Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 79183 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79183 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
He stares at my mouth. “You really think my focus is on anchovies right now.”
I shut my mouth so fast I nearly bite my tongue off. He leans in, his eyes darting to my mouth. “Should I fight him for you?”
“Why fight someone who’s already won?” I counter.
He puts a hand to his chest. “Brutal, I think I’m even more turned on.”
“Necessary, and stop hitting on me before I kill our friendship and put anchovies in your locker to seal the deal.”
Quinn’s quiet. He leans in and whispers, “And if I have no self-control and can’t stop?”
“Find some.” I pat him on the back hard.
His cough turns into a laugh. “Small but scrappy.”
Ambrose comes back into the room with a bowl of pineapple, and all is made right in the world… all except the fact that his ex-best friend and my only friend keeps flirting with me. I can’t tell if he actually means it or if he’s just testing the waters.
And I don’t hate it—he’s a hot guy, no girl would hate it, but I want Ambrose.
Great, I’m that girl, caught between a guy that’s most likely willing and one who’s going to push me away the minute he gets what he wants—again.
The boys start talking about different pizzas while I quietly walk around them, grab a plate and add on two pieces of pepperoni, then reach across and grab the bowl of pineapple and douse it on heavily. I think the guys are still deep in conversation, but when I look up, they’re both staring at me as I lick my fingertips.
Ambrose looks like he’s seconds away from grabbing my other hand and helping me out, then moving on toward the rest of me, and the fire in Quinn’s eyes is anything but decent.
“What?” I lick my lips.
Ambrose curses under his breath and actually looks away while Quinn continues to stare. “You have more sauce on your thumb.”
“No, I don’t, I—“ I look down. I do have sauce on my thumb.
Ambrose shakes his arms a bit and goes across the way. “I’ll just put on a movie.”
He’s turned the other way when Quinn reaches for my hand, swims his finger over my thumb, brings it to his mouth, and sucks.
My lips part.
“What sounds good to watch?” Ambrose calls.
“Something distracting,” Quinn answers back, looking over his shoulder.
He licks that same finger again, then lowers it and runs it down the front of his obvious erection. His dick is literally trying to burst through the fly.
“Pizza? Good.” He nods. “Sauce? Better.”
And then just casually walks off.
I stand there like an idiot until Ambrose finally asks if I need help or something.
Yes. Yes. I need help.
Because even though I want to drown both of them, I’m finally realizing maybe it’s me in over my head, dying for a breath of air.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Ambrose
I try to ignore the way he looks at her, and it kills me; it feels like history is repeating itself. How many times was Tessa hanging out with us in this very room, cock teasing both of us only to lead us into hell weeks later, only to betray us to the point of no return?
I can forgive a lot of things, but I will never forget or forgive the fact that even after that night, Quinn started dating her exclusively as if it wasn’t a big deal that she filmed us doing… that.
I’ve never been more embarrassed in my life than when Quinn’s dad and hers came over for dinner and showed my dad the video and then gave him an ultimatum, all because I was a stupid horny piece of shit and had no clue how diabolical she could really be.
The next day a check was cut, no questions were asked, and all I felt was shame.
It made me double down on trying to be perfect. I played my role at school and at home… I resented the man who didn’t even for once ask what happened or why but decided to speak with his checkbook instead of his son.
He didn’t look at me the same after that.
And the one time we did talk about it.
I hang my head in my hands, sit on the couch, and try not to look too distressed as I think about the words.
“You gay?” He took a sip of whiskey.
“If I was?” I said right back. “What then?”
He looked away. “My son isn’t gay. No one in this family can be anything but—“
“—Perfect.” I nod. “Yup, I got it, but what’s so bad about being gay? What if I was? Who the fuck cares?”
“Watch your language!” He snapped. “No son of mine—“
“—Wow.” I nodded. “No son of yours is allowed to be anything but what you want them to be, not what you need them to be.”
I stood and tried to walk out.