Silas
Sloane is being more stubborn that usual. I hoped space would give her some perspective on the situation, let her come to her senses. Yet it’s been more than a week now, and she still won’t respond to my texts.
I sent her a whole long message assuring her I’m not trying to get into her pants. I appealed to our friendship, the tight bond we’ve had since freshman year. Don’t get me wrong—there’s a part of me that would take her up on it if she floated the idea of hooking up. But I get it. It’s not happening.
Anyway, I’ve got a girlfriend. And Sloane’s back with RJ. So, whatever. Let’s move on.
I’d always thought of her as a rational person. Prone to anger and poor taste in men, yes, but essentially logical. Well, it seems her self-destructive penchant for dating losers has corrupted her higher brain functions. She needs a detox, except I can’t get close enough to help her see that, goddamn it.
“Like, back me up here,” I tell Amy. “That’s obviously a red flag. She’s become a completely different person. Stopped hanging out with her old friends. All since this new guy basically took over her life.”
“What do you think of this area?” Amy says, moving her laptop closer as we sit on her bed. Her bare legs are draped over mine while she scours the internet for the best neighborhoods to live in London. “I think I like Notting Hill. Remember I made you watch that old rom-com? It was set there.”
“Sure.” I honestly can’t give less of a shit, nor can I remember a single rom-com she’s ever made me watch.
She bookmarks a page and moves on with the dogged determination of a homicide detective.
“I know you think it’s dumb because it’s ages away, but I need to start thinking about this now if I’m going to get my parents on board with me spending my gap year in England. If I show them I’ve done the research, they might feel better about bankrolling the venture, know what I mean?”
“Yeah, sure.” I’m barely listening. And I’m starting to regret sneaking into her dorm tonight.
Amy’s been on my case for days to come visit her at Ballard. Then I get here, and she spends the first hour in the bathroom on some new skincare routine that just makes her face smell like glue. And now she wants to do research the whole time while I’m sitting here counting the seconds of my life slip through my fingers.
“If one of your friends suddenly stopped talking to you because she was seeing someone new, you’d be suspicious, right?”
“People change when they’re in a relationship,” Amy says absently, scrolling through photos. “They want to spend all their time together.” She lifts her eyes from the screen. “That’s normal.”
“Right, but this is extreme. We never used to fight.”
There was a time Sloane appreciated my opinion. But now, whatever brain worm RJ slipped in her ear has fundamentally altered her personality.
“You don’t like the guy, right?”
“He’s just such a step down for Sloane,” I answer with a scowl. Personally, whatever. He’s fine. For her? Please.
Amy frowns. “Sounds like she just wants you to be happy for her. If you won’t do that, maybe it’s better you two take a break for a while.”
My scowl deepens. “I don’t think you’re getting a clear picture of things.”
Finally, she takes the hint and closes her laptop. “Maybe if we spent more time together…”
“I’m here, aren’t I?”
“It’s just that you talk a lot about Sloane lately. Kind of all the time, actually.”
“I’m sorry I can’t pretend to be interested in London hot spots.”
Amy rolls her eyes. “We don’t have to talk about London. Or anything, in fact.”
She leans in to kiss me, that cloying glue smell filling my nostrils. I force myself not to breathe through my nose and try to ignore the sticky-wet texture of her skin against my chin. I swear, most of the cosmetic stuff that girls do to themselves is a major turnoff.
Still, when she reaches down to stroke me through my jeans, I put the thought aside and let her take my shirt off. She tosses hers aside to show me she’s wearing my favorite bra, which is a nice gesture. It’s white with red trim and stacks her tits up nicely.
For all she can get on my nerves sometimes, Amy’s a sweet girl. And she’s got fantastic tits. The first time I got my hand up her shirt at her sister’s dance recital, I almost bust a nut just palming one soft, heavy breast.
I dip my fingers inside one bra cup and pull it down to show me her tiny pink nipple. Tug on it a little while she travels down my body to unzip my jeans and stroke me. She looks up under those thick eyelashes and sweeps her light brown hair over one shoulder before she applies her tongue, licking the tip.
Pleasure skitters up my spine. I close my eyes, and then, for some awful reason, an image of Sloane sucking off RJ gets stuck in my head. Duke was bad enough, and we all know where he’s been. The new kid, though, by his own admission has bounced all around the country. Probably hooking up with only the finest suburban meth addicts. I wonder if Sloane’s even had him tested for STIs.
“Is this okay?” Amy pumps her hand. “Do you need me to do something else?”
It’s only then I realize she’s been at this a minute, and I’m only getting about half wood here.
“No, it’s fine. Just use your tongue.”
Amy typically gives good head. She enjoys it. So I try to concentrate, squeezing her tit and tugging the hard bud of her nipple. But she’s at it for a while, and I still can’t get up to full mast. Eventually she sits up, shaking out her hand cramp with a frustrated huff.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I guess I’m just tired. Swim practice took it out of me.”
She cocks her head at me while I tuck myself back into my jeans. “Swim practice,” she echoes, dubious. “Or…here’s an idea…” She gives an angry snort. “This is about Sloane.”
I tense up. “Why would you say that?”
“Because, Silas, she’s all you talk about anymore.” Amy makes a mocking face and affects a poor imitation of me. “Sloane’s mad at me. Sloane’s being a bitch. Sloane has a new boyfriend.”
“I think I take offense to that characterization.”
She jumps off the bed and fishes her shirt from the floor. “Seriously, you’re kind of obsessed with her, and I’m not okay with it.”
“You’re being ridiculous.”
Amy’s tone gets increasingly sharper. “Oh, really? So you don’t have a thing for her?”
For the second time during a pivotal moment in a critical conversation, my idiot self hesitates a beat too long.
My girlfriend’s face collapses. “Oh my God.”
“Amy, come on. It’s not like that.”
She ignores my half-hearted defense, tears welling up in her eyes.
“I think I knew even when we first started dating.” Her teeth dig into her bottom lip, which is trembling visibly. “But I wanted you so much, and I figured at some point, if you liked me enough, you’d get over it.” She sucks in short, muted breaths and wipes her cheeks. “I have done everything to be what you wanted, but none of it mattered because you never liked me at all, did you? You were never capable of loving me.” A strangled sob fills the room. “You were just killing time until Sloane was single.”
“Amy—”
“I was nicer to you than you deserved,” she says with tears streaming down her ashen cheeks. “You’re not a good person, Silas.”
“Come on. You’re blowing it way out of proportion. I don’t have a thing for Sloane,” I mutter, finally managing to get the denial out.
“I don’t believe you.”
“It’s the truth,” I lie.
“Fuck you, Silas.” She turns away, her shoulders stiff. “It’s over. Just go.”
My instinct is to stay. To spend the night reassuring her until she comes around again. This isn’t the first time her insecurities have sent her over a cliff—I know with the right amount of sweet words and soft reassurances, we can move past this. But as I get off the bed and put my shirt on, I realize I don’t give a shit anymore. This half-assed relationship has sapped enough energy out of me, and I can’t find it in me to care.
Hell, she probably just did me a favor. Saved me from having to come up with an authentic-sounding breakup speech.
“I’m sorry,” I tell her, only half meaning it.
Then I grab my shoes and duck out the door.
Leaving Amy’s room, I let out a breath heavy with relief and head toward the stairwell. A door opens halfway down the hall and a familiar face greets me. A dusky complexion and big, amber-colored eyes.
Mila Whitlock.
Before Casey’s accident, Mila was Sloane’s best friend. Hot too. Tonight, she’s in a pair of tiny boxer shorts and a black sports bra that shows off her high, perky tits and tight abs. She’s got a great body.
A slow, amused grin spreads across her face when she notices me walking with my shoes in my hands.
“Have fun?” she says.
I shrug. “Think I just got dumped.”
Mila laughs in my face. “Good for her. ’Bout time she showed a little backbone.”
“Yeah, thanks for your support.”
“Sorry not sorry.” The curvy brunette waves at me over her shoulder as she saunters off. “Sweet dreams, Silas.”