He was closer to Josh than me, but we still had a bond no two ordinary housemates shared.
Layton ran his hand through his messy blond hair, making it stick up, then smoothed it down the second he saw some senior girls heading our way. “David’s car was found this afternoon,” he said, his eyes firmly on the girl with the low-cut, light-blue shirt, her tits bouncing with every step that she took. “Fucking burned up.”
“Yeah?” I didn’t look at him, my concentration was on the girls’ decent cleavage. Maybe Josh was right. Maybe I needed to release some pent up aggression. When my eyes lifted, though, I lost interest. The owner snapped me right out of that spell the second I looked at her face. Jojo. I wouldn’t touch her, especially as she was friends with Phoebe, the girl who was like a bad case of crabs. You couldn’t get rid until you had to take drastic measures, like completely shaving your balls and surrounding areas. Not that I’d ever done that, or had crabs. Only, to get rid of Phoebe, you had to cut ties completely. Her friends, mutual friends, and anybody else who could give her some indication you wanted company.
“Yeah. Windows smashed out, seats were torn apart, and the whole interior burned to a fucking crisp. Someone sure had one hell of a fire going on in there to make it that bad, man. It must’ve been going all night,” he said, breaking my thoughts. “It’s such a shame.”
I turned to him then. “Any idea who did it?” When he shook his head, I shrugged one shoulder, my mouth turning down. “He should’ve taken it to the circle or gotten a ride with someone. Everybody knows not to leave a car at the beach. It’s open season for any wheels left behind.” And I should know.
“All I know is that whoever did it left nothing behind. Completely clean. They meant to torch his car, man.” He laughed, then looked at me, his face clear of what he knew for the sake of anybody overhearing. “Fuck, if that were me, I’d be shitting in my pants. Someone seems to have it out for him, Quinn, I swear. Setting up for the fight with you was one thing, but going after his prized possession? That’s fucking cold.” A sly smirk caught the corner of his mouth, but he hid it well.
I gritted my teeth, the pressure making my jaw ache. “Yeah, well, that’s his problem now, Layton. He knew the risks, yet he took them anyway.”
Layton tipped his head to the side. “That he did, my good friend.” He clapped his hand on my shoulder. “That he did.”
We reached the outdoor seating area where Josh was sitting, surrounded by a few guys, but a shit ton of girls on neighboring tables. Their eyes lit up when they saw us approaching.
“Fuck this shit,” I grumbled.
Layton laughed and shook my shoulder where his hand still rested. “Come on, superstar, come and give your fans some FaceTime.” He knew as much as Josh that I hated this part of my chosen career, or whatever it was.
“Go eat a dick.” I shoved my hands into the pockets of my jeans and begrudgingly walked over, preparing myself for the conversations aimed right at me, and thinking up ways to get out of it before my ass had even warmed the bench.
“You don’t even look bad,” a girl said from behind me. I didn’t know who it was because I didn’t turn around. “Does it hurt?” I ignored her and continued to eat my sub. “Quinn.” She tapped me on my shoulder, and I stiffened. “I asked—”
“I heard you,” I cut in, my voice low, but I still didn’t look at her. I didn’t want to give anybody any reason to think I was interested in a conversation. My knee bounced under the table, my elbow digging into the wooden top.
“Well, does it?”
I lifted my head, my eyes dead ahead with annoyance. “No, it doesn’t.”
She must’ve taken that as an invitation to talk because the second I answered, she continued. “So, how long do the injuries usually take to heal? I mean, I know it depends how bad it is, but you still look great,” she gushed, her hand flattening on my shoulder blade. Her fingertips moved in circles, caressing the muscle covering the bone.
Josh pulled his lips into his mouth, and Layton stuffed food into his to avoid laughing. The other guys just kept theirs shut.
Small fingers prodded me again while hushed female voices jumbled together behind me. “Are you even listening to me?”
For fuck’s sake!
“Days, sometimes weeks,” I snapped. “Now, did I answer your question to your satisfaction, or are you just gonna keep yapping at me while I’m trying to eat?”
She gasped, and the other voices silenced. “I was just trying to talk to you,” she complained, her tone clipped.
Light yellow jeans appeared next to my left shoulder, a white belt threaded through the tiny waist. I didn’t bother checking out the rest; I’d gotten bored by then.
“If I wanted to talk to you, don’t you think I would’ve turned around?” I asked with a little more bite than I needed. “As you can see,” I gestured to my unfinished lunch due to her constant interruption, “I’m busy, so if you don’t mind…”
“Kallie,” another girl’s voice said. “We should head out.”
Ah, Kallie Montessa, I should’ve known. A senior like me, and a royal pain in the ass.
“So, when you’re not busy…” Kallie drew out, running her fingers over my shoulder. “Call me.” She held out a small piece of paper between light-pink painted nails, which I ignored.
“Nah, I’m good,” I replied, taking another bite of my sandwich. I shrugged her hand off of me.
I heard her sharp intake of breath through her nose. “Maybe you could give me your number? I could send you a text when I’m free.” She held out her phone this time, the screen already on the contacts page.
This time I looked up, seeing her expectant face, her eyebrows lifted, and her pink lips curled up as she held the bottom one between her teeth. She brushed her blonde hair over her shoulder, her fingers working down the strands towards her tits.
I licked my lips, watching her eyes follow the movement of my tongue. “Well,” I replied, lowering my voice. “Like I said… Nah, I’m good.” Three people had my number, and I lived with two of them. I pumped my eyebrows once, blanked my expression, then got back to my food.
“There’s something wrong with you,” she hissed while the guys at the table looked like they were close to cracking up.
“Preach,” I said around a mouthful of food.
“Asshole.”
I threw my hand up. “Can’t anybody come up with a better fucking word other than asshole?”
Josh rubbed his chin. “Jerk?”
“Prick?” Layton added.
Josh clicked his fingers. “Ass-wipe, dickhead, jackass, bastard—”
“Bastard,” I said, pointing at him. “That one, I like.”
He nodded slowly, understanding in his gray eyes. “Suits you.”
“Yeah, I tried it on a while ago. I liked the fit—tailored just for me.”
The guys around the table looked at each other like we’d lost our fucking minds, and we probably had, but the one person that gave no fucks whatsoever, was me.