Page 123 of Fuckboy Psychos (Scarlett Force 1)
He just stares at me, but he says nothing. That, I feel, is answer enough.
“You can race other guys to keep them from sleeping with me—I can’t stop you—but I sure as shit am not going to put my entire sex life on the line against you. Not even if I know I could kick your ass.”
“You bet Aspen Kelly your body, but you won’t race me because I want to make you my girlfriend?”
“Your … girlfriend?” I choke, and if I could’ve gotten away from him in that moment without brushing our overcharged bodies together, I would have. “I don’t want to be anybody’s girlfriend.”
“I sat down last night, and I thought about it,” he continues, turning away from me to look down the aisle. Agnes pops her head in to check on us, and I offer up a bright grin. She narrows her eyes at Widow, smiles at me, and then totters off.
I pray that I’m half as cool as her when I’m seventy-nine-years old. That woman is a legend. Her granddaughter died in an accident a few years back. The granddaughter’s husband did, too. Since Agnes’ daughter is also deceased, the five little kids had nowhere else to go. She’s been raising them, and she’s almost eighty years old. You know what? I’ve never seen such happy children in Prescott.
Like I said, legend.
“Thought about what?” I query, breathing hard, wondering why I’m even entertaining this caveman shit.
He smiles at me. More like smirks. But it’s one of the few times I’ve seen him wearing anything other than a frown or a scowl or a moue or a pout.
It’s devastating.
He is devastating.
“I thought about all of the romance novels I’ve read and what I’ve learned from them. So here it is.” He steps even closer to me, breathing against my hair. “I’m going to claim you as my woman.”
“Get fucked. Sounds like you’re reading the wrong sort of romance novels.”
Widow laughs at that and shakes his head.
“No. I read exactly the right ones. I’ll make you my girl, Scarlett Force.” He takes a step back and then he’s frowning at me again, head slightly tilted to the side in a mimicry of what I just did to him. “I’ll be your man.” He smirks again. “Not your fuckboy. Oh no. One day, I’ll be your husband.”
“Get the hell out of here,” I hiss at him, but he just laughs, the sound low and sultry and twisted.
“I’m a virgin, Scarlett Force. I hope that isn’t a problem. I’ll let you pop my cherry. Just tell me what you like. We can learn together. For now, give me a list of guys that I need to challenge on the track. Or is it really just Bohnes and you’re bluffing to make me jealous? It’s working, by the way.”
This time, I smirk right back at him.
“Oh, I can promise you that it isn’t just Bohnes,” I purr, and Widow blinks those amber eyes at me for a few seconds before they widen in surprise, and his jaw clenches.
“Aspen,” he breathes out, nostrils flaring as he turns away. “Aspen Kelly.”
Shit.
“Did I say anything at all about Aspen Kelly?” I ask with a sharp laugh.
“You didn’t have to,” he grinds out, eyes narrowed.
“Don’t kid yourself, Widow,” I continue, trying to defuse the situation. “This is a fruitless exercise. You want me to pop your cherry? Fine. I’d love to. You’re hot as hell, I won’t lie. But I sure as shit am not going to let you go Neanderthal on me and drag me back to your cave by my hair. Try a different romance novel, idiot.”
“Whether they’re sweet or they’re dark, whether they make soft love on a bed of roses or rut on a dirty public bathroom floor, it’s all the same.” He sweeps his gaze over me disdainfully, tucking Holly Black’s book right up against his crotch.
Oh God, what would Holly say if she knew about this?
“What’s all the same?” I ask, and Widow blesses me with one more dark smile.
“Intent. I intend to see us together, Scarlett Force. You can teach me what romance and sex are all about. But I’m only going to try this once. Don’t fuck this up for me.”
He turns on his heel and takes off as I stand there gaping at his back.
Mildred gives him an odd look as he storms out with the book pressed against the wet spot on his sweats. The censors near the door go off, indicating that he hasn’t properly checked the book out. Mildred grabs her trusty broom, the one she beats Prescott brats with when they try to steal things.
Another seventy-five-year-old badass.
“You’ve got bad bitch energy, Mil,” I tell her as I move out of the aisle and put my hand on hers. “But let him go. I’ll … get a new copy of that book for the library. Promise.”
