Page 83 of Fuckboy Psychos (Scarlett Force 1)
“May I come in?” he asks, lifting up the box. I glance over the edge to see several familiar items rattling around inside. Every single thing in there is either a gift that I gave Lemon or else something I lent her to wear or use. Gold hoop earrings, a wadded up BlackCraft Cult half-shirt, a few tightly rolled joints.
Seriously?!
I snatch the box from his hands and turn, putting my back to him to show that I’m not afraid. Aspen follows me into the house and then pauses, a genteel blight against our lower-class abode with its sagging sofa, antique end tables that my grandma got from her grandma, a faded rug on the floor to cover up the dull sheen of the hardwood caused by too many feet over too many years.
I continue on into the kitchen, setting the box down on the table.
“Time is ticking, Kelly,” I tell him, sifting through the items—all while still holding the knife—and noticing how thorough Lem was with her purge of me. What the actual fuck? We’ve had plenty of fights in our ten plus years of friendship, many of them worse than this. How petty is this? How dare she?!
“Lucy threw this box into the dumpster; I thought you might want it.” Aspen saunters in, wearing another cashmere sweater, this one black with a horizontal stripe of charcoal across the chest, his indigo jeans pricey and crisp, a pair of absurdly expensive sneakers on his feet.
“Where is she and why are you here?” I repeat, tapping the knife against the side of the box as I glare at him over the top of it and watch as he studies the framed photos on the wall to his right. “Like sands through the hourglass, bro.”
Yeah, my grandma was raised by her grandma, and she still enjoys an occasional episode of that shitty soap opera, Days of our Lives. The opening is seared into my brain.
He smiles at me. It’s an odd expression on that absurdly pretty face.
“I shouldn’t have come here,” he tells me, and I cock a brow. Like, duh.
“So why did you?” I ask, and he shrugs, pulling out a chair like he plans on sitting in it.
“Nope. Nuh-uh. You’re not staying. In fact, I’m done waiting for an explanation. Did Lem give you my address? Is that how you knew to come here?”
I’m exceedingly careful with my address and letting people know where I live. Not that I could hide it from the whole of Prescott. This neighborhood is a gossip machine. But I can and usually do make sure that rich psychos like Aspen Kelly remain blissfully unaware of my address—unless they use their money to do some digging.
I don’t think that’s the case here though. It would’ve been much easier for him to simply ask my (apparently) ex-bestie.
“I don’t know, to be quite honest with you, Scarlett Force.” He lifts his black gaze to mine and tries to smile for the third time. I notice a bandage on his right hand that certainly wasn’t there last week. I wonder what happened to his hand? “Maybe because—despite my better judgment—I can’t stop thinking about your mouth.”
“Maybe you should be thinking about Lemon’s mouth instead?” I shoot back, shoving the box away from me like it’s poisoned. I’m so insulted right now, I can barely breathe. How dare that bitch do this to me, send her boyfriend over with a box of items that summarize our friendship at a glance.
The handmade thank you card I gave her for taking care of me after the accident; the deflated balloons still attached to a string that I brought her for her tenth birthday, after she cried and told me her parents couldn’t afford a party, presents, or a cake. That sorta stuff.
I feel betrayed.
I mean, I know I put my foot on her back and ground her into the mud, but that was business, and she knows it. She knows how hard I have to fight to stay at the top of Prescott High, on top of our crew, on top of the racetrack.
Aspen shakes his head and then swipes his hand over his face before looking up at me. He opens that full pouty mouth of his, like he might have something important to say and then pauses when Alexis appears in the doorway behind me.
I hear her before I see her, turning to look over my shoulder with clear annoyance in my gaze. She might be the older of the two of us, but I am undoubtedly the boss.
“If Kellin Bohnes isn’t your boyfriend, then why is he outside?” she asks me, and I grit my teeth in frustration. I am, like, overwhelmed with psycho boys at the moment. I look back over at Aspen, but he has no reaction at all. None whatsoever.
