Page 8 of Habits

“No way.” He shakes his head, and his chin settles on her shoulder. Lia’s sitting on his lap, and his hands are around her middle. “We have a lot of catching up to do.” The look he gives her makes her blush. “Years.”

I roll my eyes at the same time Brook, Lia’s best friend, fake-gags on the other side of the table. She doesn’t even lift her face out of her notebook to acknowledge them.

“You’re just jealous,”shewhispers by my side.

Her voice is low and husky, her words only meant for me to hear. Creating a barrier between the two of us and the rest of the table.

Pulling me in.

I knew Jeanette was there. I saw her before I sat down, but this was the only place left open, so it’s not like I could choose where to sit. But Icouldchoose to ignore her. So I did. After all, it’s something I do best.

Girls are just an irritation for me. A necessary evil if I want to lose myself, even if only for a short time. Forget. They don’t mean anything to me.

When my mother left she taught me one lesson—don’t trust anyone, especially women. They are manipulative, secretive liars. So I use them and leave them before they can do the same to me. Before they take everything away from me, leaving me with only a broken heart.

But there is something about this girl.

She’s different.

The calm before the storm.

When I look into her eyes—those piercing gray eyes—I see something. A recognition maybe? And it scares me. It scares me because if I look too long, she’ll see it. She’ll recognize it, too, and then I’ll be left wide open for her to seeme. The real me. The guy hiding behind the mask.

Jeanette Sanders could be my undoing.

And I’m not ready for that.

So I do the only thing I can to pull away and break any connection she thinks we might have before it even forms.

My hands curl around the first girl I see passing in my peripheral vision. I tug her and she stumbles on her feet, her hand falling to my chest to steady herself and prevent the fall. Without waiting for her to realize what’s happening or asking for permission, I plant my lips on hers.

She gasps in surprise, and I use that moment to push my tongue into her mouth. I have to give it to her; it doesn’t take long for her to return my kiss. Now steady enough, her hands run through my hair, pulling me closer as she returns every swipe of my tongue inside her mouth with eagerness.

Predictable.

All of them.

My hands dig into her ass and pull her down on my lap.

My motions are practiced to perfection.

Every move sure and steady.

Fake.

Bored.

Disgusted.

I’m disgusted with myself, but I keep on doing it because the show must go on. And there is no greater stage than my own personal life.

It doesn’t take long to hear the scratching of the chair against the floor and loud footsteps moving away. Once I’m sure she’s gone, I break the kiss and push the girl off my lap like the nuisance she is.

“What the …”

Turning back to my tray and the stunned faces of my friends, I wave her away. “You’re no longer needed.”

She stands there for a few moments longer, her chest lifting with heavy breaths before she screams like an angry toddler and stomps away.

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