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“Well … did you like it?”
A soft groan sounds through the phone and I hold back a laugh. “I mean, it wasn’t awful,” he tells me thoughtfully. “It was actually kinda nice, you know, once I started picturing her as a dude. But I just … I don’t fucking get it. I’m gay. One hundred percent gay. I like dudes. I like big, veiny, hard cocks springing free from their pants and smacking this bitch in the face. Cock, cock, cock. Every day of the fucking week. Cock for breakfast, cock for lunch, cock for dinner. I don’t do coochie. Hell, I even went as far as filing coochie away in the ‘never go there’ box and then topped it off with a ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign.”
“You liked sliding up into that sweet, tight pussy, didn’t you? It felt good.”
“You’re not fucking helping.”
I let out a heavy sigh and give it to him straight. “You can look at it in either one of two ways. One, you were experimenting. I’m assuming you’ve never been with a chick before but how are you supposed to know what you like unless you give it a try?”
“Two. What’s option two?” Milo prompts.
I shrug a shoulder despite him not being able to see me. “Maybe you’re not as gay as you thought you were. Have you considered that maybe you like both men and women? It’s not a crime to be bi, you know? You don’t have to pick a side. You can swing that dick both ways and have love for everybody.”
“Bi?”
“Mmhmm.”
“I don’t know,” he says thoughtfully. “I’m pretty fond of dick and when your tongue was down my throat, I wanted to bite it the fuck off just so it would go away.”
“Hey,” I snap. “You’re fucking lucky that you got to experience my tongue down your throat. There’s a whole lot of boys lining up just to give that a try.”
I can practically hear him rolling his eyes. “You’re really not helping me.”
“Why don’t you get up, take a few painkillers and a hot shower, then think about it when your head is a little clearer. Hell, no one would blame you for thinking chicks are hot. We are hot and our coochies are smooth as hell.”
“I’m hanging up on you,” he growls through the phone.
“Okay,” I laugh, rushing it to get the last word in before he hangs up on me. “Call me when you work out what genitalia floats your boat.”
The line goes dead and I laugh to myself, feeling like a dickhead for laughing out loud when there’s no one around, but fuck it. I know I shouldn’t use Milo’s confusion as my daily dose of entertainment but how could I not? He can hate on me later, for now, I need a good laugh to distract me from the memory of Jude Fucking Carter.
That fucking prick.
I can’t believe Colton had the audacity to allow his mother through that door to preach about what a good little boy that rat bastard is. God, I hope no one ever finds him. Well, anyone from Bellevue Springs that is. If that fucker is going to be found by someone, I’m hoping it’s one of the Black Widows—specifically one of my four boys.
Once the pool area is cleared of all the littered cups and trash, I start making my way back inside only to find Colton standing in the kitchen, staring at me as he leans against the marble counter.
I avert my eyes and keep picking up trash, feeling more like the help than ever before. What is it about Colton Carrington that gives him the power to completely humiliate me?
“So, what?” Colton’s voice rings out. “You’re just not going to talk to me?”
“I’m busy, Colton. Go find some other pathetic bitch to torture.”
“Jade.”
“Stop,” I snap, turning on him and dropping the bag of trash at my feet. “I’m not your little chew toy that you get to fuck around with whenever you want. I told you to hurt me. I gave you exactly what you needed but last night, that was different. That was your pride getting in the way and I’m not about to sit back and allow you or any other fucker in this town make me feel ashamed of who I am or where I come from. You got that, Carrington?”
His eyes tighten and it’s like watching that same familiar wall sliding back into place as he tries to work out what the fuck is going on inside his chest. “You done?” he questions, bringing back the version of himself that I thought we’d already worked past. “I don’t give a shit about your little sob story. When will you be finished with this room? I’m expecting guests.”
I raise a brow while looking at him, my glare sharper than glass. “Are you fucking kidding me right now?” I demand, wondering what the hell happened to the kindhearted boy who sat across from me at my dinner table the other night and told my mother that I was the most breathtaking thing he’s ever seen and then went on to say that he wasn’t in love with me … not yet. I threw grapes at him while we got to know each other better and it was perfect, honestly one of the best nights of my life. How does it go downhill so damn fast?
