Toxic Bad Boy(27)
Dante walked her to the front door and spent a minute talking to her. I rolled down my window, wanting to hear if Cece said anything about Gianna. I pulled my new phone out, scrolling to Gianna’s number.
This is Caleb. I need to talk to you.
As Dante got back into the car, I stared down at the screen waiting for a reply. “Do you want to go to my house?” he asked, tapping the steering wheel.
“No.”
Still no response from Gianna.
“I texted her.”
Dante winced and I imagined he thought me pathetic. “She and Gage are together all the time, but I thought they were just friends.”
“I guess fucking not.”
“He always seemed cool, but I would’ve kicked his ass for you if I’d know he was moving in on her.”
She still hadn’t texted back.
“Where to then?” he asked, driving away from Cece’s house.
I sighed, closing my eyes as I leaned my head back. “Right now I just want to get shit-faced.”
“Party it is,” Dante muttered grimly.
*****
“Kiss me again, Caleb,” the girl moaned against my ear.
I complied, our mouths colliding in a haze of alcohol. She was a sloppy kisser, but her tits were fucking spectacular. I palmed one, squeezing roughly as she wrapped long legs around me.
“Fuck me, Caleb.”
I was going to do it this time. This was the second party and the third girl I’d made out with. As horny as I was after months of going without, I needed pussy pronto. I hadn’t been drunk enough before with the other chicks to forget blue eyes in a gorgeous face.
I would’ve eased Gianna back into sex, but with this slut I’d be able to fuck her as hard as I wanted. “Take your clothes off,” I told her, pulling away to find the condom Dante had given me earlier.
The girl stumbled as she peeled off skintight jeans. Her pink halter top was next, baring those spectacular tits. A tiny hot pink g-string covered almost nothing. I unzipped my pants and tore open the condom packet. Losing the panties, the redhead laid spread eagle on the bed.
My head felt dizzy from all the liquor I’d downed. I hadn’t been this wasted since I was fifteen. Concentrating on my dick, I rolled the condom on slowly.
The text alert on my phone beeped. I fumbled to get my phone out of my pants pocket.
“Ignore it,” the girl slurred, playing with her nipples.
“Hold on,” I mumbled, unlocking the screen.
It was after one in the morning, but Gianna had finally texted back.
If you need to talk, call me tomorrow.
I dialed her right then.
She answered sounding tired. “Hello?”
“Did you let him fuck you?” I snapped.
“Jeez, Caleb,” Gianna said with a sigh.
I sat down on the edge of the bed when my stomach roiled. The girl on the bed sat up to nibble on my ear. “How about you fuck me?” the chick said, giggling drunkenly.
“Who is that?” Gianna asked, her volume increasing on each word.
“This slut I’m about to fuck,” I said unapologetically, drunkenly.
“Where are you?” she asked, her voice tight.
“In a bedroom at some party.”
The redhead’s hands rubbed over my chest, venturing down. When Gianna didn’t say anything, I thought she’d hung up.
“Gianna?”
“I want this cock in me,” the girl purred.
My phone beeped as Gianna hung up.
I got to my feet, the chick’s hand slipping from my dick. She slid off the bed to her knees in front of me, her lips aimed for my cock. “Wait.” I grabbed onto her shoulder. “I need to think.”
“I’m going to blow you.”
“Hold on.” I pushed away from her, my head beginning to pound. “I don’t know if this is a good idea.”
She returned to the bed, spreading her legs again. “Then just fuck me.”
My phone beeped in hand.
Obviously there is nothing to talk about.
Ignoring what was on display, I typed back, You fuck him?
She didn’t answer. Was she upset? Jealous? I couldn’t think straight!
It didn’t matter. She loved Gage now, not me. Instead of hunting down Gage, I crawled onto the bed over the hot slut waiting for me to screw her.
And barely moved in time to throw up on the floor instead of the girl’s naked body.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“A broken bone can heal, but the wound a word opens can fester forever.”
-Jessamyn West
CALEB
“We’re going to be late if you don’t hurry, Caleb!” my mom called out from the living room.
I’d barely been out of juvie for two days and I already had an appointment to meet with the director of the art gallery about the show. He’d decided to exhibit my work in the same show as the urban realist painter. I didn’t mind, less pressure on me that way.