Page 99 of Explosive Prejudice

“You fucking with me?” I hissed.

“You don’t understand. You just don’t.”

Grabbing his jaw, I brought him closer. “So make me.”

“He’s not like us,” he shouted, pushing my hand away.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“It means that he isn’t a fucked-up maniac like the two of us. He’s a good guy, Camilo. A good fucking guy that I used because I’m a piece of shit, and now he’s hurt.” He took a deep breath, his voice shaking. “I broke him.”

Seeing him so upset hurt, and I felt like a fucking loser.

“It’s not your fault he got injured.”

He kept quiet.

“Shay-Lee.” I tried touching his shoulder, but he pushed me away. Grunting, I leaned my head against the seat and rubbed my eyes. I wanted to shout, to scream and break the fucking window, but I did none of those things.

“Do you love him?” I asked, my voice low.

From the way he looked at me, I realized it was a stupid question, and yet, sometimes I, too, was a little boy who needed to hear what he wanted to hear.

Reaching for the hem of my shirt, Shay-Lee pulled me close and crashed our mouths together in a hungry kiss. I grabbed his jaw and held him close while kissing him back, not letting him move away from me until we were both out of breath.

“That’s a stupid fucking question, and you know it, you asshole,” he murmured over my lips. “Real. Fucking. Stupid.”

“So say it.” I moved my lips to his neck and sucked on his skin, giving him small, hungry bites before taking his lips again. “Say that you don’t love him.” I couldn’t stop my desperation from slipping through my voice.

“I don’t love him.” He ran his fingers through my short hair, then pressed his forehead to mine. Shaking his head, he repeated himself. “I don’t.”

“Good.” My thumb caressed his jawline.

It was as close to a confession two fuckups like us could ever have. And although we hadn’t said it out loud, we fooled no one. I knew what I felt for him was becoming abnormal, and I knew he felt the same. I saw it in his eyes.

“Don’t talk to him,” I said. “And not because of guilt, but because I don’t want you to.”

Nodding, he straightened up. “Okay.”

He still looked off, even sad, and I hated it. I hated seeing him in pain, so I reached to touch his cheek.

“What do you say about going on a date?”

“A date?” His brows shot to his hairline as he buckled himself up.

At least he learned to do that.

“Yeah, some clown got me tickets to the ballet, and the show happens to be tomorrow.”

His lips quirked into a big smile as his face lightened up. “You kept the tickets?”

Back when he gave me gifts to earn my attention, he’d bought me tickets for my favorite ballet company. It shocked me that he remembered me mentioning I liked them, considering how I said it as a side comment on one of those times we met at the club.

“Of course I did.”

“But you didn’t keep the motorcycle?” He pouted, then pulled the car into gear and reversed out of the parking spot.

“There’s a vast difference between keeping tickets for the ballet and a freaking bike, Shay-Lee,” I said while placing my hand behind his headrest.

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