Page 39 of Don't Let Me Go (Don't Let Me 2)

“Not sexist. True. The girls are badass hunters. The guys are lazy assholes.”

Another laugh rumbles out of him as he tosses his arm along the back of the couch and turns to face me head-on. “Come on. The guys aren’t so bad.”

“Uh, yes they are. They’re terrible.”

“How?”

“For starters, they’re lazy. All they do is sit on their asses and eat the food the females bring to them.”

“And who’s fault is that? The lions? Or the females for doting on them?”

“The only thing males are good at is protecting the lionesses from other male lions, and even then, they’re only successful like half the time.” I reach for the bag of cinnamon bears in his lap and pop another one into my mouth, adding, “Oh. And that’s if they decide to fight in the first place. If not, they get up and walk away from their pack, leaving the women to deal with their new entitled guy lion who’s just as lazy as the last one.”

“Seems like you know a lot about lions.”

“Ash may have convinced me to watch a documentary or two,” I mutter, bringing my knees to my chest as I make myself more comfortable on the couch. “But how ‘bout you? What’s your favorite animal?”

“Lions,” he answers without hesitation.

I laugh a little harder, way more amused than I should be, and shake my head. “Seriously?”

“Come on. They’re king of the jungle. Waited on hand and foot. Surrounded by badass women,” he reminds me, bouncing his eyebrows up and down. The same arrogant grin is plastered on his face as if he’s God’s gift to women and he knows it.

If only he didn’t look so good while he was at it, that’d be great.

Studying him, I decide, “I think you’re trying to piss me off.”

“And I think you have a chip on your shoulder when it comes to the opposite sex,” he counters.

I fold my arms. “Not all of them.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Some are nice guys.”

“And you want a nice guy?” He laughs, but there’s a hint of condescension in it.

My hackles rise, and I sit up a little straighter. “Is there something wrong with wanting a nice guy?”

“Not for most girls. You, however…” He shrugs one shoulder and pulls out a red Vitamin Water from the grocery sack on the coffee table. Apparently, he remembers I’m not usually a soda girl. Unless it’s Crush.

Stupid Crush.

He tosses the Vitamin Water to me and twists the top off the second bottle, bringing it to his lips. I watch in fascination as he swallows a quarter of the drink, then twists the cap back on. As if he’s already won. As if he’s proven his point, when he hasn’t even made it yet.

“And who do you think I want?” I demand, attempting to focus on the conversation instead of how much I want to kiss his stupid lips to see if they taste like his Vitamin Water.

“I think you want a guy who pushes you. A guy who eggs you on. A guy who doesn't let you barrel over him. Someone who looks at you like an equal. Someone who challenges you.”

I pull back, surprised by his assessment. “Oh, really?”

“Yeah. It’s why you haven’t had sex yet.”

“Because I haven’t found a guy who challenges me?” I laugh, but he doesn’t join in.

“You want a guy who can break you, Blake,” he rasps, his voice low and gritty and shooting straight to my core. “One who grabs you by the throat and squeezes as he enters you. One who treats you like you aren’t made of glass. You’re different than other girls.”

My inhale is sharp but shallow as I hold his gaze for a split second too long, his words rolling over me as my thighs tighten at the imagery. Because one, holy shit it’s hot. And two, he’s right. I’ve never been like most girls. I’ve never wanted to be like most girls. Even growing up, I liked boy things. Ninja turtles. Indiana Jones. Football. I hated My Little Pony, Barbies, and American Girl dolls.

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