Perfectly Toxic (The Sterling Shore Series Book 9) (4 page)

“Allie would never leave you for something like that,” I say, sitting back.

“Logically I know that. But I’m just illogical enough not to risk it.”

“No worries,” I tell him honestly. I’ll just leave Bella alone if it’s this important to him, even though it’s completely unrealistic that it could somehow influence Allie’s opinion of Wren.

“I don’t know why I’m worried. You’re not her type, and she’s pretty adamant about staying away from guys like you.”

“Guys like me?” I ask, trying not to let his insult take root. Wren’s one of my best friends, so knowing he thinks so fucking little—

“Tattoos, piercings, cocky… That sort of thing,” he says with a shrug, and I calm down immediately. Apparently I’m not myself if my feathers got ruffled over that stupid shit.

“She’s actually on a date with some lawyer right now,” he adds. “The guy picked her up from here and stayed on his phone the entire time when she was trying to make quick introductions.”

It doesn’t bother me that she’s on another date. Not at all. Nope. That would be insane if it did.

“Is that so?” I ask with forced disinterest, while secretly hoping he elaborates. Unfortunately, he gets called away by Allie, and I’m stuck trying not to obsess. Once again.

After years of having all of my attention wrapped up, I’m starting to find myself bored outside of work. At least that’s what I’m blaming this slightly disturbing fixation I have for a girl I barely met.

My phone chimes with a text, and I turn it over to cock an eyebrow in disbelief, wondering if her ears were burning or something.

BELLA: It’s another vibrator night. I’d rather wade through an ocean of spiders than ever let this guy put his dick inside me.

Why I’m smiling, I don’t fucking know. Maybe it’s because she just surprised the hell out of me.

ME: I’m better than any vibrator you own, and I have a spider tattoo if you’re into that.

BELLA: wtf?!!! That was not meant to go to you! Forget you saw it.

My smile only grows.

ME: Face it, on some subconscious level you wanted to message me, Bella. And I was being serious.

BELLA: Sorry, but my vagina is on lockdown against you.

ME: Just me? Why is that?

BELLA: Because you’re sexual. That’s why.

Yeah, my cock stirs when I read that, even though it’s an odd sensation. I can actually feel my boxers brushing against the head of my dick right now. Haven’t felt that since I was a kid.

BELLA: SPECIAL! Fucking eh. Not sexual!

ME: I’m especially sexual, so thank you for noticing. As for your vibrator situation… I’m here whenever you want to quit faking you’re a good girl.

BELLA: I’m not a good girl, and I’m not trying to be one. You’re riding my ass for no reason.

ME: Hmm… Now there’s a visual.

BELLA: ..l.. That’s me flipping you off. Just so you know.

ME: Just admit you want me, and we can stop playing this game. It’ll be fun to let me catch you.

BELLA: I don’t want you or your bedazzled dick.

ME: What the hell does bedazzled mean?

BELLA: Look it up, metal dick.

Laughing, I put my phone away, ending the sparring match. I’m not sure if I believe her or not about not meaning to send that to me. Seems a little too coincidental, but I’m game if she is.

Wren can forgive me.

Chapter 6

BELLA

As I wait on my late date to arrive, I trim my weird little plant that is supposed to relax me, according to the books I read. I’m tense and not relaxed. At all.

My phone buzzes on the counter, and I smile when I see it’s Allie.

ALLIE: What cha’ doing? On your date with the phone lover who picked you up yesterday here?

ME: I’m currently trimming my bush.

I laugh like I’m a fourteen-year-old boy at my text. Weirdly, my plant looks like the head of a penis. Am I that sex starved?

My phone buzzes again, and I groan when I see the name I gave Ethan on my screen. Against my better judgment, I read the text.

ASSHOLE: Funny. I pictured you as more of a “bare” girl than a trimmer
.

I read that three times before I go from a fourteen-year-old boy to a twelve-year-old, mortified girl, and squeal while covering my face like that somehow shields me from my stupidity.

Did I really freaking send that to Ethan? Again? Why me?!

ME: That was NOT supposed to go to you, and I meant a literal bush. NOT my girl parts!

The next second, I get another text.

ALLIE: Huh? wth? Girl parts? Seriously? When did you turn five?

And I sent that to Allie instead of Ethan.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” I groan to myself. Then I glare at my phone and add, “You’re an evil son of a bitch.”

The phone doesn’t defend itself. Obviously it knows I’m right.

I copy and paste the text, and check twice to make sure I’m sending it to Ethan, then resend the damn thing.

ASSHOLE: If you say so. Feel free to show me, since I don’t really believe you.

Just to prove I’m not some lunatic discussing my vagina-grooming, I snap a picture of the bush, and I send it to him. He messages back promptly.

ASSHOLE: Your bush looks like a dick. I have some extra jewelry if you want to pierce it. I can send you a visual if you’ve forgotten what it looks like.

I reply back, rolling my eyes as I tell him he’s a douche bag. Too late do I see autocorrect has once again fucked me over, and the word isn’t even a real word. Why does it create words?

ME: You’re a doodoo bag.

He’s texting before I can fix it.

ASSHOLE: Dafuq?

ME: I meant douchebag!!

ASSHOLE: Yeah, cause that’s better. The 1990’s said to high five you for that.

ME: I hate you.

ASSHOLE: Only because you want me, Bella. Only because you want me.

I don’t know whether to be impressed with his confidence or annoyed by his arrogance. Fortunately, I don’t have to think about it much longer, because Jeremy is knocking on my door.

I really hope he was just nervous last night and that tonight will be better, because I almost didn’t agree to a second date.

Opening the door, I force a smile. He glances at me from head-to-toe while staying on his phone—again.

“Yeah, just get the contracts sent over,” he tells whoever it is he’s talking to before waving his hand impatiently at me to hurry up.

He walks on out to his car, while I mutter a few curses and shut the door and lock it. When I reach the car, he barely lets me get in before he’s gassing it out of my driveway.

“We’re going to be late for our reservation,” he tells me like it’s somehow my fault he’s thirty minutes late.

I open my mouth to tell him to shove it up his ass, when he starts talking to whoever is on the phone again.

“Yeah. Yeah. That sounds good. Keep me briefed on that. What about the Mullens contract?”

And that’s how our five minute car ride proceeds—him talking to someone else while I contemplate kneeing his balls.

He whirls into a parking spot, and gets out of the car, calling over his shoulder, “Hurry. We’re already five minutes late.”

“Not my fault!” I snap, struggling with the awkward door handle on his fancy car.

Jeremy walks in front of me, keeping a pace that I can’t match in my heels, and I glare at the back of his head. Asshole.

You know what? Fuck this.

As he weaves and ducks through the people on the sidewalk, I flip him off and turn around. Not that he notices.

Last night’s date sucked elephant turds, so I’m not sure why I agreed to another date. The highlight of the evening was sending a text to Allie, only to find out it actually went to Ethan. Yeah… That’s how bad the date was.

On paper, Jeremy seemed perfect. Law degree, wants a family, interested in a committed relationship, and a wonderful, happy past. In person? He’s a fucking cunt stain. Yes. Cunt stain. Think that makes you cringe? Speak to him and you’ll know the true meaning of cringing.

He loves to talk about himself and little else. Oh, and he has a third ball. Yep. Glad he got that out there, since that’s totally first date information.

And he walks way ahead of me, doesn’t even act like he wants me around, yet actually asked me what my vagina smelled like while I was putting a piece of fish in my mouth. Coincidence? I think not. And no, it does
not
smell like fish, for the record.

I hate dating.

I’m starting to miss the days of reckless, no-strings-attached sex.

The funny thing is, the sane ones only seem to want me in a bed. All the ones who want to
date
me are out of their freaking minds. What does that really say about me?

Deciding not to worry about where my vagina sniffing date disappeared to, I start perusing the streets of Sterling Shore. It’s my day off, so I might as well enjoy it. I’ve never bailed on a date so soon before, but there’s a first time for everything.

When I cross in front of Jax Marshall’s gym, I glance in out of habit. I’m not exactly dressed for the gym, considering I wore my sexy jeans and heels, but there’s a familiar person inside that has my feet cementing themselves to the sidewalk. I almost find myself groaning when I see the lines of muscle flexing, because I recognize the man even from the back.

Ethan.

I might not know his last name, but I know his body. This is just so embarrassingly shallow—which is what I was supposed to be getting past.

He lifts a set of weights over his head, then drops it down to his chest, before repeating the process.

Sadly, the last time I shared any sort of conversation with a guy that was somewhat normal, was with him. When he was crashing my date. And asking me why I was acting like I was too good for him.

Again, what does this say about me?

Feeling annoyed with him and his sexy body, I glare at his back as he puts the weights down and stands back up to his full, gloriously tall height.

I probably look a little creepy staring through the window like some perv as he walks toward the back. When I see him head into the gym locker room/shower area on the men’s side, I smirk and ask, “What would Brin do?”

She’d probably pour a gallon of wolf’s piss into the shower stall with him. I plan to be a little more subtle with my attack.

My attack? Sheesh. When did I become this immature?

Deciding not to overthink it, I walk into the gym, waving at a few people who say my name as I pass by.

My heartbeat starts drumming in my ears as a goofy grin spreads. I have no idea what my plan of action is going to be, but I’m sure I’ll think of something.

The men’s locker room is surprisingly empty, and I peek around a set of lockers to see Ethan… oh shit. He’s in just his boxers.

I’m a pervert, because I just stare at his back until he’s out of sight. And then I squeal like a little bitch because there’s suddenly a guy in front of me, arching an eyebrow.

“Sorry, I, uh, got lost,” I lie.

He walks away, and I blow out a heavy breath while closing my eyes for a minute.

What the hell am I doing? I’m not Brin, and I’m not starting some weird prank war with some random guy. The old me would have definitely done something juvenile in retaliation, like steal his clothes so he has to walk out naked… But I’m not the old me.

I’m taking my life in a serious direction, and Ethan—

“Looking for something, Bella?”

—is right beside me.

I slowly open my eyes, and sure enough, he’s smirking at me while leaning over me, caging me in against the lockers.

“I guess this means you’re stalking me,” the asshole says, amused as my eyes slowly rake over all the lines of muscle, ink, and ridiculous amount of bad-for-me sexy.

He’s still in just his boxers, only his towel is no longer hanging over his shoulder. There’s a large spider web tattoo over his right pec, and I shudder when I see the spider dangling from it with red eyes. He told me he had one, but I didn’t believe him…

“Why would you get that?” I ask, reaching up and touching it before I can stop myself. It feels like there’s a scar under there, but this locker room is too dim to really get a look at it close enough.

His breath catches in his throat, and I look up to see him swallowing as though it’s difficult as he stares down at me. Immediately, I realize I’m still touching him, and I drop my hand like it’s on fire.

For the first time since I met the cockiest man in the world, he looks a little… confused? Vulnerable? Both?

But why?

“The spider?” he asks, clearing his throat as his impassive mask slips back into place, almost as though he can be a dick as long as I’m not touching him.

I just arch an eyebrow, crossing my arms over my chest as though I have every right to be in the boy’s locker room and asking questions about his tattoo.

“Yeah,” I finally say when he actually does seem to be struggling to answer my question.

Slowly, that cocky smirk slides back onto his full lips, and I try not to react
. Physical attraction is skin deep and nothing but trouble, Bella.

“I hate spiders,” he says, drawing me out of my thoughts.

I go from cool to confused in two-point-three seconds.

“Then why get a tattoo of one?”

He shrugs, still smirking. “Because I had to do something to keep myself from staring in the mirror all day.”

I smile, which only pisses me off, and some guy walks by us, eyeing us like he’s in the wrong place. Ethan doesn’t even acknowledge him, because he’s too busy pushing closer.

I duck and spin out from under his arm, shaking my head.

“Why do you really have it?” I ask him as he turns to face me.

I try really,
really
hard to ignore the fact he looks so tempting right now.

“Why are you here?” he asks instead of answering me, mocking me with those dark eyes.

Damn him. And are his nipples really pierced? Why did I have to notice that? Oh shit. That’s not the only thing I notice. He’s apparently not hard to turn on, because that beast between his legs is peeking out over the top of his boxers, and he adjusts himself, giving me a tiny peek of the tip.

I totally just licked my lips.

“I just stumbled into the wrong locker room.” Hell, it’s not even a good lie.

“You want me, Bella. Just admit it.”

“You’re wrong,” I tell him while rolling my eyes, removing them from his fuck stick.

“You’re lying,” he counters quickly, wearing that smirk I’d love to knock off his perfectly sculptured… No… Not perfect anything. It’s a wicked face. So what if it’s gorgeous?

“You’re a dick. And you’re definitely wrong.”

He takes a step closer, and I back against the wall in an effort to put the space back between us.

“I can tell you’re lying,” he says, still getting closer until he’s caging me in again, “because you get all breathy when I crowd your space. And the closer I get, you start squirming awkwardly.”

“Do not,” I say breathily while squirming awkwardly. Damn him.

His lips twitch, as though he’s enjoying this far too much.

“Stop lying,” he says as he puts his head level with mine, letting his breath brush my lips.

My eyes fall to his lips, and I contemplate a lot of really bad decisions. A lot of really bad, stupid, epically reckless decisions.

Fortunately, loud laughter and catcalls from behind him have me snapping out of my trance, and I shove at his chest. He catches my hand, holding it there, and he closes his eyes as a harsh breath leaves him.

“Can I have my hand back?” It’s supposed to sound snarky, but I’m still doing that breathy voice thing.