7. Wren
WREN
What an amateur.
Stone obviously has no idea what it’s like to have to sleep with one eye open at all times.
I hear him this morning from my surprisingly comfy pallet on the floor.
I’ve slept in worse places than the floor of a secure house on a college street, that’s for sure.
And I’m sure, much to Stone’s oblivious state, I know how to fake sleep and keep my eyes shut.
The door latches, and I spring up and laugh at all the cups that surround me.
To be honest, I’m a little disappointed.
After placing the cups around his bed last night, I assumed he’d dump them on my head like the asshole that he is, but instead, he placed them around me.
Surely he knew that I was going to wake up skeptical.
I pull my hair up into a messy bun and push the covers off my legs, letting the cool air wash over my heated skin. I slowly stand and tiptoe over the cups and head to the bathroom to get ready for class.
I take more classes than most sophomores in college, but that just comes with my degree.
I knew choosing a BS in Chemistry was going to be vigorous and demanding, especially because I had to keep up a 3.
5 GPA for my academic scholarship, but proving to the world that a Davis can be more than a drug dealer is pretty much at the top of my bucket list.
Although, when some people found out that I was becoming a chemist, they made the joke that I was only doing it so I could help my father make drugs—as if my real goal in life is to be cooped up in a disgusting trailer full of cockroaches, playing around with methylamine and hydroiodic acid.
After rinsing my face and throwing on some makeup—which was all hurled into the stupid plastic tote that Stone threw my shit into—I open the bathroom door and hear a noise coming from downstairs.
What the hell is that?
Two doors open down the hall, and sleepy hockey players emerge with their lack of shirts and flickering abs from stretching the sleep from their bodies.
“What’s that noise?” Archer’s entire body takes up the hallway because of the width of his shoulders.
Taylor follows closely behind.
“I don’t know,” I answer.
They both stumble past me toward the noise. I decide to go, too, having a terrible feeling that it has to do with Stone, since he isn’t in his bed.
The farther I go down the stairs, the more my heart beats. It’s a familiar sound. It sounds like vibrating, and I’m suddenly panicking because Stone put his fucking hands on my stuff last night, and that’s something I truly do not like.
“Oh, fuck.” Archer is standing in the threshold of the kitchen.
All I can see is his stupid, large shoulders shaking with laughter.
Taylor doesn’t smother his laughter with his teammate. He howls and throws his head back to the ceiling before looking over his shoulder with devilish eyes that show each and every dirty thought going through his head.
I’m going to fucking kill Stone.
“What is going on?”
I snap out of my plans of choking Stone in his sleep and turn at Evan’s voice. He is the very last person I want to see my bright-pink vibrator that I use more often than not, even when I was still in a relationship with Brad.
Shit, shit, shit.
Evan’s brows furrow. “Wren? What’s wrong? Why are you pale?” He pauses. “And what the fuck is that godforsaken noise?”
I whoosh around and squeeze past Taylor, who is still laughing, and try diving toward the table before my foot catches on the cabinet, and I fly to my knees.
The hard tile breaks my fall before Archer’s hands are around my waist. He hauls me up, but I claw to get away so I can grab onto my vibrator—which is still gaining all the attention.
Oh my God.
The moment I turn it off, I let out a breath, but when I meet Evan’s disgusted look, I wish I would stop breathing altogether.
“Is that…” His face scrunches after he looks from it to me. “Fuck!” His hands slap over his eyes, and now there is more laughter than before.
Everyone is awake.
Everyone is staring at me holding my pink vibrator in the middle of the kitchen.
The only person missing is Stone.
“Oh, shut up!” I place my hands on my hips, which looks ridiculous because I’m holding a pink, dick-shaped vibrator that just so happens to have an extra part on it for more stimulation. “You act like you’ve never seen a vibrator before!”
“I have!” Evan turns around and bends over at the waist. He’s dry heaving. “I’ve just never seen you with one! Fuck.”
“Bro.” Grant shrugs. “She’s not even your real sister. You can’t honestly say that you’ve never thought about having sex with her.” He glances at me.
Does he think I’m deaf and can’t hear him?
“I mean, look at her.”
“I’m right here!” I shout. I sigh agitatedly while planning Stone’s death. “Ugh, move.”
I’m ready to plow through my roommates, but Taylor clears his throat.
“Don’t forget your note.”
Fury backs my every move. “What?”
A yellow sticky note is dangling from the ends of his fingers, and I snatch it quickly, reading over the contents.
Missing something, Sticks? No surprise you’d need this — who wants to touch a girl with sticks for legs? It’s no wonder your boyfriend cheated on you.
Ouch.
I don’t let his insult wound me for too long. Instead, I crumple the piece of paper and throw it in the trash before smoothing out my shirt and walking through the kitchen, past the rest of my housemates who are now eyeing me with a little more twinkle in their eyes.
Except for Evan. He’s trying to hold back vomit.
His hand grips my forearm to stop me from squeezing past him. “Let me guess? Stone?”
I shrug. “Just some roommate drama. Don’t worry about it, big brother.”
The one person who should be worrying is Stone. I know how to rise to a challenge and play games.
And he should know better than anyone that I can play dirty.
* * *
There are lights shining through the bedroom window from a car driving down the street, and by the sound of the bass, I know it’s Stone.
He always blared his music in high school when coming to Evan’s house, and I see that nothing much has changed.
I recognize the song ‘Burnin’ For You’ and tap along to the beat underneath the covers with my vibrator glued to my other hand.
I’ll admit, my little plan for tonight sounded a lot better this morning when I was simmering with anger over what Stone had done, but I don’t give up easily, and there is no way I am retreating when it comes to him. What he did was totally uncalled for.
Granted, placing drugs on his truck in high school teetered between unjust and impartial, but at least I had a good reason.
He’s just being an asshole. He is still that same haughty, cocky, superior boy from two years ago who enjoyed inflicting misery on my life.
A door shuts downstairs, and heat races to my fingertips.
There’s a delicious twist in between my legs at the thought of doing this in front of Stone, but I’m blaming that on the excitement of irritating him.
There is a chance my plan will backfire, but either way, I’ll piss Stone off, and that is the most important thing at the moment.
My breath is trapped between my lips, and my chest is full of unshed oxygen. I hear him talking to one of the guys down the hall about their practice. They all got home before him, and knowing Stone, he stayed late to practice more because he just has to be the best.
“Yeah, I’ll meet you downstairs at 6, man.”
My eyes are open, and his tall, shadow-like form stands in the door. I can’t see if he’s scowling, but I have a pretty good imagination.
“Get up.” It’s not a request.
“I won’t get up,” I say. “But I sure will get off.”
I smile deviously and press the button the very second he shuts the door and flicks the light on, showing off that stupid scowl of his.
Game on, Foster.