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Don’t you fucking swoon. You’re mad, remember?
“I want to say Karen.”
Karen? Is he serious? Okay, this is actually helping, because now I’m batshit-crazy pissed off.
He doesn’t even remember my name?
I cried over this man. I cradled my phone for days waiting for him to call, and he doesn’t even have the decency to remember three little syllables. Ca-ro-line. How hard is that?
I sense movement to my left and spot a short girl wincing and shaking her head at Casey.
Oh shit, it’s Mikayla. My hockey buddy.
What is she doing—oh, that’s right. She’s dating Ethan Galloway, who is also in the room.
This is a nightmare.
Glancing back at Casey, my anger bubbles. This is all his fault. Him and his stupid dick and hot body and… and… his sperm!
“Caroline.” I grit out the word. “My name is Caroline.”
“Oh yeah.” His eyes run down my body, and I can see the lust lighting his gaze.
I guess I’ve still got it. I’d normally revel in this look, but all I can think is that the second this body changes shape, he’s not gonna look at me like that anymore. I still don’t know if I’m keeping it or not, but that’s not the point right now.
He’ll probably never look at me again after I tell him this news anyway.
But damn if I don’t want to see that gaping shock on his face when he finds out what he’s done to me.
“We hooked up at a party in early January.” I lift my chin, trying to look bolder than I feel.
“Yeah, I remember.”
Oh, so he remembers that but not my name. Charming.
I cross my arms and growl, “You were gonna call me. I gave you my number.”
He cringes, running a hand through his hair and making it stand on end. He now looks like a rock star, one of those crazy, wild-eyed drummers with the tattoos and the–
Stop lusting after him!
I look to the floor, waiting for his answer, which comes out as this pathetic kind of rasp.
“Yeah, I’m not…” He hisses, flashing me this apologetic smile when I glance back up. “I don’t really do that.”
I scoff. Un-fucking-believable. I kind of knew this would be his answer, but it still feels like a slap to the face. “So, what, you just collect girls’ phone numbers like little souvenirs? Is that it?”
He looks to the floor, shoving his hands in the pockets of his baggy jeans like some reprimanded kid. Except now the jeans are sitting real low on his hips, and I can see the top of that sexy triangle leading down to his beautiful dick, and it’s seriously not helping.
Shit. Why does he have to be so gorgeous?
And why does he not want me as badly as I want him?
This sucks!
My heart cracks, the heat seeping out of my voice as I resist the urge to cry. “I thought we had a good time together.”
“We did.” His head shoots up, his eyebrows popping high. It’s like he needs me to know I was memorable. Just not memorable enough to call. “I just don’t… you know, I’m a onetime guy. Sorry. I thought everyone knew that about me.”
