Chapter 7

SEVEN

A lek Anders kissed me.

He also hit me, which isn't okay, but some dark part of me liked the pain because that meant I pushed him so much he snapped. That's probably fucked up, but I don't care.

I spend the rest of my shift thinking about it. I have never been kissed like that, with nothing but pure, raw desire. No, I've never been kissed like that before, and I hate that it was with that asshole. I don't even know if he likes guys, although it's obvious he doesn't want to. He ran away so fast, I was surprised there wasn't an Alek shaped hole in the wall. I remind myself I need to forget about it as I sprawl across my twin-sized bed in my shared dorm.

He kissed me. So what? He regrets it, and I don't want to be someone's regret.

There are plenty of people who want me, so then why do I crave attention from someone who doesn't?

It doesn't help that I saw a different side of him today. He's working to put Alice through school. Shit, maybe he isn't such an asshole, which doesn't help.

My phone vibrates, and I grab it, expecting it to be Lally, but I'm surprised when I see the unknown number.

Unknown: If you tell anyone what happened today, I will kill you.

My eyebrows rise. Only one person would text me that, and I hate that I want to squeal when I realize he must have asked around for my number. I really am fucked in the head.

Evan: Who is this?

I wait, watching him type, my heart racing as I sit up, staring my phone intently.

Unknown: You go around kissing a lot of people?

Unknown: Forget I said that and forget what happened today. It was nothing.

Evan: Jealous that I do? How did you get my number?

Unknown: Alice had it, said you gave it to her in case she got scared. Now stop texting me.

Chuckling, I thumb out a response.

Evan: You texted me first.

I click the information and quickly add his number, changing his name and picture to the one I took the other day—the one of him smiling.

Asshole: Fine. Now delete my number.

Evan: Why would I do that? You're so much fun to wind up ;)

He doesn't reply, and I frown, wondering what he's doing. Is he thinking of me? Thinking of our kiss ?

I need to know, and there's only one way to get Alek Anders to react to me, and that's pissing him off.

Evan: What are you wearing?

Asshole: None of your fucking business, rich boy. Seriously, delete my number.

Evan: I think you wanted me to have it. Why else would you ask for it then text me when you could have just confronted me when you saw me again?

Asshole: I don't plan to see you again.

Evan: Liar. I'm betting you sleep naked, right?

He doesn't reply, and I lean back, snapping a quick picture before sending it.

Asshole: Are those ducks on your pajama shirt?

Asshole: Forget I asked.

I can't contain my smile, and I bite my lip, ignoring my thumping heart.

Evan: Yes. Prefer it off?

I pull my shirt down and unbutton it a little, snapping a picture and sending it.

There's a pause, and I wonder if I went too far.

Asshole: Stop sending me pictures. You're making me feel sick. I'm blocking your number.

Shit, he would too, and for some reason, I don't want him to.

Evan: What if something is wrong with Alice and I need to get a hold of you?

It's a low, dirty move, but I don't care.

Asshole: Fine, but only use this in case of emergencies.

Evan: What consists of an emergency? What if I need someone to hit me and then kiss me? Or what if I need a getaway driver?

Asshole: I'm blocking you.

I can't help but laugh as I bury my head in my duvet before I lift my head and try to act cool.

Evan: Fine, I'll stop.

It is quiet then, and I can't resist.

Evan: Night, Anders, dream of me and my ducks.

ALEK

I reread the text over and over, leaning back in my bed, my comforter pooled at my waist. Frowning, I go to block the number and then hesitate. If I do and something goes wrong with Alice, I would never forgive myself.

Instead, I reread his texts before opening the second picture. His head is tilted so his hair falls over one eye, and his shirt is half unbuttoned, displaying the stacked muscles on his chest. I find myself staring. I go to hit delete, but for some fucking reason, I save it.

Blackmail , I tell myself.

Groaning, I throw my phone away and cover my face. What the fuck is wrong with me ?

Why did I kiss that asshole?

I blame my emotions. I am never good at controlling them when I get carried away. That has to be it. I wanted to shut him up. Yes, that's it. No other reason.

It won't happen again, that's for sure.

Rich boy doesn't get to come in here and fuck with my life. It's perfect the way it is.

I don't need the complication he would provide, and that's exactly what he is—a complication.

I don't even like men, I like women, and I'll prove that to him and everyone who says differently.

Rolling to my side, I scrunch my duvet and bury my head in it.

Why do my dreams center around ducks and frills?