This is Alister’s fault.
I find him on Instagram fairly easily enough. Someone tagged him in a video from orchestra class today. Once again, I’m stunned speechless at the incredible skill he possesses. If I didn’t hate him so much, I would’ve told him that today after I overheard him flawlessly playing the solo.
I exit the video to nose through his pictures. He makes a lot of flirty, corny faces that make my gut churn with discomfort. Ever since high school started, he’s been bleaching his hair. I think it looks kind of dumb and obvious he’s not a real blond since he always has inch-long dark roots. There are pictures of him in middle school, where he had brown hair. He looks more withdrawn in those pictures. I don’t remember much of him because he didn’t hang out with my crowd of people. The times I did see him when our dads hung out, I played games on my phone or watched episodes of Mubona Ikari. I certainly didn’t talk or pay attention to him.
There are several pictures of him and his dad—on vacation in Mexico and California and even on an Alaskan cruise.
Spoiled brat.
I ignore that Dad took us to Europe last summer when we were still a family because we’re not talking about me. We’re talking about Alis.
When I click on his story, I see a selfie of him in the locker room after our death match. He’s red-faced and grinning. The caption says, “Still the best.”
Before I can think of a reason to stop myself, I reply to it.
For now, Wonderland.
I’m pleased as I imagine his face screwing up in anger as he reads it. The fucker deserves it. My inbox chimes with a response from him. An audio recording. I hit play.
“Perhaps. But my dick will always be the best.”
“Don’t lie to yourself, Sommers,” I blurt out after hitting the recording button. “We both know you felt it. I’m bigger and better. Accept it.”
He sends me some emojis that are drooling and then some fire emojis. I send him a few middle-finger ones. Another audio recording pops up.
“Was that not supposed to be hot? Well, it totally was. Are you going to think of me sitting on your dick when you jack off tonight?”
I hate him.
Especially because my dick is hard right now.
Naomi was right. I’m going insane.
It wouldn’t be the first time I sported wood over a guy, but it’s certainly not something I’m proud of when it pertains to this guy.
“I won’t be thinking about you if I actually plan on getting off,” I growl in response and hit send.
“You owe me a Coke tomorrow if I pop into your head while you jerk it.”
I close the stupid app and toss my phone on the bed. My heart is pounding hard inside my chest, and my dick is at attention. I’m just exhausted, is all. That’s. All.
With a groan, I reach over to grab my lube from the drawer. After shoving my shorts down and slicking up my shaft, I groan and close my eyes. I think of Naomi’s perfect tits and nice curves. I imagine stripping her and finally being able to fuck her for the first time.
But she’s gone.
Literally.
We broke up.
Because of him.
I think back to the way he sat on my lap. His scent invaded my nostrils and fried my brain. A moan tumbles past my lips as pleasure curls down my spine. My balls tighten, and I come without warning. Hot cum splatters up, landing on my shirt, marking me with the evidence of my release. I stare down at it in horror because he was right.
I’m not buying that asshole a Coke.
Alister
For being in all of my classes, he avoids me like the plague. Which affirms what I already know—he came with my face in mind. Filthy fucker.
“They broke up,” Leon says, elbowing me in line at the cafeteria.
“Who?”
He gapes at me like I’ve lost all sense of reality. “Naomi and Canyon.”
I snap my head up and frown. “What?”
“Dude. It’s been all over the school. What have you been doing?”
“Apparently, my work,” I grumble. “Why? I thought they were in love.”
Guilt gouges into me. Surely she didn’t break up with him because she thought something was going on between us. That moment last night on the track was a mistake. A lapse in judgment. By the time he messaged me on Instagram later, I was back to myself again. The flirting and taunting riled him up as expected, but it was all part of this war between us.
What went on at the track was because he’d exposed a nerve when he took a swing at me. Normally, I harden myself against violence like that, but I was exhausted from trying to outdo each other. I snapped when he tried to hit me. Damn near cried like a little kid. It was embarrassing as fuck.