Page 44 of Filthy Beautiful
“I was hanging out with DJ Summer.”
“Don’t you have friends your own age?”
“Yeah, but they can’t get into the bar.”
I glanced at him again. Nothing.
“Okay, that was a lie. I don’t have friends my own age.”
Still nothing. He hadn’t even looked at me once since we got in the car.
“Let me guess,” I said. “You’re trying to impress Cary or something?”
No response.
“You’re gonna tell him about this?”
“No need.”
“What do you mean, no need? Then why did you need to drag me out of there?”
“I didn’t drag you.”
My face flushed hot. Good thing he wasn’t looking. “No, you creeped me.”
“What?”
“You took my hand and led me out to your car.”
He blinked a few times, but he never took his eyes off the road. His jaw clenched. He took a deep breath, then muttered, “Better me than someone else.”
“Meaning what?”
“If you don’t know what I mean, there’s no way in hell you’re ready to be in that bar.”
Right. Like I was that fucking naive.
“I wasn’t going home with anyone.”
“You let me ‘creep’ you out to my car.”
Oh, no. Hedidn’t.
I felt the anger rising like a dirty black tide. I was trying to be civil(ish), but when would I fucking learn? Xander Rush was the last thing from civilized.
He was more like a feral sex monkey who humped first and asked questions later. Oh, wait. No, he probably didn’t ask questions at all. That would mean talking to a woman rather than screwing her. Probably a no-go.
I mean, he’d never screwed me, but this was definitely the longest conversation I’d had with him in the last two years. Ever since I’d gotten the big boobs—and he noticed.
Ever since that horrible night when I found out what a gross sex monkey he was.
“Were you always this much of an asshole?”
“Always.”
I went silent. For like five minutes.
So did he.
