Page 73 of Vile Boys

“Don’t.” I raise a finger. “Don’t you fucking dare. Fuck you, I’m out of here,” I growl, fishing a cig from my pocket to light up in the middle of the fucking casino. Fuck the rules. “Give him this.”

And I stick up my middle finger as I turn around and march off.

When I get outside, my phone rings, and I pick it up so fast I nearly crush the screen when I press the button. “What?”

“Ares?”

Caleb’s voice takes off the edge a little, and I take a drag of my cig and blow out the smoke.

“What’s up?”

He sounds at the end of his rope. “Fuck. I need your help.”

I toss my cig aside and walk straight to my car. “On the way. Tell me where.”

Caleb

Thirty minutesago

I sit backin my chair and shove my fork into the piece of meat lying on my plate without ever taking my eyes off her.

Crystal fucking Murphy in her cute little button-down onesie with wildflowers on it. She looks like she walked straight out of a picture book. Like a magical creature that doesn’t exist.

She’s casually drinking a Coca-Cola while ignoring my stares, pretending she doesn’t care when she’s clearly affected by my mere presence.

I can’t blame her. I feel the same way.

Especially after getting my hands all over her ass the last time I saw her.

But something about this whole get-together in this suburbanhome puts us both on edge.

“There you go,” her mom says as she puts a salad on the table. “Jonathan will have more steaks ready in a few minutes.”

So they’re on a first-name basis already. Great.

I cut into my steak like I’m butchering someone, and I think Crystal knows just as well as I do who I’m imagining here.

“No need to destroy your steak like that, dear,” her mother says, giggling when she sees me go to town.

I just shove the biggest piece into my mouth and watch her be abhorred by my chewing habits.

“Do you have to act like a pig?” Crystal asks, picking up a magazine and hiding her eyes behind it.

I smirk. “You should know best of all.” And I take another big bite. Nothing beats Dad’s steaks … except maybe when I have to fucking share them with the most vexing girl on the planet.

“You’re disgusting,” she says, rolling her eyes before she lifts the magazine back up so she doesn’t have to look at me.

“Yet you happily moaned to my filth,” I muse.

Her cheeks turn the same color as the beets in the salad. “Can you not say that out loud? Jesus,” she hisses, looking around to see if her mom heard, but she’s still in the kitchen busy with the spatula in some atrocious dish to impress my dad with mediocre cooking. Why he bothers coming here to eat when we’ve got cooks back at home is beyond me.

“And for the record, those weren’t moans. They were gasps of shock.”

“Right.” I shove the last piece of steak into my mouth. “Just like that wetness between your thighs were just tears of joy.”

Her jaw drops so far I swear it’s going to hit the table, and all I can do is grin.

She promptly pulls up the magazine again to block me from looking at her, but I’ve seen enough already to know the goddamn truth.

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