Perfectly Toxic (Sterling Shore 9)

“We’re going to be late for our reservation,” he tells me like it’s somehow my fault he’s thirty minutes late.

I open my mouth to tell him to shove it up his ass, when he starts talking to whoever is on the phone again.

“Yeah. Yeah. That sounds good. Keep me briefed on that. What about the Mullens contract?”

And that’s how our five minute car ride proceeds—him talking to someone else while I contemplate kneeing his balls.

He whirls into a parking spot, and gets out of the car, calling over his shoulder, “Hurry. We’re already five minutes late.”

“Not my fault!” I snap, struggling with the awkward door handle on his fancy car.

Jeremy walks in front of me, keeping a pace that I can’t match in my heels, and I glare at the back of his head. Asshole.

You know what? Fuck this.

As he weaves and ducks through the people on the sidewalk, I flip him off and turn around. Not that he notices.

Last night’s date sucked elephant turds, so I’m not sure why I agreed to another date. The highlight of the evening was sending a text to Allie, only to find out it actually went to Ethan. Yeah… That’s how bad the date was.

On paper, Jeremy seemed perfect. Law degree, wants a family, interested in a committed relationship, and a wonderful, happy past. In person? He’s a fucking cunt stain. Yes. Cu

nt stain. Think that makes you cringe? Speak to him and you’ll know the true meaning of cringing.

He loves to talk about himself and little else. Oh, and he has a third ball. Yep. Glad he got that out there, since that’s totally first date information.

And he walks way ahead of me, doesn’t even act like he wants me around, yet actually asked me what my vagina smelled like while I was putting a piece of fish in my mouth. Coincidence? I think not. And no, it does not smell like fish, for the record.

I hate dating.

I’m starting to miss the days of reckless, no-strings-attached sex.

The funny thing is, the sane ones only seem to want me in a bed. All the ones who want to date me are out of their freaking minds. What does that really say about me?

Deciding not to worry about where my vagina sniffing date disappeared to, I start perusing the streets of Sterling Shore. It’s my day off, so I might as well enjoy it. I’ve never bailed on a date so soon before, but there’s a first time for everything.

When I cross in front of Jax Marshall’s gym, I glance in out of habit. I’m not exactly dressed for the gym, considering I wore my sexy jeans and heels, but there’s a familiar person inside that has my feet cementing themselves to the sidewalk. I almost find myself groaning when I see the lines of muscle flexing, because I recognize the man even from the back.

Ethan.

I might not know his last name, but I know his body. This is just so embarrassingly shallow—which is what I was supposed to be getting past.

He lifts a set of weights over his head, then drops it down to his chest, before repeating the process.

Sadly, the last time I shared any sort of conversation with a guy that was somewhat normal, was with him. When he was crashing my date. And asking me why I was acting like I was too good for him.

Again, what does this say about me?

Feeling annoyed with him and his sexy body, I glare at his back as he puts the weights down and stands back up to his full, gloriously tall height.

I probably look a little creepy staring through the window like some perv as he walks toward the back. When I see him head into the gym locker room/shower area on the men’s side, I smirk and ask, “What would Brin do?”

She’d probably pour a gallon of wolf’s piss into the shower stall with him. I plan to be a little more subtle with my attack.

My attack? Sheesh. When did I become this immature?

Deciding not to overthink it, I walk into the gym, waving at a few people who say my name as I pass by.

My heartbeat starts drumming in my ears as a goofy grin spreads. I have no idea what my plan of action is going to be, but I’m sure I’ll think of something.