Page 55 of Fuckboy Psychos (Scarlett Force 1)
“I am not your friend,” Widow snaps back at him, stepping forward, dressed in a purple tee that’s missing its sleeves, and a pair of blue jeans over brown boots. “Yes or no.”
“What do you care if I’m fucking Bohnes or not?” I ask, flicking my tongue against the corner of my mouth. I wonder if he knows that I rode my own knuckles against his leather seat, that I left my mark on his steering wheel and his gear shift? “How is that your problem?”
Widow glances at me briefly before adjusting his attention to Bohnes.
“If I win, you will never fuck Scarlett Force,” Bohnes says, and I start to wonder then if I’m not losing control over the situation. I need to make sure that I correct that error.
“Really?” I ask dryly, flicking a mountain of dark hair over my shoulder. “You two want to swordfight with your cocks on the track? Over what? I’m the one who decides who I fuck or don’t fuck.”
“Maybe,” Widow interrupts, his gaze intense as it lands on me, making me wonder if he really wasn’t watching us after all. Bohnes seemed convinced that he wasn’t, but I’m not so sure. “We can’t decide for you, but we sure as shit can decide for each other.” He turns back to Bohnes. “Fine. If you win, I won’t—”
“Without my permission,” Bohnes adds, grinning wildly. “You won’t fuck Scarlett Force without my permission. The rest of the school year is implied—we don’t make bets that last any longer than that.” He turns to me, leaning down to put his mouth near my ear and making me shiver. “Watch me win for you, Scarlett. Watch me grind him into the mud.”
I shove Bohnes back, scowling violently.
“Done.” Widow shrugs again. “What do I care anyway? I never planned on fucking her regardless.”
“You two are idiots,” I say, pushing past Bohnes and taking off in the direction of the track. I ignore Widow as I pass him, but his eyes slide to me, and we end up making eye contact for the briefest of seconds before I slip by.
I find the old stone walkway, surrounded by overgrown grass, and walk back up it to the parking lot where Nisha and Basti are drinking around another bonfire. The way they both look at me, it occurs to me that we have yet to talk about the Bohnes thing.
“Well don’t you look pretty and freshly dicked,” Basti murmurs, looking away from me, hurt clear in his dark brown eyes. I really fucked up by not telling my friends about Bohnes. Part of me wonders if that isn’t at least a small factor in Lemon’s most recent temper tantrum.
I look down at my dirty dress, my even dirtier heels. My hair is decorated with leaves and twigs and tiny pinecones that I’m picking out even now, and I’m sure my neck is marked with red and purple hickeys, probably some fairly clear teeth marks, too.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you both about Bohnes,” I say finally, even though the words feel like needles as they scrape up the inside of my throat. I’m not used to apologizing to people. It doesn’t come easily. “And I’m sorry it took me all week to figure out how to say that.”
Nisha glances over at me, wearing a pretty pair of gold chandelier earrings that she won in a race tonight. Her mouth is painted with gold today, too, a glittering jewel in the light from the bonfire.
I look back at her, and she nods once, as if to say she accepts my apology but that she still isn’t happy with me.
“He’s that good, huh?” she asks, and I shrug. I mean, I think he is. But who do I have to compare him to?
“He’s good,” I agree, glancing over my shoulder in time to see both Bohnes and Widow coming up the path—that same twenty or so feet between them.
I shiver as they pass by but, despite the fact that their race is centered entirely around me, they don’t acknowledge my existence.
“I just can’t believe you’d do me wrong like that,” Bastian argues, looking at me like I’ve broken his heart. I reach out and give his hand a squeeze, and he squeezes it right back. He knows what he means to me. He’s the only penis allowed in our all-girl crew. And not just because he’s the gayest man I’ve ever met in my life, but because he vibes with us in a way that no other man ever could. I always tell Basti that he’s my friend soulmate. We have zero sexual interest in one another, but our hearts are intertwined. “You were supposed to tell me when you’d found the right guy, and I was supposed to either encourage you or talk you out of it …”
