Perfectly Toxic (Sterling Shore 9)

“I just stumbled into the wrong locker room.” Hell, it’s not even a good lie.

“You want me, Bella. Just admit it.”

“You’re wrong,” I tell him while rolling my eyes, removing them from his fuck stick.

“You’re lying,” he counters quickly, wearing that smirk I’d love to knock off his perfectly sculptured… No… Not perfect anything. It’s a wicked face. So what if it’s gorgeous?

“You’re a dick. And you’re definitely wrong.”

He takes a step closer, and I back against the wall in an effort to put the space back between us.

“I can tell you’re lying,” he says, still getting closer until he’s caging me in again, “because you get all breathy when I crowd your space. And the closer I get, you start squirming awkwardly.”

“Do not,” I say breathily while squirming awkwardly. Damn him.

His lips twitch, as though he’s enjoying this far too much.

“Stop lying,” he says as he puts his head level with mine, letting his breath brush my lips.

My eyes fall to his lips, and I contemplate a lot of really bad decisions. A lot of really bad, stupid, epically reckless decisions.

Fortunately, loud laughter and catcalls from behind him have me snapping out of my trance, and I shove at his chest. He catches my hand, holding it there, and he closes his eyes as a harsh breath leaves him.

“Can I have my hand back?” It’s supposed to sound snarky, but I’m still doing that breathy voice thing.

Almost reluctantly, he drops it, and I move away from him the second he gives me an opening. That vulnerable look is gone again when he opens his eyes.

He backs away, grinning while winking at me.

“You have my number. Use it, Bella.”

I dart out of the locker room like I can’t get away fast enough, hating myself the entire time as my palms tingle with the lingering feel of his skin against them. Worst. Decision. Ever.

Now he’ll never get out of my head.

Chapter 7

ETHAN

“The hell is wrong with you?” I rip open my pants, sighing in relief when the constricting material finally gives way and drops to my ankles. “Go the hell down!”

Instead, the bastard throbs. Of course it does. I swear she slipped me something without me knowing it. This. Is. Not. Normal!

After not being able to feel anything but surprise touches for so long, now I can’t stop feeling things since the gym encounter, and it’s pissing me the hell off.

A gentle brush of my jeans? Feel it. The soft texture of my boxers? Feel it. The shirt on my back? Feel it. I feel every-fucking-thing, and it’s really pissing me off, when all I’ve wanted is for my feeling to be back for years.

Thirty minutes. I’ve been in pain for over thirty minutes. Because of a little cat-and-mouse with barely any touching? How did this backfire on me?

“What is wrong?” I demand, glaring at the betraying, wayward appendage that refuses to subside.

“Who the fuck are you talking to?”

Rye’s voice startles the hell out of me, and I jerk back, forgetting all about my damn pants being around my ankles. My

breath seizes in my lungs when I feel airborne, falling, and a grunt is pounded out of me as I slam into the floor.

This is officially the worst day ever.