Page 72 of For Fillies and Monsters

Dale pops a sweet potato fry into her mouth and chews thoughtfully. “You didn’t agree with me the first time. So, I’m giving it another go.”

“It’s too complicated,” I whine, for what feels like the hundredth time.

“I’m pretty sure it’s not. He has a penis, you have a vagina, along with whatever other holes you enjoy using. He gets hard, you get wet.” Dale smacks her hands together and I snort.Loudly.Heads turn toward us, eyes filled with judgment burning across my skin, but Dale doesn’t seem to notice. Instead, she meets each glare with a beaming smile and a wild wave of her hands. They all quickly turn back around as if scolded.

I want to be just like Dale when I grow up.

“I’m not letting him near any of my holes,” I whisper over the rim of my second margarita, fighting off a smile, and I know Dale can tell. She kicks at my legs again, but I just ignore it, the alcohol dulling what will surely be the ache of a bruise tomorrow.

I lean forward, mumbling around the end of the straw, “He’s moody and demanding. I’m pretty sure he’s a dangerous criminal. I mean, the things he did to Nathan…” I take another hurried sip, trying to forget the other things I remember about him—the things I still haven’t mustered enough courage to ask him about. “And Lord, he makes me so mad! Sometimes, I’m certain I hate him. I can’t get him out from under my skin, and it drives me so fucking crazy. No, definitely no holes.”

Dale erupts in laughter, making me jump slightly in my seat. I grin back at her, feeling more and more relaxed as the tequila pumps through my veins.

“Maybe Dale will offer her holes, then,” Gus’s raspy voice deadpans from behind me, and I look down into the green pool of shame that is now dangerously close to empty and then back up at Dale.

“I tried to warn you,” Dale whispers between pinched lips. I hang my head and then swivel to look over my shoulder.

Stupid fucking mistake.

Gus is always hot—annoyingly, dangerously, distractedly sexy—to the point I hate being around him because of the way butterflies always erupt in my stomach. But with the haze of alcohol crawling over my eyes,he is deadly.

The butterflies don’t erupt in my stomach—they consume it. The sudden heat of arousal pooling between my thighs makes me rub them together, and he, of course, zeros in on the action.

He never misses anything, does he?

Unable to stir up any embarrassment or self-restraint, I focus on the irritation that always accompanies the two emotions when I’m around Gus. Better pissed off than humping him in public.

“What are you doing here?” I growl at him, and his eyebrow raises, his eyes still shamelessly glued to my upper thighs. It’s not a caressing assessment, it’s a fiery, brazen one. One that has me borderline whining.

His eyes finally snap back up to my face, matching annoyance lacing each word as he speaks. “Getting dinner?”

Dale quickly slides over in the booth, patting the leather next to her.

“Please, join us! We have officially taste tested all the french fries. I think the garlic Parmesan ones are the best, but Stetson had to be a brat and vote plain—so fucking vanilla of her, I know. There’s still a ton here, though. You can snack while you order.” Dale looks at me, mischief carved into every crease of her face. “Stetson needs another drink, anyway, so we will be a bit.”

I open my mouth to object, but Gus is already sliding into the booth next to Dale, his muscular arm rippling as he drapes it behind her head. He shifts, facing Dale a little more, flashing her a dazzling set of white teeth—a smile so rare, I’ve never even seen it. And that makes me murderous.

You’re fucking losing it, dude.

I will not be jealous of Dale; she deserves good dick, too. And fuck, I bet Gus has the best dickever.I lick my lips, slurping loudly at the bottom of the glass. The image of Gus’s dick, replacing the straw in my mouth—and fuck if I don’t suck harder.

I look back up, instantly regretting it, as Dale’s eyes widen, and a sheepish grin spreads across her features. There’s no way she is immune to Gus’s good looks and charm; you’d have to be a brick wall to be immune. But still, he’s mine.

Except he isn’t, you crazy bitch.

I raise my arm, waving frantically at the waitress for another margarita.

“I have to agree with Dale. The garlic Parmesan is the best.” Gus chuckles, and I roll my eyes. Both Dale and Gus watch me intently, but I’ve had enough tequila at this point that my inhibitions are all but lost to the bottom of the glass.

Let them fucking look—better than making googly eyes at each other.

“I, uh, I need the little girl’s room,” Dale states, and Gus shifts, his dark curls falling over his face.

“Oops, sorry, didn’t mean to trap you,” he teases, and the flirtatious tone of his voice instantly makes me gag around my straw.

Who the fuck is this guy? He has never flirted with me like this.

As Dale hurries to the back of the restaurant, my eyes snap to Gus’s smug face, his eyes already boring into me.

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