Hating You, Loving You (Inked Hearts 4)

Someone calls out, "It's when you need more than a pulse and two legs."

"Two legs? Look who's Mr. Picky." A jock laughs.

"I'd never discriminate against a woman with one leg. Or no legs." Dean's eyes find mine. "I don't need a smile either. A million-dollar scowl is better."

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nbsp; I fight my scowl. I'm playing Dean's game. Indifference. Aloofness. Utter coolness. "Unfortunately for you, I do have standards."

Someone makes that ooh, burn sound.

The girls on the floor giggle. Whisper something. No doubt it's who does she think she is? No way Dean wants her. But I don't care about them.

They're seniors. They're graduating. In two weeks, they'll be out of my life forever.

Dean looks up at me with a wicked smile. "Your turn."

Oh. So it is. I scan the room.

Fuck the girls trading rumors.

Fuck the guys looking at me like they're deciding if I meet their standards.

Fuck this whole party.

My gut churns. Why did I let Gia talk me into this? Why did I think an invite from Dean could lead to anything but teasing and embarrassment?

I need to get out of here. Fast.

I look to Alan. He's a wannabe Dean. Not quite as cute or tall or blond. Not as funny or charming or attention grabbing. "Alan, truth or dare."

Everyone turns to him.

He leans back in his black chair. Revels in the attention. "Dare."

I have to fight fire with fire. "I dare you to streak around the neighborhood."

Alan jumps to his feet. Holds up his hand in salute. "I hope you ladies are in for a show." He sends winks in every direction. Even mine.

Then he marches over the carpet, the white tile foyer, the mat. All the way out the door.

It slams shut with a thud.

"Let's set up on the porch." Dean motions to the door. Leans in to whisper something to the girl next to him.

Even though she's sitting on some guy's lap, she giggles at Dean. "Sure."

She slides off her boy-toy's lap. "Follow me." Her red heels sink into the carpet, then they click against the tile.

She turns back. Motions let's go.

And everyone does.

One by one, people stand. File out of the room.

Someone, a guy about Dean's height, with a letterman jacket and dark hair, whispers something in Dean's ear.

Dean shakes his forehead. "Got something else to do."