At a party last year, Cortland wanted me to make sure she wasn’t too drunk to be on top of some guy, her tongue down his throat, for Remi’s sake.
She was drunk all right, but she smiled at me and politely told me to “fuck off” and it was the hottest thing I’d heard in a while, even with some guy’s hard cock straining in his pants beneath her.
I pop my eyes open and read her most recent text.
Sloane
I just got back from a date. I’ve got his cologne all over me.
Considering our nonexistent “relationship,” I don’t think she’s trying to make me jealous. And maybe another night, I wouldn’t be, but tonight I’m feeling thrown and too tired but not tired enough to sleep and there’s those unknown texts asking about her and…
Did you fuck him?
It’s not any of my business. I should let it go, but my knee doesn’t stop bouncing and I can’t stop glaring at my own phone as if it’s personally offended me.
Sloane
You mad?
I inhale sharp through my nose and try to be logical. No, of course I’m not fucking mad, but… I mean, yeah. I am. And I could hurt this guy. She has no idea the kind of world I live in. Fuck him. If the hotel room with Dad taught me anything, it was how to be ruthless without regret. Maybe I’m still working on the last bit but I wouldn’t be with some guy who got to fuck Sloane.
In the midst of my existential crisis, she sends another text.
Sloane
You can come over if you want but I’m not fucking you either.
A stupid sort of relief floods through me with her text. She’s playing coy, but she didn’t fuck him, and the thought makes me feel good even though it shouldn’t matter.
Wash his cologne off you or you’ll see me actually mad.
Guess I’m going out tonight.
CHAPTER
FOUR
SLOANE
Storm Leary looms in my doorway and at first glance, he’s not the type of person a young, single woman who lives alone should let into her apartment.
My pulse jitters, staring up into his light eyes, the same color as the hoop on his nose. It’s like my heart is warning me to stay away, back up, close the door, run.
There’s no smile on his soft lips and his dark brows are pulled together and his head is tilted in a way that makes you want to hug him and figure him out and fuck him all at once.
And he doesn’t look away from my eyes. Like he’s latched onto my soul.
And we’re only friends. If that.
But the way helooksat me, it seems like there’s something more. I don’t know if he looks at everyone like this, if I’m delusional, or if it’s reserved solely for me.
I’ve never worked up the courage to ask my best friend, Remi, what she thinks he thinks of me. Remi is of the opinion Storm is better left alone and single for the rest of his life.
She says he’s a good man but he’s not a good person.
Part of me wants to find out just how bad he can be.
Part of me is smarter than that.
