Page 39 of Filthy Little Secret

“Not like in a weird way. I meant…you can fucking find a guy who’ll treat you like you deserve to be treated.”

“And how do I deserve to be treated?”

“You deserve someone who’s ready to fill that hole up on a regular basis. Maybe a couple times a day.”

His grin expands even more. “Oh, is that what I deserve?” he asks.

“No, seriously. You deserve someone special.”

“I think I’m starting to see how you lead guys on.”

“I don’t ever say that kind of shit to other guys.”

“Then why say it to me?”

“Because you’re not like other guys.”

“Whatever.”

It’s clear he doesn’t believe me, and that pisses me off.

I see how he always is. How he turns away every time I compliment him. How he can’t look me in the eyes when I’m honest with him about how cool he really is.

“I wouldn’t fucking say it if I didn’t mean it. I know I thought you were some privileged asshole like some of those other Emory kids, but now that I’m getting to know you, I see that’s not true.”

“And what do you really know about me?” he asks.

“I know you like to make cinnamon toast for breakfast. That you don’t like pepperonis on pizza considering that’s about the only thing you avoid on those freezable pizzas. I know that horror movies freak you out because you turn your head even if there’s a fucking commercial on for one.”

“Oh my God, that’s not even fair. A lot of people do those things. It doesn’t make them deserve someone special. I’m sure the other guys you’ve fucked around with had their own things that made them special, too.”

It’s different, though. He doesn’t understand how hard it is to meet a guy like him.

“Maybe it’s just you’re so tired of bullshitting because of your mom—having to put on this show—that you just don’t. It never seems like you’re faking anything when we’re together.”

“Definitely not faking orgasms,” he teases.

“Stop joking. I’m being serious.” I don’t want his humor right now, which he tends to fall back on whenever I get too serious. “With Keith and guys like that, I always felt like they were pretending. Trying to act like the perfect guy because they were trying to get me to be interested in them. You’re relaxed. Chill. It’s nice. It’s hard finding people who aren’t trying to pretend to be something they’re not.”

“Like you?” he asks, his gaze accusatory. “This bad boy who happens to love RuPaul’s Drag Race and Froot Loops.”

“I don’t pretend I’m better than I am.”

“No. You pretend you’re much worse than you are.”

I know the truth of it. I’m just guarded. Defensive. I don’t want to let anyone in. Let anyone hurt me.

“As soon as you stop being such a jerk, you can be a pretty cool guy,” he says.

Now he’s got me fucking smiling.

“Don’t get me wrong,” he adds. “You’re still a fucking prick.”

“I’m the prick who’s gonna fuck you in the ass again if you keep talking like that.”

“You need to work on your threats if you think that’s going to shut me up.”

“Oh, really?”

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