But the whiskey isn’t what has the hairs on the back of my neck standing up. Because, of course, I turn, and my eyes land right on her.
Bevan, arms thrown over her head, a black dress the size of a scrap of toilet paper covering her body.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” I deadpan, not able to turn around to give Gannon hell.
“Uh, fuck, listen, Callum …” I hear him bumbling behind me, but I can’t take my eyes off her.
There is a reason it took me six fucking years to break up with the woman. Simply put, when she is in a room, no one else exists. She’s not only the girl I had my first wet dream about, but she’s also the most stunning female my eyes have ever beheld. Bevan is beauty personified. She’s like a young Megan Fox but can kick ass on a soccer field, basketball court, or basically any other sport. The fact that she seldom dresses in any color besides black only adds to her sex appeal, giving her that bitchy, bad girl vibe that no guy can ever get enough of.
I know I couldn’t. Even now, when I’ve been on the strict diet of cutting Bevan out, I feel that all too familiar hunger rear its weak head. Or maybe that’s the head of my cock, because watching her shake her perfect ass out there makes me want to throw caution to the wind and go grind up on it.
Fuck me, but does she have to be the most gorgeous creature on earth? I used to stare at her every time she thought I wasn’t looking, and even when she knew I was. I would have never gotten tired of it. I’m still not. But I can’t allow myself to have it.
“You didn’t tell me she was coming.” I hear the anger rising in my voice.
Gannon, at least, has the decency to look guilty when I turn to face him. “I’m leaving for Los Angeles in a week and Amelie wanted to spend as much time together as possible. The girls wanted to tag along and I couldn’t say no.”
“You could have, actually.”
It pisses me off that my friends all seem to have sided with Bevan, even when they acknowledge that our breakup was majorly her fault. I know I’m the one who ended it, and the one who moved out, but I feel, often, like no one is on my side.
“Dude, ignore her. We’ll have a drink just the guys and pretend they’re not on the dance floor.” Scott shrugs, taking a shot of whiskey alone.
Great, so not only will I have to put up with Bevan being here, but he’s going to get shitfaced and make us take care of him.
And if only it was that simple. I couldn’t ignore Bevan Fabin if my life depended on it. Not if she was within a ten-mile radius, much less twenty-five feet.
“You’re an asshole,” I mutter but grab a shot off the bar all the same.
I’m on my first beer, and technically third drink, when a song comes on that has the dance floor screeching. The girls haven’t come over here yet, thank God, and I’ve been trying to keep my full focus on Gannon talking about his TV show. I’m truly happy for him, but a teen drama about a sport I don’t even watch? Yeah, I probably won’t be its key demographic.
Or maybe I’m just pissed at him for inviting my nemesis.
“Callum, right?” a voice comes from behind me as the music breaks to switch songs.
Turning, I see Gretchen, the girl from the classroom today, standing in front of me. She’s in jeans and a tight white tank top, her blond hair curly and long over her shoulders with no ball cap in sight. The girl is petite, really petite, and the top of her head barely reaches my shoulder. Bevan used to almost match my height when she wore heels coming to a bar like this.
And I hate that I’m even comparing right now.
“Gretchen, hey. How you doing?” I stuff my hands into my pockets, rocking back on my heels.
My heart is racing, which is dumb. We’re just talking. But for the first time tonight, I find myself not flitting my gaze to Bevan every two seconds, and so there must be something here.
“Good. Tired, actually, I worked today, but some friends convinced me to come out. Now, I’m kind of glad I did.” She smiles flirtily.
“Me too. Where do you work?” I’m surprised at the grin on my face.
“The student fundraising office? You know, those people who call alumni to get donations?” She points to herself.
I screw up my face. “That job must suck, don’t people just yell at you?”
“Sometimes.” She chuckles, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. “But sometimes you have really cool conversations. This one kid scored an internship on a shift I was on. Also, it pays the best on campus and you get to eat candy provided by the office.”
“Someone says candy and I’m usually on board.” I laugh. “Can I buy you a drink?”
I just go for it, even if I do have a trickle of sweat beading down my spine. I’m nervous, my ex is here, my friends who live with her are practically standing right behind Gretchen and me, but I’m interested in her. And I deserve a little happiness. Plus, if I don’t move on soon, my dick and my heart are basically going to shrivel and die.
“Actually, I think my friends wanted to hit up another bar. Care to come with?” She raises an eyebrow, challenging me.
“I, uh, kind of came out to see my friends. We haven’t hung out in a while. So …” I want to go, but at the same time, I know Scott will give me hell if I leave.
“That’s okay, you’ll just have to take me out then. Just the two of us.” She smirks.
I feel myself nodding. “Definitely.”
“How about this week? You like pizza, right? Because if you don’t, I’m not sure we can be seen together again.” She crosses her arms over her chest, and my eyes go immediately to the tan strip of skin exposed at her midriff.
Her waist is tiny, Gretchen is shaped like a Coke bottle, and my hands itch to touch that smooth expanse.
“I’m a guy, and I’m human, of course I like pizza. Give me your number and we’ll go this week.”
The minute I accept to going out for pizza with her, Gretchen shimmies her hips and then takes my phone, which I’m extending out to her.
The entire time, I feel the prick of tiny little knifes being aimed right at my face. Bevan is watching me, and I can’t help that my eyes flit up to catch her expression. Something akin to hurt and rage marks her beautiful face.
I feel caught, like I’m cheating on her or something. And this is what I never want, the thing that pisses me off more than the fact that I can’t concentrate on the hot girl in front of me asking me to go out and eat good food with her.
How the hell am I supposed to move on if I think about my ex every damn second of the day?
5
BEVAN
He’s talking to another girl.
He’s talking to another girl. Right in front of me.
My brain seems to register this and my feet start moving, venom laced on my tongue. Then I halt when reality slams into me like a freight train carrying bullets.
Callum is not my boyfriend. I have no right to march over there and scratch that girl’s eyes out. I have no claim to pull him to me and smash my lips to his in a searing, possessive kiss.
That anvil drops heavy, making a headache instantly pound at my temples and the two tequila shots I took before sour in my stomach.