So I’m staying. I’m going to make myself a pain in Sloane’s ass because she deserves it after what she did to my family.
“Fine.” She gets up and flounces to the bathroom, without shutting the door. I hear her brushing her teeth.
I saunter in behind her. “Borrow your toothbrush, Legs?” I keep my voice low because I know her cousin’s bedroom’s just on the other side of the door.
“No!” she whisper shouts. But she pulls open a drawer and produces an Oral B still in its package.
I wink as I rip it open then reach for the toothpaste. “Thanks.”
She doesn’t answer. Instead, she ignores me, heading back to the bedroom, where she shuts off the light and climbs under the covers.
I know because, unlike humans, wolves can see in the dark.
I walk around to the side of her bed and drop to the floor in the small space between the wall and the bed.
The wolf in me thinks I should be at the foot of the bed where I could face an attack from any side—window or door—but the human knows better than to sleep in plain sight, in case her aunt or cousin peek in at some point.
For a few minutes, there’s nothing but silence. I know she’s not asleep by the rough cadence of her breaths. Like she’s alternatively holding it, then releasing.
A pillow drops on me.
Smiling, I take it and tuck it under my head.
She tugs the comforter on her bed, so it hangs halfway off the side, sharing it with me.
She’s now given me food and comfort.
I’m gonna take it as a fucking welcome wagon. Stay as long as I want. Play her pretend boyfriend. The real asshole can go fuck himself. There’s a much better version of him right here in Arizona.
Sloane
My body still buzzes from the orgasm Bo gave me.
It may have been my vibrator, but that was all Bo. I’ve never achieved those kind of results with the B. O. B.
And the stupid truth I don’t want Bo to know is that in addition to not having a real boyfriend, I also haven’t had real sex.
As in, with a partner.
No penetration, anyway. I let a few guys eat me.
Didn’t orgasm, but it sure felt good.
My sexual experience is another bluff. I was five foot nine by the time I was twelve, with a decent rack. The way I figured it, you can either become one of those girls who slouches around, pretending she doesn’t have a full-on woman’s body, or you can own it.
So I owned it.
I showed my body off—tastefully, but definitely purposefully. My dad was slightly scandalized, but he didn’t interfere. He made a few comments about wishing my mom was alive to “help me through” puberty.
I told him I had it figured out just fine and didn’t need any help.
Which was mostly true.
When I went to high school, I became an instant superstar. Guys were attracted to my confidence. Girls wanted to be my best friend. I pretended I had loads of sexual experience, and that let me call the shots.
If I said, eat me, guys got on their knees.
Sometimes I returned the favor.
But I didn’t do serious relationships, so I never progressed to the next stage of sexual exploration.
Lying here in my dark bedroom with a two hundred plus pound football god lying on the floor beside me has me wishing I already had my V-card punched. Because I don’t want this guy to know he’s my first.
And I do want him to be my first. He knows what he’s doing. My body responds to him.
I respond to him.
If you would’ve asked me a month ago what my type was, I never would’ve said some grease-monkey football player from the sticks who hates my guts, but there it is.
I am quickly becoming powerless around his charm.
And he does have charm. He’s not a meat-head jock. I don’t know how well he does in school, but the guy is smart. He reads people and situations. And he has this cock-sure attitude that makes him both an asshole and wildly attractive.
“Sloane.” His sexy voice cuts through the darkness, goes straight to my clit, which has been buzzing and pulsing ever since the vibrator incident.
I don’t answer. We’re not doing pillow talk here. It feels far too vulnerable. Because even though I was fully dressed, I got more intimate with him than I have with any other human being.
“I know you’re awake, Legs.”
“I’m trying to sleep, Bo.”
“What’s the money for?”
The room suddenly tilts, then spins. I wasn’t prepared for this question. I mean, I should’ve been. It’s part of the reason I’m so defended against Bo Fenton.
That and the fact that he’s extremely attractive but seems to hate me.
Although that may be changing.
“Where did the money from the Porsche go? Aside from buying the totalled Mercedes and paying me?”