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“Did my sister just admit she likes another guy?”
Leo laughs.
“Looks like it to me.”
And this comment doesn’tjustpiss off my friend.
20
Scarlett
He. Has drunk. One. Shot.
And Harriet wasn’t even there.
There were twelve girls in this kitchen. Eleven, since I assume that I am in-vi-si-ble in his eyes. And since I’m still hoping he’s not sexually attracted to my girlfriends, that brings the total to nine potentially fuckable girls by Nolan Jones’s standards. I have absolutely no idea what he likes in a girl. Blonde, brunette, redhead. There was something for all tastes and given the few glances he cast around the room just before taking his glass of tequila, I think he found his happiness very quickly. At the time, I thought Harriet had just walked into the room, but that was obviously not the case…
Among these nine girls, Alison Hash, a girl thatallthe guys wanted to bang in college. Nolan banged her. Or at least that’s the rumor that circulated once, and I didn’t try to dig into it. It had already devastated me to learn that.
I cross my arms against my chest, biting my lip as I watch the show on TV without much enthusiasm. It’s more than three o’clock in the morning. The party ended an hour ago and if one part of the apartment is in a bad state. The guys have quickly cleaned the kitchen and living room before going to bed.
Me? I can’t sleep a wink. My head spins slightly, and I still have the taste of tequila in my throat. Or it’s the bitter feeling of my observation: Nolan likes girls.
But still notme.
“Should I shove my tits in his face or what?” I mutter to myself.
I lower my chin to my breasts that I grab while grumbling, knowing that nature has spoiled me rather well, even if I don’t have the chest of Pamela Anderson. For once, I have somethingnice about me, the guy of my dreams doesn’t even notice it.
“Are you talking to yourself?”
I jump when I hear the drawling and sexy voice of my lifelong crush. Arms crossed against his chest, he leans against the door as if he had been watching me for several minutes. I feel paralyzed by the dark look he gives me. I see his gaze slide towards my fingers before returning to my face.
What the fuck was I saying? I shove it in his face and even then, he doesn’t give a shit?
“You’re still not sleeping?” I ask.
“My head is spinning.”
He laughs and walks over to me, slumping on the couch. With his legs spread, he puts one of his arms on the back of the couch while scrutinizing me with his wicked smile.
The one that makes you want to eat him raw.
I frown, clear my throat, and shift slightly, keeping the heat from his thigh from bothering me too much.
“Did you change your clothes?”
“My jumpsuit tonight looked so much like pajamas that you couldn’t tell the difference?”
He sighs and runs a hand through his hair, looking away. I hear him mumble incomprehensibly, then he adds, “I’m going to have a fucking hangover.”
“Too much tequila?” I tease him.
Except that my joke doesn’t make me laugh that much, since it instinctively brings me back to the only moment of the evening that I want to forget, him and his shitty shot.
“I think we were equal.”
He dives his gaze into mine and for a second, I think I see an intense glow. A hot feeling that vibrates my stomach and goes down between my thighs.
