Page 65 of Striking Range

Typically, I brush people off—boy or girl. No one is good enough, not normally. But Jacob is smart and sweet; he’s popular and has a career ahead of him.

Plus, I felt the outline of his dick when we danced that one night, and he’s packing. Like, I think he’s as big as Evie is. Maybe I need this; maybe I need him to distract me from how fucked my situation with Everett has become.

And if I fall in love with him, I can get over Everett, and we can go back to being friends.

“Sure,” I reply. “I’ll meet you there. Text me.”

Jacob grins, satisfied and obviously excited. “Cool. See you then, pretty boy.”

This could be good. This could work out. Or it could all burn down around me, just as everything else has. Only time will tell, I guess.

I hope that whatever is happening with Everett isn’t a big deal, that whatever is leaving marks on his skin isn’t permanent. If it is, I don’t know what I’ll do.

I don’t know how I’d help, or if he’d let me.

And I don’t know who I’d become if I were ever placed in front of the unlucky motherfucker that keeps putting their hands on my best friend.

Chapter Fourteen

Everett Young

I take Ashley back to my house. Ash and Felicita are out on a date, and her roommates are home, so it seems to be the only viable option.

She is wearing red lingerie, and it hugs her body nicely; lace lies over her breasts to show her peaked nipples, and a G-string thong runs low over her hips. It’s a beautiful color against her skin that’s smooth and glistening with excitement.

She’s spread out over my bed, gazing up at me like I make her whole world spin on its axis, and she loves it.

I should be happy.

I should be hard as a rock and ready to devour her the way I would have been just weeks ago. But instead I’m limp in my pants and drunk off Tequila with an aching face.

She has a hand pressed to my neck, gently rubbing at me as she smiles.

I was drunk the last time we had sex, too—just horny enough to do her while thinking of someone else entirely. I feel like shit; I feel like a horrible person.

Ashley is a really good girl, kind and brilliant. If I told her I wasn’t interested, she would take it with grace. But every time I mean to, I hear Ash’s voice in my head. I feel that pang of terror, that fear of failure, the phantom caress of his fist.

The last time I came home, he made sure to remind me, good and well, what his expectations are, and tonight I’m set on making this beautiful girl my girlfriend—someone I can bring home to impress my adoptive parents.

“Baby?” Ashley prompts, dragging me from my thoughts.

I give her a lazy smile, kissing her neck. “Sorry, busy mind tonight.”

Her answering giggle tells me that she forgives me. I kiss down the length of her neck to her collarbones, nipping them gently, then continuing down to her breasts. She gasps as I pull one peak into my mouth, her soft body arching into mine.

“Everett,” she moans, hands tightening around the back of my neck.

I give attention to her other nipple before kissing down her stomach, licking at her navel. As I work my way lower, I find no desire to speak; to praise her, to hear her. This is how I know I’m not really here—not truly into this.

If I were, I wouldn’t be able to shut up. I’d be desperate, I’d be delirious.

Just as I was with… when… Anyway, I kiss her thighs, watching her legs fall open for me as I settle between them. And right as my mouth lands exactly where she wants it, she screams, hands fisting the blankets around her.

Ashley tastes the way most women do—the way I’m familiar with. As I lick into her, she cries, and normally that would egg me on. But instead, I find myself bored; I find myself soft. Even the Tequila coursing through me feels like a drag.

But I refuse to think of him the way I did last time. I refuse to replay the sound of his voice and the feel of his hands all so I can get hard and get off.

I’d rather feel nothing than be tormented by the memories of him.