Page 57 of Fuckboy Psychos (Scarlett Force 1)
“Lemon?” Basti chokes out, and we exchange a look. I’m already moving forward when Nisha reaches out to take my arm.
“Don’t start any shit tonight,” she warns me, gesturing in the direction of the track. Both Widow’s purple ‘Vette and Bohnes’ black Chevelle are on their way down the curving road that leads to the starting line.
Considering it’s my sex life that’s on the line here, I should probably watch.
Instead, I find myself fixated on Lemon as she moves over to cling to Aspen’s side like some sort of deranged trophy wife. Doesn’t she know that rich guys only come down here to see if Prescott pussy is as good as everyone says it is (it is), but that they never marry girls like us.
“Motherfucker,” I curse, turning my attention to the other car. The driver has yet to climb out, but, seeing as his ride is even more expensive than the Cobra, his presence can only mean trouble.
I watch as Aspen ignores Lem, even when she clings onto his arm, focusing instead on rapping his knuckles against the driver’s side window of the Miura. Looks like the gash on Aspen’s cheek has healed up. Either that or whatever makeup artist painted Lemon fixed it for him. I’m betting on the latter.
Aspen steps back and, after another long, seemingly interminable amount of time, the door finally opens and out steps a vaguely familiar blond guy—with gloves on his hands.
“Wait a second,” Nisha starts as my eyes go wide. Our mark is here, at the track. It’s fucking Lambo guy. We exchange a look as Basti makes a sound of surprise. This time, when I head in that direction, nobody tries to stop me.
Only way to walk through mud while wearing heels is to stand on your toes. Trust me, I’ve had plenty of practice at it.
I make a tiptoed beeline straight toward Blondie, ignoring Aspen as his dark eyes rake over my body, like he’s trying to undress me with his gaze alone. Just for that, he deserves a knife to the gut, but I choose to ignore him in favor of my new friend.
Lemon narrows her eyes at me but says nothing as I pause in front of Glove Guy, noting the sweat beading on his face, the way he keeps swallowing and staring down at his expensive loafers in the mud.
“Well hello there,” I say, and he finally drags his pale green eyes up to mine. They widen in recognition, but only for a second. Then he’s staring down at his feet and swallowing again like he’s about to have a heart attack. “Didn’t expect to see you around here.”
“You two know each other?” Aspen inquires, his voice edging on something cold and dangerous. “Alexei, you should’ve told me.”
Alexei.
Glove Guy is named Alexei. I commit that to memory, somehow certain that it’ll come in handy at some point. That is, if he doesn’t pass out on the ground right now.
“Don’t mind him,” Aspen says, smirking at me in such a way that I wonder if he even remembers that I clocked him at the market just a few days prior. His eyes aren’t red anymore, so I guess I didn’t blind him with that washing powder.
Too bad.
But that’s life, I guess. Not everything works out.
“Alexei here is a bit of a germaphobe.” Aspen claps his friend (or whatever he is) on the shoulder, and Alexei allows a cataclysmic scowl to stretch over his full, pink mouth.
“Kindly remove your hand from my shoulder,” he grinds out, nostrils flared. Aspen tightens his grip briefly as Lem stares daggers at me, as if challenging me to accept that I was wrong, that Aspen truly is the love of her life.
I wonder what she’d think if I told her what happened between us at the grocery store, that he almost kissed me. What would she believe then? I know that I’m right, regardless of what it looks like currently. He might have given her some sort of glow-up makeover, but that doesn’t change the reality of the situation: he’s using her for something.
Whether it’s sex, or to look more legitimate in the eyes of our fellow Prescott students, or what, I don’t know. I don’t fucking care. Whatever it is, it isn’t going to work out in my friend’s favor.
I'm almost certain that Aspen and Alexei are going to start fighting when Aspen finally drops his hand, his attention swinging to me.
“Are you up for another race?” he asks, but I just shake my head, pausing at the sound of engines on the track. Widow and Bohnes are about to start, and I can’t miss this. If they’re going to fight over me, I may as well watch.
“Not tonight, sweetheart,” I grind out, offering Alexei another quick once-over. He stares right back at me, seething and sweating and looking like he’s torn between running away and following after me. “If you don’t like dirty things, you’ll hate it here.”
