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“Leon, huh? You're gonna give it up to Leon after all this time?” he asked, his breath fanning my face. The soft dubiousness of his tone contrasted with the harsh set of his jaw and the clenched fists planted either side of my head. I affected him, too. A fact that gave me way too much pleasure.
I swallowed roughly, trying desperately to hold his intense gaze without shrinking. “What does it matter to you, anyway?” I asked, fighting to get the upper hand. “How many times have you screwed Raya?”
His face remained stoic. “Too many to count.”
Damn, that hurt. I had to forcibly stop myself from flinching. It shouldn't have had any effect, especially since my sort-of boyfriend, who, incidentally, was not the guy sending my pulse into overdrive right now, slept with other girls on the regular, and that knowledge barely registered a response on my emotional radar.
But then, Leon wasn't Reno. Never had been.
No, Leon Bradshaw was just Maddox “Reno” Renner's best friend. It was some weird, convoluted web that none of us dared untangle. Not that we’d even know where to begin.
Leon I should want to sleep with, but didn't. Reno? God, I melted for him. Wafer thin chocolate under hot caramel. But I really, really shouldn't.
Reno glanced away for a beat, then back with that smirk that made me nervous. Like he knew something I didn’t. Which meant I was probably about to find out. His fingers caught a few strands of my hair, twisting them almost absently as he stared down at me, his dark eyes unwavering.
“You didn't ask why Leon wasn't at lunch.”
I shrugged, not liking where this was going, but adopting my best can you see the number of fucks I give stance.
“Your official boyfriend was banging Ashley in the guy's locker room,” he murmured. “Might need to give him a few hours before he’s good to go again.”
“I hate you,” I spat, and God, did I mean it. Yet my body leaned in. Can anyone say betrayal?
His smirk shifted into a cocky grin. “You only wish you did.”
My jaw locked. I only wished he wasn't right.
Four
Riley
“Hey, sweets. Good day?”
Mom’s tiny form sprawled lengthways on the built-in sofa that doubled as her bed, making it impossible to tell if she'd ventured out of it today. I could only hope it hadn't doubled as her entertainment center this afternoon, but casting a glance to the small kitchenette area, I saw no cookies.
She wasn't a total asshole. She was... misguided, let's say. She wasn't conventional, that was for damn sure, but then, she had become a single mom before she reached adulthood, and as far as I could tell, she just stopped there. She’d fed and clothed me, sometimes barely, patched up bumps and scrapes, and I'd always had a roof of sorts over my head. Mostly, she provided the basics, kept me alive, but let's be honest, it was the blind leading the blind.
Maybe she shouldn't have needed someone to tell her it wasn't the norm to be so open about sex with your kid, or ask them to vacate their home for extended periods of time to facilitate sex, but at this point she was more like the outrageous friend you had to explain to everyone than a mother. All I knew was I had a mom who dubbed herself a sex addict by choice, as if it was something to be proud of, like some display of female empowerment or healthy expression of her sexuality. Apparently, there was no shame in exploring our natural desires.
Standing here as the product of her explorations, I didn't share her views. I mean, I was happy to be alive obviously, but the circumstances of my conception were basically an advertisement for what not to do.
I knew she loved me. She’d always done her best.
“Sure,” I muttered.
“Great, hon.”
She swiftly returned her attention to the screen, blonde hair piled on her head in a messy bun, and her face a picture of giddy anticipation, fully absorbed in whatever drama was about to go down on the reality T.V. show she'd been watching before I arrived home. Real housewives of who-gave-a-crap where. Not sure the location mattered—different place, same garbage—they all morphed into the same person to me.
Pushing into the tiny bedroom, I slung my bag down to the floor and slumped back onto the lumpy twin bed, falling flat on my back with my legs flopping off the edge. The buzz of my cell sent vibrations along my hip bone. I groaned for two reasons. One, I knew it would be Leon, and I really wasn't up for explaining why I wasn't ready to have sex with him for the hundredth time, and two, the tingle running up my thigh made me think of Reno, which made me imagine what it would be like to sleep with him. If I could kick my ass, I would do it. For a second, I contemplated slapping myself in the face.
“Arghh!” I opted for slapping an arm across my face instead. I shook my head hard in an attempt to expel both the thoughts circling my brain and the inappropriate and unwanted desire that prompted them.
Why? Why did I have to want him so badly?
The buzzing stopped, and I let both arms drop out beside me, crucifix style. Someone should crucify me. I deserved it. Label or not, I had been sort of involved with Leon for the past few years, and yet I fantasized about slapping away the harem of barbies that clung to Reno like cleaner fish on a whale, and slotting myself right in their place. A frustrated moan tore from me.
There was something wrong with my wiring. That had to be it. Leon was a decent guy who didn't live to provoke me, which was more than I could say for Reno. If I ever asked, Leon would agree to be exclusive. I just didn't feel right restricting him like that when I couldn't stop pining after someone else. God, a few short hours ago I’d used him to get a reaction out of his best friend, and not for the first time.
