, a skirt…”

He found a stone.

“That...is so hot. Yeah. What do you think, Ryan?”

Ryan’s brown eyes narrowed.

“Ryan?”

The sickening thud the rock made against Mason’s skull was possibly the sweetest sound Ryan had ever heard.

Besides the silence.