Page 60 of Bad for You

Something competitive and primeval has come over me because Lenny is mine. I don’t recognize this emotion because it’s one I wasn’t taught, but I don’t think this can be learned.

I don’t know if I want to scream or cry.

All I know is that the ache between my legs won’t go away. And it only seems to grow when I think about Lenny and Gianna since I wish it were me.

The guys bored me after twenty minutes, but I stayed in hopes that maybe I could find those butterflies girls my age do with boys their age.

But I didn’t find anything other than wondering who would scream the loudest if I kneed them in the balls.

Gianna left with the younger out of the two, leaving me alone with Ashton.

Or was it Adam?

I don’t even know or care because when he tried to kiss me, I acted on instinct and punched him in the face.

He left after he nursed his bleeding lip and bruised ego.

So I did the only thing that I’ve read about and makes sense—I drank the beers Lenny bought and am now a little drunk.

Well, I think I am.

It’s well past midnight, and I’m sprawled out on the lounge bed, peering up into the skies and tracing the constellations with my finger.

Gianna has taught me how to be book smart, but I’m still the same naive little girl I was when I arrived here all those years ago about life.

Why would she do that?

I thought I didn’t care, but now, I think I do.

I think I care that I’m not like everyone else. I care that I’m obsessing over a boy who is a complete and utter asshole when I had Ashton/Adam, who was more than interested.

But he gave me the ick just by…breathing.

Groaning, I gently thump my fist to my forehead in hopes of knocking some sense into me.

Deciding to shower and go to bed, I make my way inside. No lights are on, but I know this place like the back of my hand.

Or so I thought.

I bump into a wall, which wasn’t there before, I swear it wasn’t, and that’s because the wall is actually a hard chest; Lenny’s chest because I know that scent even tipsy it seems.

“Lurking in the shadows like the creep that you are?” I say, my eyes taking a few seconds to focus in the darkness.

He doesn’t reply, which infuriates me even further, if that’s possible.

“I hate you so fucking much.” I know the consequences of my actions, so I reach out with the intent to slap his cheek.

But he’s quicker than I am.

He’s also sober.

I don’t stand a chance.

He doesn’t speak.

He doesn’t need to.

The anger radiating from every inch of his glorious body burns me and ignites the desire between my legs to an unbearable degree.

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