1642734778_punk-57-pdf

“Now, dumbass!” I shout, slapping him on the back.
He continues to chuckle as he sets me back on my feet, keeping his arm
around my waist.
“Mmmm, come here,” he says as he backs me into the wall of the
booth. “So you gotta taunt me, huh?” His knuckles brush the front of my
bare thigh. “You wear that little cheerleading skirt at school, where I can’t
touch you, and now when I can, you wear shorts.”
“What?” I play with him. “My legs look different in a skirt?”
“No, they look great either way.” He leans in, the beer on his breath
making me wince a little. “I just can’t stick my hand up a pair of shorts.”
And then he tries to as if proving a point.
I knock his hands away. “Yeah, the thing is...” I say. “A boy whines. A
man doesn’t let anything get in his way. Shorts or no shorts.”
His eyes fall down my body and raise again, boring into mine. “I want
to take you out.”
“Yeah, I know what you want.”
Trey’s been flirting for a while, and I know exactly what’s on his mind,
and it isn’t dinner and a movie. If I give him an inch, he’ll take a mile. I
may not need a ring on my finger to have fun with someone, but I also don’t
want to be a notch on his belt.
So I don’t give in to him. But I don’t reject him, either. I know what
happened to the last girl who did that.
“You want it, too,” he shoots back, his wide shoulders and hard chest
crowding me in. “I’m the shit, baby, and I always get what I want. It’s only
a matter of time.”
I stare right through his ego, seeing a guy who toots his own horn,
because he’s either afraid others won’t do it for him or he needs to remind