“Well, you should stop, especially when I’m nothing but hateful toward you.”
Wesley smirks. “That’s what makes it fun, Poppy. Eventually, I’ll wear you down and grow on you. I’m like a fungus.”
“More like an STD. The ugly, big, fat ones, that ooze pus and make your dick smell like rotting garbage.” I pretend to sniff the air and wave at my nose. “Blech, maybe you should get yourself checked out now? There’s a certain smell coming off you that’s repulsive.”
Completely unaffected, he smiles even bigger, that smug charisma oozing from his pores. “The faith you have in my sex life is flattering. But when was the last time youactuallysaw me with a girl?”
Have I ever seen him with a girl? Prom… but he spent more time with me that night than Morgan. But since then?Even though it’s been five years, I haven’t heard of him really being with anyone, and that’s terrifying. “I—I—”
“You’re stuttering,” Amber whispers. “Oh my god, you’re flustered.”
“I am not!”
Wesley leans in, taking my silence as a silent win. “And that smell? That’s the smell of a real man’s arousal. You should get used to it. Because I’m always cocked and ready when you’re near me.”
I stare at his lips for two seconds too long, and when I realize he notices, my cheeks heat in embarrassment.
I’ve got to break this curse before it breaks me.
“Like I’d want your cellmate’s sloppy seconds. Get the fuck away from me.” It’s harsh and a bit mean, but if he gets any closer to me, this alcohol I’ve been drinking is going to get me into a whole heap of trouble. For two seconds there, I actually wanted him to kiss me. And the fact that I wasn’t repulsed by the thought scares me.
Wesley looks at his drink, the playfulness dwindling. Is it bad that I already miss it? Honestly, Amber’s kept me up-to-date on the boys, and Wesley’s been relatively good. He got into some bad situations a few years ago, but other than that, he’s been squeaky clean. She says he’s working on himself.
Through a sideways glance, I admire his biceps.
Really working on himself.
I never thought I was a muscles kind of girl, but I like them on him.
Amber opens her mouth to break the silence, but someone else has other ideas.
A girl with fiery red hair taps Wesley on the shoulder, too confident for my liking. “Hey,” she yells with a hint ofinebriation behind her tone. “I saw you at the bar. You’re fine as hell, and I was wondering if you wanna dance?”
I hate that he’s smiling at her. That he’s even giving her attention at all. My fingers strangle my glass, my jaw tightening as I watch the flirtation unfold like a bad movie.
Of course she’s pretty.
She has to be. That’s just the kind of girl he attracts.
Pretty and petite with curves that are annoyingly perfect. The kind that don’t belong on her slight little frame, or she cheated the system by buying her assets.
Perfect ass.
Perfect body.
Perfect in every way.
She wears her black dress like a second skin. Every inch of the fabric calculated for tonight. The hem is just high enough to make men wonder what’s beneath, but still classy enough to be considered one step above hoe. Her heels give her a good three inches, but she’s still shorter than Wesley, which he loves because he’s smiling and chatting away, not able to tear his eyes off the abnormally copper ringlets that bounce when she laughs.
She knows exactly what she’s doing with every step she takes toward him. She looks like the type who tilts her head and smiles while saying, “Bless your heart.” That southern princess charm, that shouldn’t be this far west. She licks her cherry red lips, eyes locked on Wesley like she already decided he’s tonight’s entertainment.
It’s bold.
She’s too cocky.
I should be happy because now he can be her problem.
But the way she’s looking at him makes me want to scratch her eyes out for existing. It’s not jealousy. It’s definitely not that.
