Chapter 13 Aston
Aston
“There you go. That’s a big boy. A good, big boy.”
A muffled groan slips from Seth’s slackened lips.
I grunt, hefting his upper half onto the bed.
“Emphasis on big.” I hold up a hand, and back up.
“Not that you’re fat. You’re actually pretty skinny, I’m just really out of shape.
And even if you were fat, there’s absolutely nothing wrong with that.
All bodies are beautiful.” I stare at his relaxed face.
His droopy eyes. That cute little button nose…
D’awwww.
Focus!
“Fuck, what am I even saying? You’re not beautiful. There’s nothing beautiful about you, or cute, because you stole my man, and that just ain’t cool, dude. Not at all. What were you thinking? Does bro code mean nothing to you?”
He makes a soft sound, and I pat his head. “There, there, Sethy. It’s okay. I’m here to right your wrongs.”
It takes a lot of grunting and heavy breathing, but I finally, finally get his not-fat ass onto the king-sized bed.
Once I have him rolled onto his side, I give his butt a little squeeze—What?
! I’m looking for his phone. Plus, it’s a nice ass, even if it belongs to a traitor—then grope his sides, patting around until I find a bulge.
Not that bulge.
God, get your head out of the gutter.
I sing my favorite Heart song under my breath as I take his lifeless hand, pushing his thumb over the sensor to unlock his phone. “Thanks, babe,” I say, dropping his hand. He doesn’t make a peep.
Shifting onto my back, I turn on his phone camera and lean against the headboard, sliding down until both our faces are in frame.
“Say Cheese!” I grin wide, squishing my cheek up against Seth’s chilly nose and take the picture. Sitting up, I find Vale’s contact and send that baby on over. I then quickly send his contact info to myself.
There!
I delete the thread, as well as the photo I took and sent, erasing all evidence that I’d tampered with his phone—thank you, Google—and toss it on the floor.
Now, I wait.
“It’s abysmally pathetic, you know,” I say after a moment. “Truly. Subjecting yourself to a one-sided relationship.” I tsk, and flit a sideways look at the sleeping boy next to me. “Talk about desperate. You’ll thank me for this one day.”
Music continues to play loudly from the first floor; an occasional cheer rising up the stairs. I’m not sure whose room this is, but it looks hardly lived in, telling me it’s a guest room. From the floor, the phone starts ringing. I ignore it.
Tonight has worked out superbly, if I do say myself. Not long after I’d calmed down enough to start plotting, an opportunity presented itself that was just so perfect, I couldn’t help but see it for what it was:
A sign from the universe telling me, yasssss.
Because it was there, just beyond the DJ booth, that I spotted a cute little fellow with a goatee that even Captain Hook would be absolutely envious of, in the sneaky process of popping a little pill in a girl’s drink when she was turned away.
Kismet, right?
While Hookie Boy wasn’t all too happy to have gotten caught, he was quick to change his attitude when I made him a deal.
(This is probably the part in the story where you’re wondering if I’m redeemable, right? Well, spoiler alert, I’m not.)
Fast-forward one too many drinks on little Sethy’s part, one of which having been doctored by yours truly, and another seemingly never-ending half-hour of waiting and watching and more waiting…
The door bursts open.
Showtime!
I snap my head up just in time to see Vale coming at me. And boy, is he angry.
“Hey, pumpkin!” I chirp brightly as he grabs me by the shoulders in those massive footballer hands of his. I don’t think he even realizes how tightly he’s holding me. Definitely tight enough to leave bruises this time. My chest turns all goopy at the thought.
His steely gaze shifts past me to where his sweet little Prince lies passed out in the fetal position. His jaw ticks, and I cock my head with a frown.
He doesn’t look… worried, like one would expect after finding out their soon-to-be ex-boyfriend was drugged and held hostage.
He looks rather annoyed. Inconvenienced, even.
“Did you touch him?”
“I touched his butt.”
He glares at me.
I shrug. “I was looking for his phone.”
He rolls his eyes, so I do too. He wrinkles his nose, so I wrinkle mine.
“Stop.”
“Stop.”
He stares at me, and I stare back. His gaze flits down, then back up, and he says, “What the fuck are you wearing?”
“I’m Cupid. Duh!” I say, spreading my arms to show off my cute little toga I made with a sheet.
Behind me, a pair of white flimsy wings jut out from my back.
They’re held by clear tape hooked under my pits.
I found the wings along with the cuffs for my wrists and gold laurel crown currently sitting atop my hair in the bottom of an old trunk down in the basement.
Something tells me my girl Gertie was quite the kinky gal back in her day.
And to top it all off, all up and down my arms and on my cheeks, I stuck little pink and red heart stickers. Just so no one would mistake me for any little ol’ angel.
His dark brows arch. “I gathered that. Why?”
I blink at him. “Why not? It’s a costume party, Vale. Where’s yours?”
He studies me with a look I can’t place, and I can normally place a lot of looks. But there’s something about Vale that’s always been hidden from me. Even back when we were kids, randomly thrown together in the same shitty foster home.
His hands drop away all of a sudden, as if he just remembered he was holding me. I sigh at the loss, watching as he spins to face the door.
No, it doesn’t escape me that he never answered my question.
My gaze drops, taking in how well he fills out his jeans. Just the right amount of tightness to give that firmly sculpted ass some much-needed oomph compared to our school uniforms.
Not quite as delicious as spandex though, I think, reflecting on how he looks playing football. I’ve attended every game since that first one.
Garbled mumbling from behind me has him whirling around, and my brows spike at the new view before I can help myself.
Not that I would…
“Fucking Christ. Stop.”
I pout and glance up to find him glaring at me, arms folded across his chest. With only a short-sleeved black t-shirt on, I can make out every taut line of his muscles. Every teal-hued vein branching out down his forearms.
Sex god. He went as a sex god.
Wetting my lips, I bat my eyes. “Stop what?”
His nose flares, and his lip curls. “You know what.”
“I really don’t.”
He lunges forward, grabbing me by the throat. Just like he did in the bathroom yesterday, only this time he doesn’t try to steal my air from me.
“Stop looking at me like that.” When he speaks, I catch a whiff of alcohol on his breath. Tequila, I think. No wonder he’s so feisty tonight.
“Like what?”
“Like you wanna eat me,” he all but growls.
My mouth twitches. “Do you want to eat me instead?”
He looks me up and down, not even bothering to mask his disgust.
It shouldn’t bother me, not when it’s a look I’ve seen aimed my way so many times before this. I’m no stranger to the sneers and wrinkled, upturned noses. Like I’m no better than the dirt on some rich bitch’s Louboutins.
On my feet, or on my knees, it’s always the same. I’m scum. Nothing more than a hole to use, abuse, and throw away like yesterday’s trash.
And until now, I was okay with that. So long as it was my idea, and it got me all the things in the world I wanted, I was peachy keen about it.
And I can’t even quite say it does bother me that Vale, of all people, is looking at me like he is now.
On one hand, I want to be a good boy and do everything in my power to wipe that revulsion from his eyes. To drop down on my knees and let my throat do the talking.
I’ve always been so much better at show than tell after all. When I talk, the words just tend to get all mixed up, fogging the truth of my intentions.
On the other hand…
“Or would you rather hurt me?” I whisper into a sly grin. “Make me pay for what I did to your sweet little boo over there.” I cock my head. “He’s cute. Is he cute under the button-ups and khakis too?”
Vale’s mouth thins, and I can’t help but admire the sculpted lines of his face.
Like he was carved out of stone. He looks so much older than his nineteen years—it’ll be twenty in just a few short weeks, my little Scorpio baby—and so very little like the mousey boy who so foolishly intervened all those years ago.
At least, that’s what I was told. Amnesia, remember? Everyone’s second to least-favorite trope. The first being what’s about to go down because I’m nothing if not thorough when it comes to yumming on yucks.
“He smells good,” I whisper, anxious energy coursing through my limbs, settling my skin abuzz. “Like some fancy cologne. Is that what you like? Fancy things. Fancy car, fancy school, fancy boyfriend, fancy life.”
“Shut up.”
My heart thrashes around in my chest. “I could be fancy for you. Tell me what you like, and I’ll find it. I’ll get it. Anything you want.”
Heat flares in his gaze, before icing over. “What’s wrong with you?”
I reach forward, tiptoeing my fingers up his chest. He sucks in a breath, just as I arch my neck, pressing it further into the curve of his hand. “You should know.”
He tenses.
My lashes flutter. “Tell me, Vale DuPont.” Something cracks in his expression, and I know I’m getting warmer. Closer. I’m nanoseconds away from breaking him wide open. “How is it that you got to live the Cinderella fairytale, while I was left to roam the gutters with the other rats?”
He seethes, and I push up on my toes, getting right in his face. “Do you remember what it feels like? The blood. The—”
He slaps me across the face.
Hard.
I think it catches him off guard more than it does me, but still. Owww.
“Well, that wasn’t very nice, Valeykins,” I say, pouting as I rub my cheek. Poking my tongue around, I’m not surprised I taste a hint of blood.
My dick gives a jolt. Fuckkkkk.