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Anger flared through me. Yesterday, I’d been hoping the hot, desire-soaked need to plow into Cal and fuck her until she was boneless was the result of being abstinent for too long. But no. Carrying a muddy, disheveled, panicked Cal to safety apparently made me harder than having a willing woman in a full sexy librarian outfit
“I’m not compression socks.” My jaw clenched. “I’m not here to make you feel comfortable.”
Ah, the famous Tom Brady quote. Only, Allison and Tom both had it wrong—sometimes, you needed to know when to quit.
“Ugh, come on!” She threw herself at me, and now we were chest-to-chest, face-to-face, groin-to-groin, and my anger morphed into fury. This woman was all over me, and my dick was softer than a bath sponge.
was sporting a stiffy the size of the Empire State Building while showing her around attested to how out of it she had been.
wasn’t horny. I was just horny for Cal. Problem was, if I scratched that itch, I’d shed my flesh until I hit bone. I also didn’t want her to do McMonster dirty. Which was fucking deranged.
“Don’t flatter this shithole. No one is going to write a book about it.”
“She’s the poster child for useless. Are you doing your sister a favor? I thought Dylan finally ditched her all those years ago.” “Are we done here?” I folded my arms over my chest. Allison shook her head. “She’s a weirdo.” “Yeah?” My hand grabbed the doorknob. “Well, normal people are boring, and ordinary and average are fucking synonyms. Who wants to be that?” “Wait, Ambie, come back here! We’re not done talking.” She started chasing after me. My answer came in the form of the door being slammed in her face.
“Ten minutes late, but at least he made it, ladies and gents.” A sugary grin stretched across the mayor’s face.
He had cotton candy–white hair floating over his head like a halo, suspenders, and thick-framed glasses.
My own personal sun, shining too bright and too hot. She gave me an awkward wave, and I almost tripped, it threw me off so badly. Then I noticed Kieran. He was sitting next to Cal, wearing a designer peacoat with the collar popped straight like a Succession character. Was he vying for the Douchebag World Championship? If so, he could count on my vote.
Her face was blank, caged up. What did I expect? To see her bawling into her ridiculous Lego-shaped purse? She’d never wanted me. Even when I had been balls-deep inside her, she’d been doing it so she could fuck off to college hymen-free.
“Thank you, Miss Murray, for being less discreet than a ten-foot dildo,” I drawled, perching back lazily in my seat. People gasped.
The Righteous Gang. I knew them well. They
“We made a song of protest.” Agnes, the one with the orange-green sweater and hat made out of leaves, rose to her feet.
“He probably moved down south, where minimum wage is at least five bucks an hour more. This is why you should want me to sell. You need more jobs in this shithole.” A collective gasp filled the air.
“We’re singing our song,” Gertrude, the founding member of The Righteous Gang, declared solemnly, shaking her walking cane in our direction. “Our voices will be heard.”
The three lifted their faces upward and belted out their song in a melody they one hundred percent had ripped off from Eminem’s “Stan.”
Gertie dropped an invisible mic to the floor, folding her arms over her chest and doing a peace sign with her fingers.
The entire room stood up and clapped, cheering and whistling.
That caused a little more commotion. And when I say a little, I mean a fuck ton. There was screaming involved. “Bad apple,” “patronizing prick,” and “Satan’s spawn” were all hurled my way, as well as some personal items and one orthopedic shoe.
Randy, forever the overachiever, threw a chair toward the stage but missed by at least three feet. Chaos erupted, with everyone’s wrath focused on me. I just sat there, cool as a cucumber, wondering what to make myself for dinner.
“Man, that was brutal.” Captain Obvious, aka Kieran, wiped invisible sweat from his forehead after pushing a stack of chairs to the far corner of the room. “You okay, bro?”
“Are you timing our rides together?” She hitched one dainty shoulder up. “The arctic gusts of wind from your scowls give me chills. Pumpkin spice latte?” She aimed the coffee at me. “Thanks, I’d rather use Tabasco as eyedrops.”
“I may or may not have also recorded ‘The Protest Song’ on my phone and put ‘Stan’ in the background.”
“Their beat was something fierce.” She stopped dead in her tracks and swiped her phone screen. The Righteous Gang’s version of “Stan” filled the air.
I was smiling. Why was I smiling? This was ridiculous. She was ridiculous. Besides, I never smiled. Smiling was reserved for other people, who were capable of being happy. The height of positivity I could reach, emotionally, was being not pissed off.
“What’s my type?” I humored him. Kieran stroked his chin. “Someone who isn’t completely dead inside. Someone cheerful to level out your darkness. You need a yin to your yang.” He gave me a once-over. “Your yang is kind of terrible.”
taught you how to drive. I made your birthday cakes up until your sophomore year. I fucking took your virginity because you asked not so nicely, even though I knew it was going to undo me.
“Motherfucker.” I stomped my way to the truck, bending down to take a better look at the prankster’s handiwork. My blood simmered to a dangerous temperature. The dead coyote had been uncalled for. I had let it slide, filing it as a last-ditch effort by some punk before the town hall meeting. There was the mysterious hate mail too, but getting trashed was no news to me. I was used to it from being (A) a celebrity, and (B) a major asshole.
“Not usually. I’m fuck-hot and on the brink of becoming a billionaire. I can be as dumb as a rock and people will still be interested.”
“Nope.” Cal perked up. “Did you know there was another pilot with Amelia Earhart when she disappeared? His name was Fred Noonan.”
This vandalism bullshit didn’t fly with me. No matter how angry people were.
Yes, and you need to stay the hell away from it. Her words washed through me, going in one ear and out the other. But the touch of her fingertips as they fluttered between my shoulder blades did not go unnoticed. There was a jacket and a Henley between us, and still, where we touched, my skin tingled, coming alive. It was a weird sensation. Like being awakened from a long bout of sleep.
She thawed me where I wanted to stay iced.
had always pretended to be untouchable. Athletic, popular, successful, talented. I had been a great student, on the rowing team—letterman jacket, a sports car, and a harem of fangirls. I never showed weakness and didn’t plan on starting now.
I groaned. “You’re going to be the death of me.” “Here’s hoping.” She crossed her fingers. “How would you like me to kill you?” A chain of three hundred orgasms while buried inside you.
Cal’s profile was a vision. Cute, pert nose. Bee-stung lips. A dusting of freckles on her nose and cheeks. Even the curve of her eyebrow held grace.
“Are you fucking Fuckface?” I blurted out. Jesus. Had I caught her verbal diarrhea virus? I knew the answer to that question. But I still needed the reassurance.
So? I’d had plenty of “friends” who could recognize my dick in a thirty-cock lineup.
“You knew I disliked her.” Cal’s throat rolled with a swallow. “Yet you still went and dated her.” “That was a feature, not a bug,” I admitted, my voice coming out harsh and
“Holy shit, did I just manage to talk you out of beating an elderly person?”
“Hope so, for your sake. If we’re neighbors in hell, I’m stealing your trash can.” “I’ll egg your house,” she retorted, catching up with my step. “I’ll butter your floor.”
She evil-laughed before her smile dropped. “Fine, maybe not. You’d probably like that.”
I always found her no-filter prattling adorable.
Bystanders were bracketing them, gasping and taking pictures. Great. More humans. Wasn’t I lucky.
Cal shoved the leaf into her hair, like it was a feather in a cap.
“I ain’t made out of sugar.” “Don’t I know it.” A tired smile twisted her pink lips. “Cyanide, maybe. Don’t be so stubborn. Come.”
“I swear, your ego is the most giant thing I’ve seen.” “That’s not true, and we both know it.” That made her blush down to her toes.
“What did you put in this?” “Peas, salmon, risotto, my entire fucking soul.” I sat across from her in my mother’s kitchen, sorting out a Rubik’s Cube. “Your soul?
