Me: On my way.
Once I got in his car, I was hit with his manly scent–leather, woodsy, captivating–with a hint of weed smoke. He smiled at me as I slammed the door shut, relishing the feeling of getting off my feet.
I tried not to stare at him but he was so damn sexy. His messy hair was contained under a backwards baseball cap and he wore his usual jeans and tight t-shirt. How could something so simple look so good?
“Hungry?” He asked, putting the car in drive.
“You don’t need to feed me,” I said as I messed with the radio, stopping on an old Sublime song and turning the volume up a notch.
“You didn’t answer the question.”
“I could eat, but it’s late. I’ll probably just make a sandwich at home.”
“Fuck that,” he said, turning in the direction away from our homes.
“As long as I don’t have to eat your eggshells again, I’m down for whatever.”
“You better watch it. You keep picking on me like that and you’re gonna get spanked,” he smirked as he pulled into The Diner's parking lot.
“Don’t tempt me with a good time.”
His eyes flashed to mine, desire creeping in and setting my insides aflame. “I’ll remember that.”
We went inside and ordered our late-night breakfast–West with his subpar waffles and me with my superior pancakes. Marcy was our waitress again, and I kept an eye on her to make sure she didn’t spit in my food. She didn’t flirt with West this time–she barely even made eye contact with him. She didn’t hide making a face at my Aces outfit which made me laugh. She probably thought I was a hooker or something.
So much had happened since we were here last and it’d only been two days ago. It was strange being around West. It felt sonormal. Like we were friends who also happened to fuck around once in a while. I hated that I liked it, but he was addicting. I didn’t have my armor up around him anymore, which was probably ignorant of me, but I had a niche for learning my lessons the hard way.
When we got back to our houses, I thanked him for the ride and the food and went to turn away when a warm hand grasped mine.
“I know it’s late, and we have school tomorrow, and you’re probably tired from working all day,” his eyes trailed over my body and back up to my eyes. “I want you to come with me.”
Vulnerability was sexy on West. Probably because the guy never showed his cards. Ever. There was something about him wanting me that made my knees buckle and my chest flutter.
“Okay,” I agreed.
“Really? I figured I’d have to do more groveling,” he laughed as he pulled my hand toward his house.
“I’m assuming your dad’s not here…” I trailed off, not wanting another confrontation with Oliver.
“You’d assume correctly. He’s off in Austin or Phoenix. I don’t even keep up anymore.”
I tightened my hold on West’s hand, sensing he was slipping into a negative space at the discussion of his dad. From what I could tell, West and Bronx were home alone most of the time. I knew first-hand that it got lonely, and it was hard not to feel resentment toward people who were supposed to be present in our lives but rarely were.
The house was quiet and dark, so I figured Bronx was sleeping. We crept down the hallway to West’s room and he turned on a small desk lamp, basking the room in an amber glow.
“You know what’s weird?” I asked as I took off my boots and fishnets.
“Huh?” West sat at the end of his bed and watched my every move.
“This will be the third night in a row we’ve slept together.”
"Who says we're going to do any sleeping?" He waggled his eyebrows. Who was this guy? I was used to him being irritable and grumpy. This past weekend he'd been fun, considerate, vulnerable. I liked this side of him, but it made me uneasy. I waited for the rug to be pulled out from under me. For thisfriendlinessto end. For us to go back to being strangers.
"Hey, where'd you go?"
I shook my head, trying to clear the negative thoughts taking over. I bit my lip and tried to suppress a smile. "I need a shower. Do you have anything I can wear?”
West gave me a gray t-shirt withBrass Knucklesemblazoned in blue across the chest, and I went into the ensuite bathroom–which was a Jack and Jill bathroom connected to Bronx's room–and looked at the girl in the mirror. In just over a month I would be eighteen. The blue eyes looking back at me were tired and dull, full of sadness and pain. I had bright eyes at one point. Back when Dad was around and Mom wasn't so angry. When Remington wasn’t a drug dealer.