Page 46 of Wreckage of Me
“Ah,” I nod in understanding. “You looked me up to screw me, literally,” I snort in fake amusement. “And now you’ll be on your merry way. After you appointed yourself as my Number One,” I can’t help the jab.
“Becca…”
“Nah,” I wave him off like this is not important. “I got a Number One anyway, remember?” I smirk at him and enjoy the way his eye twitches at the mention of my imaginary boyfriend. “So it’s all good,” I shrug. “Tell your Number One and Number Two that I said hey,” I add with a big smile on my face.
“Becca, quit that shit,” Dylan growls at me, and when he takes two menacing steps toward me, I almost want to take off in a run. “You don’t want a life with me. I am bad news. I got so much shit going on right now, I can’t wrap my head around it. I just wanted to see you.”
“And screw me,” I shrug again, sounding all casual like. “Like I said, no big deal. I got a boyfriend, so not like I was looking for a relationship here. I just hate being used.”
“If you have a boyfriend,” he spits the word out like it’s poison, “wouldn’t that make you a user too?”
“What do you mean?” I need Dylan to leave my house at this point. I am too distraught to understand his riddles.
“You got a boyfriend, right?” The way he asks the question makes it sound like he doesn’t believe it. I nod, even though I am lying through my teeth. “Then aren’t you using me for sex when you could get it from him? That’s because only me can make you feel this good.”
“Ah, so whatyou’resaying is that you don’t feel fully satisfied by Number One and Number Two, so you decided Number Three in Montana was what would float your boat?”
My logic seems to leave him speechless. Yeah, I’m amazed by my quick thinking too.
In one smooth move that takes me completely by surprise, his arm shoots out and the palm of his hand is wrapped tightly around the back of my neck.
“If you think that I believe for one second that you’re the type of girl who would sleep around on her boyfriend, think again. Not that I care one way or another,” he adds casually, although the tightness in his jaw would prove otherwise.
I try to free myself from his hold, but he won’t let go. Instead, he yanks me closer and holds me in place right before slamming his lips over mine. He bites my bottom lip when I refuse to open my mouth, and it hurts just enough for me to let out a yelp of pain. That, in turn, gets my mouth open just enough for him to slip the tip of his tongue in.
I could bite him back. But he tastes too good.
He smells too good.
Everything is just… too good.
A loud knock on my front door freezes me in place. My eyes go big in my face and I try to stare at Dylan with worry, even though he’s not letting go of my lips.
I start pushing hard against his chest, trying to dislodge his massive body from mine, but he refuses to let go.
“Dylan,” I mumble into his mouth. “Stop.” That seems to be the magic word. This is the second time I asked him to do it, and he’s done it both times. “There’s someone at the door,” I whisper to him when I finally have his attention.
He sighs and straightens his massive body up, both hands falling away from the back of my head.
“What time is it?”
I look around for anything that could show me the time since I don’t have my phone on me. I finally spot the cable box by the TV.
“It’s almost one thirty in the morning.” I realize in shock that it’s a lot later than I thought. I have to be into work at noon tomorrow, but I have a class at nine, and I was hoping to read over the last assignment one more time before turning it in.
Another knock sounds at the door, making my hand press against my chest in distress.
“It’s Sully,” Dylan explains when he sees the worried look I must have on my face. “I had told him to come pick me up before two. And, well,” he chuckles, “it’s before two.”
“So it is,” I agree.
This is probably the last time I’m going to see Dylan. Then again, that’s what I thought the last two times we had together. Nothing is going according to my predictions.
“Let me tell him to wait for one goddamn minute,” Dylan says when another knock echoes loudly throughout the house. Thank God I don’t have a doorbell.
I watch in fascination as he walks to my front door, yanks it open like it’s made of cardboard, mumbles something with the person standing on the other side, presumably Sully, slams the door back closed, then walks back to me.
I cross my arms over my chest, unsure of what’s supposed to happen now. What a mess, seriously.
