She rolls her eyes, running a hand through her hair up in amessy bun. It’s only when she drops her arm that I realize how she’s dressed. She’s wearing nothing but a simple tank top, and my years of undressing girls have taught me one thing: notice when they’re wearing nothingbuttheir tops. As for Scarlett, it’s not the experience that speaks, but the indecent transparency of her pajamas. I swallow as I look away, forcing myself to stare at the TV screen.
“So, what’s with your boyfriend?” I blurt out in a hoarse voice.
It’s impossible for her to notice my discomfort, but I feel it deep in my gut. I put my ankle on one of my knees, feigning relaxation. However, Scarlett’s chest provoked a particular heat in my lower stomach.
Boobs, nothing more, nothing less.
And I have a hard-on for boobs.
But damn, it’s Scarlett!
“Perfect,” she says. “Everything is great with him. He’s really sweet.”
I frown, giving her a surprised look at so much admiration. I didn’t feel like it was such crazy love in their relationship and hearing her display it annoys me. She deserves better than that poor guy.
“Really, this guy is a sweetheart. He’s nice to me and he’s everything I dreamed of.”
“The perfect man,” I quip despite myself.
“Exactly. I really hope that you’ll find someone as respectful one day.”
I chuckle at the praise she’s giving her boyfriend.
When I saw him the first time, he looked like a real jerk. I still don’t understand what she sees in him.
“Aren’t you overdoing it, Scar?” I laugh.
She tenses up and glares at me. I laugh even more. God, I missed pissing her off.
“And you, with your girlfriend?”
She crosses her arms against her chest, and I forbid myself to squint at the movement it must have caused on her breasts.
Damn, since when am I stuck on baby Scar’s boobs?!
“Perfect!” I exclaim in the same tone as she did earlier.
Deep inside me, it’s a multitude of emotions, each more confusing than the next. Excitement, envy, desire, interest, denial, frustration, rejection.
“You’re making fun of me.”
“A little.”
I laugh at the middle finger she displays.
I have to pull myself together.
“She fucks well,” I say. “And I like her.”
She looks at me, disgusted.
“She will be delighted to know that she’s an ass before a heart. Nice vision of the woman, Jones.”
“Jones?” I repeat with a grimace. “Are you being hysterical? You never call me that.”
“Fuck you.”
I laugh again and rather than show me her middle finger, she just ignores my laughter.