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Lucy
Ten minutes later,sitting around the fire pit, the thoughts rushing through my mind have slowed and I’ve somewhat accepted the fact that Weston wants me. I mean, I knew he wanted me physically. The chemistry between us can’t be denied. But he wants more. I don’t know exactly how much more, and right now, it doesn’t really matter. One day at time.
The relief at knowing I never have to go back to my mother’s house... God. I can’t even describe how it feels.
I pinch my skin just to make sure I’m not dreaming. A pink circle forms on my skin. Weston reaches over and rubs the tender spot with the pad of his finger before pulling me close and pressing his lips to mine. Everything around fades to background noise when he touches me, and my body awakens. I lose myself in that kiss, in the feel of his soft lips pressed to mine, his tongue dancing with my own. Even the guys’ whistling across the pit gets drowned out by the raging beat of my heart.
“Oh, so this is how it is?” Malcom says, standing just a foot away with his arms crossed across his chest. I jump as Weston pulls back and straightens. “This is why you told me to leave her alone? And you, I guess any man will do, huh?”
“Really? You want to do this?” I grind out, noting the guys watching the show out of my peripheral.
“Do what? Call out my slut of a girlfriend? What a fucking joke. I should’ve known you were worthless. Trailer trash, just like your junkie of a mother.”
His words hit me like a brick, so similar to the hateful comments my mother spewed at me. Only this time, they don’t hurt. My heart doesn’t shatter, pieces falling to ground and scattering. No, now all I feel is anger. It courses through me, flooding my veins. My vision tunnels, the edges blackening. He has the nerve, the audacity to say something to me while he’s been fucking his stepsister for who knows how long. He chose to ruin this relationship long before I realized I didn’t wanthim.
“That’s enough, Malcom. We both know you have no room to talk.” Weston growls the last word, a sinful edge to his tone.
“Fuck you.”
The roaring settles, all sound cut off like the calm in the middle of a tornado. Distantly, I know I shouldn’t open my mouth, shouldn’t let my anger unfurl into piercing words thrown with unnerving accuracy, but in this moment, I don’t care.
Malcom spins on his heel, and for a second, I think it’s over, that he’s going to walk away and let it go, but he turns, his gaze meeting mine. “We are so done. I can’t believe I wasted seven months on a fucking lying whore. Seven months waiting to fuck you when you’re more than happy to spread those legs for anyone.”
“Oh, Malcom, you’resoright. You hit the nail on the head, and it only took you seven long months to figure me out. Tell me, do you think your dad’s cum tastes as good as your sister’s?”
“Oh, shit,” Carson singsongs across the fire pit.
Malcom’s eyes round, his gaze darting between me and his dad. I lift a finger and wipe at the corner of my mouth. “A little sweet, with just a hint of saltiness, if you ask me.”
“You motherfucker,” he says, moments before storming toward Weston. I sidestep out of the way while Asher and Pacey move to stop him, but Weston waves a hand, and they back away.
Elisa chooses that moment to walk back up, and judging by the shocked expression on her face, this isn’t something that occurs often. Malcom raises an arm and swings, but Weston moves to the left, and he hits nothing but air.
“You don’t want to do this, Malcom. You know you don’t want this. Be happy with what you do have and let Lucy go.”
“You fucked her. That was mine,” he says, spinning back around, his fist flying once again. This time, Weston catches it in his hand and stops the swing in motion. Using Malcom’s own fist, he pushes him backward step after step.
“She was never yours. You made that choice when you started fucking Elisa. Now grow up and accept the consequences of your own fuckups.”
When Weston releases his hand, Malcom stumbles back and trips. One second, he’s standing and the next, he’s flat on his back, staring up at the blue sky. Shaking my head, I move as far away from him as possible and sit in the chair next to Asher.
Weston pulls one over and slides it next to mine. Taking my hand in his, he raises my knuckles to his mouth and presses a gentle kiss there.
“So, um... you guys?” Asher starts, but a glare from Weston shuts him up.
“I’m just saying... congrats. I think.”
“Fuck off, Ash.”
He holds his hands in the air, palms out. “I’m happy for you, man. That’s all.”
“Ditto. Now how about you tell me where I can find me one?” Carson says, picking up a discarded chair and sitting.
“Me too. Don’t leave me out.” Pacey seconds the sentiment. Laughter bubbles out, covering the horror of what they’re saying. A few minutes ago, I was afraid Malcom and Weston were going to come to blows, and now these guys are sitting here discussing picking up women. Men confuse me.
Weston chuckles. “Shut up. You have enough women.”
“One never has enough women.”
“You only need one. You just need to find her.” His eyes meet mine, his lips tilting up in that devilish smirk.
