I stepped in closer to her. “You sure you want to put yourself in this position, Chick?” I asked, cocking an eyebrow. “Because once you love me, every other man you ever date will be an utter disappointment.”
“And once you love me, you’ll never be able to get me out of your head,” she said, stepping even closer. We were so close that her chest almost pressed against mine. At six feet two, I towered over her by quite a few inches. Yet she still kept her head held high.
If I hadn’t hated her so much, I would’ve thought it was cute—how she believed in her words, how she was so certain I’d lose the bet. But what she didn’t know about me was that there wasn’t much room in my life for love. So, this win for me? Easy. Effortless. Pain-free.
“Please.” I smirked, lowering my head down toward her face. My lips were centimeters from hers. “I’m going to love every second of owning your body and your heart.”
“Whatever.” She stood on her tiptoes, and her lips moved in closer. I felt her hot breaths brushing against my skin. “I can make you fall in love with me without you even tasting my lips.”
“I can make you love me while still treating you like shit.”
“I double-dog dare you, Satan.” She held out her hand.
“Bet, Chick.”
I shook her hand, giving it a tight grip, and she matched the intensity. It was probably the first time we’d touched since she came into my room last October and held me.
For a second, I thought about holding on for a while longer. My hands were always ice cold while hers felt like the sun. I was already forming ideas for all the things I could do to make Shay fall in love with me. I was coming up with ways to get under her skin, to drive her crazy, to make myself irresistible. This felt like the task I’d been waiting for, the challenge I needed to keep my mind busy.
Making Shay Gable fall in love with me was going to be a perfect distraction. And I damn sure wouldn’t need seven months to make it happen.
* * *
News of the bet between Shay and me traveled fast, which wasn’t shocking based on how much Reggie talked. Unfortunately, the news of the bet traveled all the way to Monica’s jealous ears.
“What’s this about ab-b-betbetween you and Shay?” Monica barked as she marched toward me in the kitchen. She was already slurring her words, and I could smell the vodka on her tongue from a mile away. Her heavy eyelids told me she’d been far gone for a while now. The last thing I wanted to do was converse with a drunk and high Monica.
“It’s nothing, Monica,” I mentioned as I grabbed her a cup of water. She was looking skinnier lately, too. I wondered if she’dbeen eating. I knew her mom honed in on Monica’s weight in the past. I used to make her eat with me whenever we hung out because I was certain that was the only real meal she’d have.
Ever since we’d stopped hooking up, it seemed she wasn’t keeping those meals in her rotation.
Monica huffed. “So what, you fuck Shay Gable now? I thought we hated her,” she said, her voice dripping with disgust.
I held the water cup toward her, and she slapped it out of my hands, shooting water all over the kitchen.
I closed my eyes and took a breath so I wouldn’t snap at the girl.
She’s drunk. Let it be.
I went and got paper towels to clean up the water. She stood over me as I wiped it up, still pressing about the bet with Shay.
“You disgust me,” she muttered, standing high in heels that were probably killing her feet. Honestly, with how wobbly she’d been, I was shocked that she still had those heels on. “You aren’t shit. You know that? You’re worthless in this world.”
I flinched at those last words.
They were a little too close to my own beliefs.
I stood and tossed the paper towels into the trash bin. I then turned toward Monica and pressed out an annoyed smile. “You’re drunk. Drink water and get sober or get the hell out of my house.”
“Oh no,” she mocked. “Not me being drunk. It’s a party—everyone’s drunk... except for you and Little Miss Perfect,” she sneered, referring to Shay. “She could never fuck you the way that I fuck you.”
I was hardly listening to her anymore. Most of the time, I let her comments slide because I knew her story. I knew the mess that was her life. I’d seen her wrinkled pages and bent corners. Some pages were torn from her book, hiding the darkest partsof her, and I was the only one who’d ever been able to read them. If she needed a punching bag, I’d take her hits, but that didn’t mean it didn’t mess me up sometimes, leaving me battered and bruised.
“You should probably head home,” I suggested.
“I was planning on it anyway. Your party blows,” she said, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “Don’t forget to go take a dip in the pool, Landon, in honor of your uncle,” she muttered, walking away.
Why would she do that?