Little Lies(11)

I have two hours before my next class, so before the shower, the first thing I do is sit at my computer desk and open the bottom drawer of my filing cabinet. I lift the false bottom and sift through the contents until my fingers close around a stack of old photos.

I freeze at the sound of a soft knock on my door.

I don’t even have a chance to say anything, such as fuck off and leave me alone, before the knob turns, and I instantly regret not locking it. A blonde head appears. Obviously this girl is clueless. Or desperate. Or both.

I drop the photos and close the filing cabinet on an annoyed sigh. Turning the key, I slip it out of the lock and toss it in the top drawer of my desk, sliding a few miscellaneous items over it before I close that too.

I spin in my chair as she steps inside and shuts the door behind her. She scans the room, taking in my personal space. I don’t like people I don’t know in my room. I don’t like people much period.

The list of humans I tolerate and who tolerate me on a regular basis is fairly short.

“Wow. Your room is really clean.” She lets go of the doorknob and crosses over to my bed. Taking a seat on the edge, she smooths her hand over my comforter. “Is this a king?”

“What’re you doing in here?”

She lifts a shoulder and lets it fall, gaze shifting from the hockey posters on my wall to the raw canvas I never bothered to have framed, and back to me. “I was curious.”

“About?” I bite, even though it’s essentially pointless.

“You.”

I remain silent, because that’s not really an answer.

She crosses her legs. They’re long and toned, and mostly bare because her shorts cover very little. Her top leaves the vast majority of her tanned stomach exposed. There’s nothing particularly unique or compelling about her features. I guess she would be considered attractive in the general sense of the word. But her desperation is unappealing.

She drags a single finger along the neckline of her top purposely drawing attention to her cleavage. Compared to Lavender’s, it’s pretty unimpressive. Which is something I hate myself for thinking.

She gives me what I imagine is supposed to be a coy look. “Can I tell you something?”

“Seems like that’s your plan.”

Her laugh is high-pitched and nervous, her bravado faltering. “I wasn’t really interested in Quinn.”

“Probably shouldn’t have hooked up with him then, huh?” What’s with this girl?

She licks her lips. “I really came here for you.”

“Is that right?” I don’t feel like entertaining this after what happened with Lavender.

She nods. “I don’t have class until five.”

It doesn’t take a genius to see where she’s going with this. “You were just with my roommate.”

“He said I could have fun with his friends, though, and I’d like to have some fun with you.”

Her persistence isn’t a turn-on. Not for me. Liam isn’t interested in the bunnies, so if she propositioned him, I’m pretty sure he said no. BJ might bang her, even if she’s been with more than one of us, but she’d have to wake him up, and he sleeps like the dead.

“You realize that would basically make you the house bunny.”

She bites her lip. “I kind of figured that would be the case. And I don’t mind, so long as I get to fuck you.”

I’d like to say this kind of behavior is uncommon. But it’s not. And unfortunately, Quinn, who is not very discerning as of late, has made a habit of picking up exactly this kind of girl.

“Are you high?”

“No.” She laughs. “Do I look high?”

It’s my turn to shrug. “Not particularly, but it’s always a possibility.”

“I know exactly what I’m doing.”

I run my hands down my thighs, noting the dried streak of Lavender’s blood still staining my skin. Driving her home was a reckless mistake. I should know better than to think I have control when it comes to her. All I want is to get her out of my head. “I don’t have condoms.”

She stands and digs into her pocket, tossing a few foil packets on my bedspread. “I came prepared.”





Chapter Four


And I Thought This Morning Was Bad

Lavender

Present day

IT TAKES ME twenty minutes to find my glasses, in part because the second I close—and lock—the door, leaving Kodiak standing in the driveway, I lose my shit. As in, I start bawling like a toddler who lost her favorite binkie.

A lovely panic attack ensues, because I’m terrified I won’t be able to stop crying now that I’ve started. I don’t like tears. They exacerbate my anxiety, which is often present, and once the spiral hits, it can be tough to get out of.

Also, trying to find a pair of glasses while crying isn’t easy, especially since my vision is crap to begin with. Eventually, I manage to get myself together. I put in some eye drops, wait for the redness to abate, and pop in my contacts.

My left eye doesn’t feel like it has sand in it anymore, so I’m thinking I might be able to get away with contacts for at least a few hours. I have to reapply concealer and fix my makeup, thanks to the tears, but at least I can see again. And if nothing else, my car is mine for the rest of the day. Screw my asshole brothers.