Guilt crushes me, because yes, he would kill him. Just like he would kill me for kissing her in the fucking bathroom last night. What the hell was I thinking? But most of all, why did I want to do so much more to her right there on that counter?
Granted, Kendrick ripping Blake’s balls off would not be the worst thing in the world. It’d save me the trouble of doing it myself. I remember how cocky he was when he bragged about taking Kass’s virginity. I didn’t give a flying fuck at the time, but now? I feel like he disrespected my friend. Like I have to defend her honor or some shit.
Sleep. You need sleep.
The texts, the night in her bed, the kiss… It’s all Blake’s fault. Blake and his blabbermouth. Sure, I’ve always known she was my type. Perky tits, gorgeous, tan. Don’t even get me started on those big blue eyes. Checked her out whenever I came over—especially in summer. Thank God for bikini season—but that’s as far as it went.
Then Blake had to go and pique my interest. Everything he told me about her sounded like a challenge. The way she struggled to open up, obsessed over all she couldn’t control, yet happily played doormat to her sociopath, self-absorbed best friend.
She strangely reminded me of me.
When I dropped by Blake’s place and found him burying his dick into another girl, he told me he’d dumped Kass over text the night before. I caved, told myself she was fair game, and gave in to my curiosity.
Started talking to her out of fucking nowhere.
Just to see how much of it was true.
All of it.
All of it’s true.
I had no intention of bonding with her. But then again, I also had no intention of shoving my hands up her dress last night, and look how that turned out.
“I’m going to bail. I’ll put in the extra hours tomorrow.” I collect my T-shirt off the chair in the corner of the room and slip it over my head.
“Okay.” Alex eyes me suspiciously. Understandably so. I never bail on training.
You know what else I never do, Alex?
Say no to a good fuck, and last night, I did. Something’s off. And I need to fix it. I check my phone on my way out of the gym.
Guess I was wrong about Callie never speaking to me again.
Callie: Hey sexy. I have the house to myself. Come over for round two? ;)
But that’s not the only text I have.
I double-check the second sender.
Kass.
Kass: Just finished my shift and my shitty car broke down. Can you give me a ride?
Attached below is the address of the place where she works. Conflicted, I slip inside my car, read both texts over and over again, and sprint down the street in a roar.
Kassidy
When I receive a text from Morgan saying, “Be there in ten,” I sigh in relief, messaging her back “Thanksss. I love you” and hastening out of the pet store to wait for her.
That’s when I see it.
The name on the top of my screen.
Willy Wonka.
Wait, I texted Will?
How could I not realize I selected his name? In my defense, he and Morgan have been competing for the spot of the last person I texted lately.
Kass: Shit. Sorry. Wrong person. Forget it. I’ll manage.
I expect his reply to consist of a careless “Okay”—if he even replies at all—but instead…
Willy Wonka: Too late. I’m coming to get you.
My pulse quickens.
Kass: That was meant for Morgan. Don’t worry about it. I’m sure she can help me out.
A reply lights up my screen right away.
Willy Wonka: I don’t care. Wait for me.
A smile tugs at the corner of my lips.
That easy?
I doubt he had anything better to do if he said yes, but still. Scenarios of what he was doing when I texted him arise in my mind. He was probably working out. He seemed on his way to the gym this morning.
My joy quickly gives way to racking anxiety. I wasn’t expecting to see him twice in one day. You mean I’ll have to deal with my annoying crush again?
Conveniently, I found myself without a ride right as my mom was about to start her shift at the hospital. She couldn’t bail just to give her daughter a ride, so she hit up a friend of hers who owns an auto repair shop. He towed my car thirty minutes ago with the promise of getting it back to me in two days tops.
Fifteen minutes later, I’m beginning to think Will was messing with me. Then I see his car pull up in the distance. He comes to a slow stop in front of the store, and I swallow hard, making my way over.
I open the door, slide into the passenger seat, and drink him in. He’s wearing a black hoodie and his go-to gym sweats. He looks a bit sweaty—but hot sweaty—which tells me I was spot-on: he was training. He smiles at the sight of me, quickly averting his focus to the road.
“Hey,” he says, his voice a bit strained. He looks exhausted.
“Hey.” I fasten my seat belt. “Thanks for coming. You really didn’t have to.”
“What? And miss your heartfelt declaration? How else would I know how much you love me?” he teases, knocking the gear into drive.
“Shut up, I thought you were Morgan.” I flush.
“Whatever you say, control freak.” He speeds out of the parking lot, gaze shifting between the road and me for a few seconds. When we reach a red light, he straight up stares, eying me up and down and spurring my self-conscious side to life. I changed into clean jeans and a long-sleeved V-neck black shirt before work.
“What you looking at, creep?”
“Your shirt.” He picks at the fabric of my sleeve.
“What?” I search my clothes for a stain of some sort.
“Where’d your friends go?”
I immediately connect the dots.
The fucker is talking about my nipples, isn’t he?
“Oh, for the love of God.” I roll my eyes, and he bursts out laughing at his own joke. “I’ll jump out of this car, I swear.”
He lifts a hand to his chest, nurturing an imaginary wound. “You’re mean. I liked you better when you thought I was Morgan.”
I can’t help myself.
“I liked you better last night.”
His eyes flare.
Then we almost swerve off the fucking road—I wish I was kidding. Will doesn’t swing the wheel back into place a second too soon. He was not expecting that. It’s my turn to die laughing.
“That’s for pretending not to remember this morning.”
He lets out the fakest laugh I’ve ever heard and clears his throat, careful not to look my way again. I can’t help noticing how tightly his fingers are squeezing the steering wheel. The tension between us has shifted. It was playful, light, and now? It’s back to thick and heavy.
Maybe I should’ve kept my mouth shut.
Desperate for a topic change, I say, “I hope you didn’t have plans.”
“I could’ve.” He shrugs. “But I chose you.”
If that isn’t cute, I don’t know what is.
“Thanks.”
“You already said that,” he mocks, but he’s not nearly as confident as before.