P.S. I Loathe You

by Isla Olsen

Before we go any further, I should probably tell you something - I’m only 14 and my parents monitor all my internet traffic.

Devon’s brows shoot up in obvious surprise. “You went to uni?” I narrow my eyes at him. Could this guy be any more of a fucking snob? “Yes, I went to uni. Visual Arts major. Minored in Business.” “Wow, that’s…wow.” He gives a slight shake of his head, as though he can barely believe what he’s hearing. “Should I be offended that you seem more surprised about this than the fact I like cock?”

“Okay, fine. But you have to promise not to judge me.” She rolls her eyes. “Please, if I can get past that thing with the Kraft Singles I can get past anything.” “That was a scientific experiment,” I say defensively. She holds up a palm. “Let’s not re-hash it.”

Before I can second-guess myself, I close the distance between us, kicking the front door shut behind me as I wrap my hand around the back of his head and draw him in, crashing my lips to his.

“Just the soft stuff, right?” Devon says with a wry chuckle from where he’s stretched out on the bed, looking thoroughly sexed up. “Weed, coke, that sort of thing?” My brows shoot up. “You’re calling coke a soft drug and I’m the ruffian?”

“Wow, you look…different,” Emma says, her head tilting this way and that as she examines my features, a strange little smile in place. “Good, though. More…relaxed.” I run a self-conscious hand through my hair, which I’ve left ungelled because after Wes distracted me with sex the other night, I forgot to pack a few things. For some odd reason, though, I get the sense that Emma’s talking about more than just the hair; but I’m not about to volunteer that the main reason I seem more at ease lately is because of all the epic sex I’ve been having with her brother.