Untouchable (Untouchables, 1)

I hate him. He is the absolute worst and I hate him. He knew I could see that shit. Even if he actually likes that girl, he didn’t have to make a spectacle right in front of me when our break-up is still so fresh. He did that shit on purpose, and he is an asshole.

Once I’m calm enough to hold my shit together until I can get to my car—and enough time has passed that the bathroom has emptied of other girls—I collect my things and make my way out of the bathroom.

“Upset stomach?”

I nearly jump out of my skin at the sound of Carter’s voice. When I look back over my shoulder I see him leaning against the wall. He’s wearing jeans and a white T-shirt today. His arms are crossed, his well-shaped biceps grabbing my attention. I might enjoy the sight of them a little more, if not for the new memory of Blondie touching that bicep when she leaned forward to get Carter’s attention about 20 minutes ago.

It’s not enough to ignore him—I want to ignore him so hard it hurts. I want him to feel a sudden Arctic chill from the blast of my coldness. I’m too riled to think straight though, so I settle for glaring at him wordlessly and turning to walk away.

Kicking off the wall, Carter follows after me. “Whoa, princess, what’s that look for?”

“Do not call me that. My name is Zoey. Call me Zoey or Ellis, don’t call me princess.”

“Hm, irritable, too,” he muses. “Maybe I did knock you up.”

“Or maybe I had to pee and I just don’t like you,” I suggest. “Much simpler explanations.”

“That can’t be it. You liked me fine a couple days ago. Oh, wait,” he drawls, annoying the everloving fuck out of me. “You’re not salty because of me and Jenna, are you?”

I want to tell him to go die, but that would only verify I am annoyed by his flirting. “Nope. Don’t even know who Jenna is. New girlfriend already?”

“Nah, you know me. Not big on girlfriends. I prefer playthings.”

Somehow, that hurts more than hearing he has a new girlfriend. My heart shrivels up until it’s too small to fit inside its natural cavity, then it drops into my gut with a painful thud. I can’t come up with anything quick and snappy to toss back. My mind assaults me with a vision of him and the blonde, her in his bed just like I was, her arms wound around his neck, his lips blazing a hot path along her bare skin.

Now I really do want to throw up. Maybe I’m just imagining it, but I can feel his satisfaction. Whether it’s real or imagined, I want to demolish it. That’s the only excuse I have for the lie that tumbles out of my mouth next.

“Good. I’m seein’ someone else already, too. I’m glad we’re both movin’ on.”

“Bullshit,” he fires back.

I cock an eyebrow and look over at him. “Bullshit? You think you’re the only guy in the world, Carter? Not hardly. Plenty of other fish in the sea. Fish that won’t fuck around with their ex-girlfriends, crazily enough. I know, I was surprised, too. Turns out you just have to date the good guys if you don’t want endless drama and heartache.”

That dig seems to do more to legitimize my lie. He stares at me, openly confounded, then snaps, “Who?”

“None of your business,” I tell him. “You have your new plaything, I have someone who meets my needs… we both win.”

“Meets your needs?” he snaps, grabbing me by the arm and yanking me closer.

My gaze drops to his hand on my arm, then moves to his face. “Let me go.”

Instead, he glances around the hall, locates the nearest empty classroom, and drags me into it.

Chapter 41

“Carter,” I object, trying to pull my arm out of his steel grip. Given what happened last time I was alone in a classroom with him, I’m not eager to see why he needs privacy today. “Get your hands off me.”

“I’ll put my hands wherever I damn well please,” he tells me, shutting the door with a quiet click, then hauling me away from it so we aren’t visible through the window.

“No,” I say firmly, trying in vain to free my arm from his grasp. “We are not doing this again.”

“Why not? Afraid your boring new boyfriend might get jealous?” he shoots back.

Narrowing my eyes, ridiculously protective of this made-up person, I admonish, “He is not boring. I didn’t say boring.”

“Sure you did,” he disagrees. “You said he was a good guy,” he says sarcastically, rolling his eyes. “I damn near fell asleep.”

“Spend enough time with a depraved sociopath, you might be surprised how nice good guys start to sound,” I shoot back.

“He’s a palate cleanser, at best,” Carter states, dismissive of my imaginary boyfriend. “You need someone who stimulates you, not someone who puts you to sleep. You might not want to admit it, but you liked all my fucking damage. You craved my depravity. You don’t want a good guy, Zoey. You want me.”