“Don’t I?”
I ponder her question as if I care about the answer.
“Go sit by yourself if you need to think. This spot is taken,” I grumble, too tired to put up a real fight. I’m not going to admit it, especially not to her, but her company isn’t all bad.
“Here’s good,” she chimes, smiling a megawatt smile that nearly knocks me into the pool.
She used to have braces; I’ve seen the old pictures of her in middle school that hang on the staircase at her mother’s house. They paid off, big-time. Her teeth are perfectly straight and so white that she could be in a Whitestrips commercial. I drop my blurred gaze to my knees, itching for a smoke.
“Your loss. I’m not exactly the best company,” I grunt.
“Who said that? Whoever did was a tool. I think you’re pretty great company.” She sounds so sure, so sincere, that it makes my stomach churn.
I squint my eyes at her before I can stop myself. Gracie giggles in response, moving her feet in slow circles in the water. Her hands are spread out behind her, and she leans back on them, tilting her head back and letting her hair swing along her back.
“I mean, you’re not always the best company.” She laughs again, meeting my stare. The twinkle of the string lights hung above us reflects in her blue eyes. “You can be a real asshole.”
It’s my turn to laugh. “Yeah, I can.”
She doesn’t reply this time, just looks away and gnaws on her bottom lip. Something is bothering her, but I’m too stubborn to ask what it is. So instead, I guess and mumble, “Jason was never going to be able to keep up with you, Gray. He was a fucking loser.”
Her lip slips from between her teeth. “His name is Jacob.”
“Jason, Jacob.” I roll my eyes. “Either way. He was mediocre, amateur at best. We both know you need someone better. Someone who isn’t going to tell all his friends how good you are in bed and all the things you can do with your tongue. A real man would want to keep that shit to himself, to fantasize about when you’re not together and he thinks about you in bed with his hand around his cock.”
Her eyes widen in surprise before she gulps a few times as though she’s struggling to breathe. Fuck, I wasn’t supposed to know that, was I? Great, now Oakley’s going to punch me for spewing out secrets.
“Is that what I need? A real man?” she asks slowly, almost in a whisper. Her eyes bore into mine, gripping onto them with claws out.
I force myself to look away. “It’s what you deserve.”
And that man’s not me.
It’s about time we both remembered that.