Page 57 of Running from Drac
He shrugs; eyes locked on her, her threats nothing more than tiny little punches to him. “Because underneath all that venom, I think there’s a part of you that actuallylikesthat I don’t scare easy. You don’t really want a guy who backs off.”
She stares at him, visibly trying not to react.
“Or maybe,” she says coolly, “I just like watching dumb men self-destruct in real time.”
Wesley’s grin only widens. “Then buckle up, beautiful. Because this is one man that’s ready to implode.”
“Stop calling me beautiful, Wesley. You know you don’t have a chance with me. Never have. Never will.”
“You wound me, Poppy. You make me out to be this dumb idiot, but I can see behind your vicious words. Hate me all youwant, but I’ll still be here for you no matter what. It’s just the kind of guy I am.”
“Well, you should stop, especially when I’m nothing but hateful toward you.”
Wesley smirks. “That’s what makes it fun, Poppy. Eventually, I’ll wear you down and grow on you. I’m like a fungus.”
“More like an STD. The ugly, big, fat ones, that ooze pus and make your dick smell like rotting garbage.” She sniffs the air, then waves her hand in front of her nose. “Blech, maybe you should get yourself checked out now? There’s a certain smell coming off you that’s repulsive.”
Unfazed, his grin widens even more. “The faith you have in my sex life is flattering. But when was the last time youactuallysaw me with a girl?”
Poppy’s face flares red. “I—I—”
“You’re stuttering,” I whisper. “Oh my god, you’re flustered.”
“I am not!”
But it’s too late. She’s unraveling and Wesley is loving every damn minute of it.
Before she can think of another witty comeback, he leans in, lips dangerously close to her ear, but his voice still loud enough for everyone to hear over the music. “And that smell? That’s the smell of a real man’s arousal. You should get used to it. Because I’m always cocked and ready when you’re near me.”
Her blush deepens, and it’s kind of adorable. “Like I’d want your cellmate’s sloppy seconds. Get the fuck away from me.” She moves to the other side of the booth, putting enough distance between them to let her breathe.
The look that flickers across Wesley’s face guts me. its pure dejection, and that playful smile falters for just a second, that practiced, cool exterior slipping away as shame washes over him. It's a quiet kind of pain, the kind that doesn't scream, but sinks deep into your bones. For all the crap Poppy throws at him,Iknowhe’s been trying. Ever since that last arrest a couple years ago, he’s kept his head down, worked crap jobs, stayed clean, and stayed out of trouble. And for what? So she can continue to berate him for a mistake he wishes he could make right?
I open my mouth to say something, but before I get the chance, a flash of red appears at his side.
She’s stunning. The kind of stunning that knocks the air out of the room and doesn’t give it back.
Petite with curves that defy her frame, she’s wearing a black dress that clings to her like it was sewn onto her skin. The hem barely covers her thighs, riding up just enough to leave nothing to the imagination. Three-inch heels add a sensual sway to her hips, and her hair has a rich copper hue, styled in soft ringlets that fall like silk down her back. Her lips are cherry red, and her eyes are bright and playful as they lock onto Wesley.
She taps him on the shoulder, confidence pouring off her in waves. “Hey,” she yells, voice syrupy and bold. “I saw you at the bar. You’re fine as hell, and I was wondering if you wanna dance?”
Wesley blinks for a few awkward seconds before turning on the charm, his megawatt smile lighting up the club under the bright neon lights pulsing to the beat.
From across the booth, I feel Poppy go rigid. Her fingers freeze around her glass mid stir, and she stares, not at the girl, but at Wesley.
Jealousy rolls off her in thick, unspoken waves, even if her face stays mostly unreadable. Mostly. But I see it. It’s in the tight clench of her jaw, and the flicker of something dangerous in her eyes. The way her hand squeezes the straw like it might snap in two, lets me know just how she feels about the pretty little red-head drawing his attention away from her.
Wesley glances at Poppy, maybe looking for a reaction, maybe hoping for one. But she just blinks and turns back to her drink, ice clinking violently against the glass.
He hesitates for half a heartbeat, then smiles at the redhead.
“Sure, sweetheart. Let’s go.”
And just like that, he takes the girl’s hand, allowing her to pull him toward the dance floor.
Poppy follows them with her eyes, her stare razor-sharp and unblinking. She doesn't say a word, but she doesn’t have to. Her silence is louder than anything she’s ever screamed.
“He’s such a Neanderthal,” she mutters finally, stabbing at her drink like it insulted her ancestors. “He’ll fuck anything with two legs.” But her voice wavers slightly, maybe because she’s realizing for the first time since they’ve known each other, that Wesley might not always be waiting for her.
