Dear Love, I Hate You (Easton High)

Even I have to admit the gold barbell piercings make my girls look damn good—almost makes up for me passing out when the needle went through.

He opens the Snapchat right away.

I can’t move a muscle, holding my breath to the point of light-headedness. We were platonic pen pals up until this point, but this… It could make us rated X.

The three bubbles pop on my screen as he texts back, and the air feels scarce in my lungs, thinning dangerously with each breath.

Zac: Holy fucking shit, L.

Zac: Give a guy a warning, I almost dropped my phone.

I stifle a laugh with my palm.

Love: Sorry?

Z

ac: It’s fine, just don’t send me a picture like that again.

Embarrassment paints my cheeks bright red.

He wasn’t into it.

Talk. About. Awkward.

Love: I’m so sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable.

He texts back before I can blink.

Zac: Uncomfortable? L, the only thing uncomfortable about the picture you just sent are the fucking blue balls it gave me.

Heat stirs up in my stomach.

Well… There goes our platonic relationship.

Love: then why don’t you want me to send pictures again?

Zac: Because if you do, I’m going to break our pact and scour the entire fucking planet until I find you.

I can’t comprehend how hot and bothered his threat makes me. Temptation overrides his warning, and I set out to push his limits to the absolute max, see how far I can go before he breaks his promise. All I need is for him to take the bait.

Love: Does that mean you can’t send me pictures of you…

And he does.

Without hesitation.

Zac: You mean pictures like this?

@TheDorkPolice sent you a Snapchat.

Gulp.

I tap his picture, the blood in my veins boiling like lava as I drink in the scene. I can’t see his face—shocker—but he’s standing in a gloomy room, a faint light fitting his naked, ridiculously toned chest with a defined V.

Oh, and abs I’d like to lick ice cream off.

I’ve always known, from the way his clothes mold bulging biceps and rock-hard pecs, that Xav was hiding a glorious body. But seeing it with my own eyes? He’s got me feeling like a horny jersey chaser. I’m drooling over him like a groupie wishing the captain of the basketball team would “drive it through her hoop.”