Page 3 of Reckless at Westbrook High

“It’s either me or Damon,” he points out, leading the way. “Your choice, dumbass.”

I lock my jaw and follow him down the hall to his bedroom, leaning my ass back on his dresser while he moves for the bathroom cabinet to grab what he needs. Sick and Tired by Iann Dior plays quietly through the speaker on his nightstand and I look around, noting the place still hasn’t changed much since the last time I was in here. The walls are painted white to match the tiles on the floor, a big ass California king covered in grey silk sits in the center of the space, facing the flat screen on the wall opposite, and a white leather couch sits in the corner, facing the perfect view of the beach and the ocean through the floor to ceiling windows across the entire back wall. Other than that and the dresser behind me, there’s not much else in here. No pictures of his asshole parents, no personal shit, just the essentials and a brick sized wireless speaker.

He comes back a minute later and sets everything down on the side next to me, eyeing me and my form while he presses a damp towel to my wrist.

“I can do it,” I mutter, snatching it from him, but he just snatches it back and smacks my hand away, fully intent on cleaning it for me.

I glare at his long ass eyelashes while he concentrates on my cut up skin, wondering how and why he seems to think he can keep getting away with shit like this.

I’m a Kingston brother.

People fear me and my family in and around this city because they’d be stupid not to, but this fucking guy couldn’t care less, the brave little shit.

“I make you mad.”

I tense at that, holding my breath while he runs his thumb over the letters on my skin, smirking to himself like he enjoys the effect he has on me.

He’s right.

He pisses me off and I don’t know why.

I’m the quiet one – the chilled one compared to my two brothers – but when I’m around him, something’s different.

“Why didn’t you get this covered?” he asks, gently dabbing my wrist with a cotton ball soaked in hydrogen peroxide.

My skin burns like a motherfucker and I grind my teeth, snatching the half empty bottle of Jack from the side. “It’s a reminder.”

“A reminder,” he echoes, sliding his eyes back up to mine. “Of her?”

I ignore the way he says her like he’s mad, shaking my head no while I twist the cap off the top. “It’s got nothing to do with her.”

“What then?”

“Never forever, Lev,” I mutter, pausing a second to swallow a shot. “Never feel, never fall.”

He nods like he gets it, leaning in further to take the drink away from me. He sets it down on the side next to me and his other hand comes down to rest on the wood by my hip, caging me in.

“You don’t need that shit,” he informs me. “What you need is to get off, have some fucking fun and release all this built up tension inside you.”

I laugh lightly at that, ignoring the savage look in his eyes my drunk ass seems to be mistaking for heat. “I’m not interested in fucking girls with you, man.”

“Who said anything about girls?” he teases, speaking over my lips.

My brows snap in the center and I pull my head back, frowning. “The fuck?”

He ignores me and slides his hand up to the back of my neck, pulling me back until our noses are almost touching. His tongue slips out to lick his bottom lip and I frown some more, fisting my hands on the edge of the dresser behind me when my mind starts to wander some place it shouldn’t.

The fuck is wrong with me?

“You feel that?”

“No,” I lie, swallowing the emotion creeping up my throat when he rakes his fingers through my hair.

“Liar.”

“Lev..” I warn, scanning his face to search for intent. “I’m not gay.”

He smirks at that, tightening his grip on me to pin my hips with his. “You sure about that?”

---