Catch Twenty-Two (Westover Prep 2)

“Right,” I mutter as I release her face and take a step back.

“We should leave like he said.”

“Sure. Give me a second. I’ll meet you outside.”

She nods quickly, ready for her escape and slides past me. I don’t know if she’s avoiding touching me on purpose but not a single inch of her body brushes mine as she exits the small alcove we’ve been tucked inside.

Despite the glacier change in atmosphere, I resist the urge to lick her from my fingers, and use my time adjusting my cock. I know it takes longer than the sixty seconds I promised the interrupting asshole to get myself under control, but he never comes back to tell me to leave a second time. I bet he’s having the laugh of a lifetime, having witnessed me nearly coming in my fucking jeans without so much as her fingers on me. Jesus, the way she pulsed against me.

“Enough,” I hiss at myself, hating that she’s left me feeling rejected and vulnerable.

But I shouldn’t be surprised. Frankie takes without offering anything in return.

That’s a lie and I damn well know it, but I cling to that falsehood as I shift my heavy nuts over a few more inches and walk out of the haunted house with a still half-hard dick.

“You okay?” Frankie asks as I step back into the chaos of the night.

I blink, my eyes having a hard time readjusting to the light after being in the darkness for so long. “I’m fine.”

She rolls her lips between her teeth to keep from laughing, but I ignore her mocking eyes and walk past her.

“Do you want to go on the Ferris wheel?” she asks when she catches up with me.

“No.”

“How about that scary looking roller coaster?”

I don’t bother to look to where she’s pointing.

“No.”

“So, I guess I wouldn’t be able to convince you to go on that spinning octopus looking thing?”

“Not a chance.” I shift away when she tries to loop her arm through mine, and I do my best not to feel like the biggest asshole in the world when her steps falter.

“What’s wrong?” she asks on a whisper.

I don’t respond. I don’t understand my own damn feelings right now. There’s no way I could explain them to her. She doesn’t want to hear about my struggle to maintain control around her, or that I handed every ounce of my power to her back there. She wouldn’t be sympathetic if I tried to tell her that I feel like my life is spiraling out of control and she’s the only rock in my world. She definitely wouldn’t understand that I hate her for it all.

She couldn’t accept that needing her the way I desperately do will only end in tragedy. And that thought reminds me of what is left waiting at home. A dying dad and a broken mom. Love is tragic. Loving people only ends with pain, heartache, and regret, and I know if I keep spending time with her like this, it’s only a matter of time before I fall head over heels for her.

I can’t need her.

I won’t.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” she hisses, clamping down on my arm and refusing to be ignored.

“Nothing.” I shrug but won’t look her in the eye. I don’t want to see the pain I know is simmering there.

“Don’t nothing me, Zeke Benson. This hot-and-cold routine of yours is getting really old.”

My jaw ticks, flexing as I look around and see people turning to watch us. She’d be embarrassed with the attention if she were aware of it, but she’s too busy glaring lasers in the side of my face to notice the small crowd gathering.

“Let’s go then.”

I don’t reach for her or touch her arm to get her moving. I simply walk away and pray she’s following behind me.

I’m pissed at the world, and at my cock which still hasn’t fully deflated. I would’ve taken her against that wall tonight given the chance, if that asshole wouldn’t have interrupted us. Despite the number of girls I’ve turned down, despite knowing that Frankie is a virgin, I would’ve taken my dick out and slammed inside of her right then and there. None of the rules, none of the waiting mattered any longer.

I growl my frustration, kicking an empty soda can as I stride past the trash collecting near the concession stand trashcan. A mother standing nearby with her two small children isn’t impressed, but I can’t handle being the respectful young man my mother tried to raise right now.

Emotions tear through me. They tell me to stop and talk to her. They remind me why I can’t. Things would be so much easier if I just stopped putting myself in positions that only leave her with regret burning in her eyes.

I come on to her, and she gives me what I need, only for me to turn around and hurt her. The contempt in her eyes each and every time I do it strengthens, and before long the girl is going to hate the very sight of me, but I can’t seem to stop. I’ve never wanted and hated the idea of someone so much in my life.