Wicked Restless (Harper Boys #2)(51)
Not in the mood, Trent. I’m so far in on a bad idea there’s really no way to get out now. Quit making it worse.
“She’s…my roommate,” Lindsey says, her voice half of the volume it was before.
“He knows that. He’s just a really shitty listener. This is Lindsey, Trent. And thanks for paying attention to me when I talk.” I lay it on super thick, and Lindsey eats it up. Trent’s eyes become slits, and I know I’ve only made him more curious. Just one more thing I’ll think about atoning for…or not. Might as well embrace this piece-of-shit guy I’ve become.
“Right, my mistake,” Trent says. What he really means is “What are you up to, you *?” I put my arm around Lindsey and lead her out ahead of him. This conversation between them—it’s done.
Trent heads to his car, and probably to Majerle’s, which is where I’d planned on going with Lindsey after the game, but now I just want to get her back to her apartment so I can go through with everything I chickened out on last night. She seems all right with it, too, her fingers hooked onto mine over her shoulder as we walk the six blocks to her apartment.
My back is killing me from carrying my gear. I normally dump it in Trent’s car, or drop it off at home before we go out, but those weren’t options tonight. Maybe I’ll somehow work a back rub out of this.
I feel a charge when we get to her front door, and I know why it’s there. It’s there because I anticipated this—the look on Emma’s face the second I walk in behind Lindsey. In a second, her eyes go from Lindsey’s to mine, and down to the sweatshirt folded over her purse.
There’s that disappointment I was banking on. I grin, and she catches it before quickly looking away.
Lindsey dumps her purse on the table as we walk in, and I take advantage of it, picking up the sweatshirt and twisting it in my hands to make it even smaller. Emma watches the entire time, her cheek caught between her teeth while she rethinks her decision to send her friend out in it in the first place.
That’s right, Emma. This bothers you more than it bothers me.
“How was the awards dinner?” Lindsey asks from behind Emma as she opens the fridge to pull out a beer for each of us.
“It was good.”
I don’t think Emma even registered her answer. She’s too busy staring at the sweatshirt—her eyes never blinking as she watches my hands work the fabric as I step closer to her.
“Here,” I whisper, handing it to her. She takes the other side, and for a second we’re both holding on, like a tug of war. Her eyes flash to mine, and I notice she stops breathing. I should stop here, but something happens when she looks at me, and I step in a little closer, close enough that I know she can feel my breath. “Are we done now?”
I let go of my grip, but I keep my eyes locked with hers. For a brief moment, she looks wounded, and I start to smile.
“I met someone,” she says. She’s speaking to Lindsey, but as the left side of her mouth starts to rise, her eyes haze, and something stronger steps in place of the girl who was letting me walk all over her a second ago.
You think I care that you met someone, Emma Burke? Go ahead—make me care.
“Oh yeah?” Lindsey moves into my side, handing me a beer. I put my arm around her and let my hand cup her shoulder. Emma’s eyes move to it, so I loosen my grip and drag my fingers along her arm suggestively, just to see if Emma’s gaze follows. It does, and I take a very satisfied, long drink, not bothering to hide the smile on my lips behind the bottle.
“Yeah,” Emma says, her voice weak again. I almost feel like I’m putting her in a trance, her eyes are tracing every single stroke of my fingers along her friend’s arm. “He’s a grad student,” she continues, telling her roommate about some boy who thought she was cute and asked her out on a date. I couldn’t care less. She says something about how he saved her, came to her rescue and got the projector working. She’s gushing over some guy who knew how to click a goddamned mouse, and she’s calling him her savior. The more she talks, the more I feel every scar on my body all at once—the burn marks, the stab wounds, the broken bones that never healed quite right—abuse I took so Emma Burke didn’t have to experience anything sad.
Something in me snaps.
I know it’s crossing the line when I do it, and I know that it’s going to start something that won’t end in spooning tonight. That’s why I came here, though…isn’t it? Emma keeps talking, but her eyes are constantly checking my hands. Every pass of my fingers over Lindsey’s shoulder and down her bicep moves closer to her breast, until finally, I let my thumb drag slowly along the curve of her tit, taking extra time when I feel the hard peak underneath her thin bra and shirt—and Lindsey, bless her f*cking little heart, actually hums in pleasure.
“I’m seeing him tomorrow, so I’ll let you know…you know…if it’s something…” Emma cuts her story short, suddenly a lot less sure of herself. She sucks in her bottom lip as she flits her eyes to me quickly before looking down and then back up to her friend, who is now absolutely dying for me to touch her more.
That’s right, Emma. Nobody cares that you met a boy and he’s your f*cking hero.
“Yeah, that’s awesome. I’m so excited for you,” Lindsey says, nothing about her focused on Emma. Lindsey is my puppet right now, and I’m pretty sure she didn’t hear anything past the part where Emma said she met someone. Everything after that was about my hand on her breast, and how fast my dick will be inside her next.