Page 15 of The Boy Next Door
Chapter Eight
Emma
Ding.
I give my reflection one last glance and tug at the hem of my skirt. I don’t know what I’m doing here—trying to seduce my best friend.
Between the auction and Lindsey’s stellar advice, my mind is a jumbled mess. I sigh as I wipe at a smudge of lipstick before grabbing my phone.
Evan:I’m waiting...
I shove my phone in my purse and head into the hallway. As soon as I open the door, I jump. I’m face to face with CeeCee, her hand raised like she was about to knock.
“Shit,” I huff. “You scared me.”
“Sorry. I uh...” She glances at the floor. “So, Evan...”
I close my door and adjust my purse on my shoulder. “Oh God, what is he doing?” I peek around CeeCee and through the large floor to ceiling window in the living room to see if he’s popping wheelies in front of the house or if he’s leaning against his bike with his shirt off again. But he’s just sitting at the curb, staring into space.
“Well, he uh... I mean, I know you two are just friends and all, but I always figured that—” An uncomfortable grimace works over her face. “Well, he bid on Daisy.”
He did what?My chest goes tight. My jaw tenses, but I force a smile. “Huh, well... I didn’t know about that.” This hurts.
“Yeah... I figured.”
We stand in the hallway in awkward silence. What am I supposed to say? I’m pissed. Destroyed, even, but I shouldn’t be. “Alright, well...tell her congrats, I guess?” I shrug a shoulder and walk toward the front of the house. “He’s a great guy.”Okay, Emma, that touch may have been too much.
“So, you’re okay?” she calls just as I open the door and step onto the porch.
“Yeah. Fine.” The door slams behind me a little louder than I anticipated, and I take a deep breath, glaring at Evan straddling his stupid bike with his stupid T-shirt squeezing his massive muscles. After giving me shit about the auction, he went and bid on one of my sisters. What a bastard! The least he could have done was bid on me if he thought it was such a bad idea. Save me from Winston.
Anger bubbles in my chest, desperate to erupt. With each step I take toward his bike, I hate him a little more. By the time I snatch the helmet from his outstretched hand and shove it on my head, my face is on fire.
“Hey, Em,” he says, and I just glare. “Alright...don’t talk to me.”
I sling my leg over the seat.
“You gonna hold on to me or what?”
“I’m good,” I say in a clipped tone.
Shaking his head, he throttles the engine. He pulls onto the street, weaving in and out of traffic, going faster and faster. I grip the seat and squeeze my thighs, attempting to keep my balance. God, he’s such a bastard. He takes a sharp turn and, out of instinct, I grab on to him. I can just make out his laughter over the rumble of the engine. The fact that I’m now forced to be plastered against him is only making the tension mount.
By the time we reach the red light, the tension between us is a living, breathing thing. I want nothing more than to say something to him, but I’m not going to give him the satisfaction of knowing I care. I don’t even know why I got on this bike or why I’m going to this party with him—I guess because I was caught off guard. God, I hate him—
“I got you some vodka,” he says. Just the sound of his voice pushes me over the precipice.
“Gee, thanks,” I snap. “You going to get Daisy some vodka too?”
His grip on the handle bars tightens, the tattoos on his forearms tensing over the muscle. He exhales, tapping a finger over the handle. “So, you already heard, huh?”
“Yep. Give me shit for signing up for it and then you go and bid on one of the girls. I guess the idea of bagging one more virgin was irresistible, huh? Daisy...” I mumble, letting go of his waist.
“Em, God. This is so messed up.” The stoplight turns green and he floors the accelerator, speeding through the intersection. I bet he’s glad that light turned when it did, forcing that conversation to a grinding halt.
Two blocks down, another red light catches us. “Look, I didn’t bid on her,” he says.
“Oh,” I snort-laugh. “Okay. So now you’re just gonna lie to me?”
