Page 43 of Fueled Hate

I can’t do anything but gape at them. Mr. George is a good judge of character, but he’s way off the mark with this one. He’s not supposed to like Dylan. He’s supposed to pick up on the wickedness that I’m more than certain is within Dylan. Mr. George knew all along that Kyle was no good. I thought he was being overly protective at first, but he’d nailed it. How can he be so wrong about Dylan?

“Let’s go,” I say defeated. Dylan wraps up the friendly conversation that he has no right having. Can’t he let me have something to myself? Mr. George is definitely off-limits in his stupid little game.

“Don’t forget. You said I can take it for a spin next time.”

“You got it,” Mr. George says, waving us off.

“I’ll follow you back to your house.” Placing his hand on the small of my back, I flinch at his tender touch. It’s another contradiction that is Dylan. A tender touch to guide me to the hell he’s about to force me to endure. Silently, I get in my car and drive to my house. Failing miserably to avoid glancing at the stupid black STI in my rearview mirror, I do so the entire drive back home.

Stepping out of my car, I slam the door and watch as Dickwad emerges from his. “Are you really going to hang around here all day just to torture me?”

“Yep. It’d be rude of me to pass on a tour of the town and supper with dear ole dad.”

“There’s no one here but us, so you can cut the shit. Seriously, go home. Obviously you didn’t last night since you’re still in the same clothes.”

A self-assured grin forms on his face—one I’ve come to know all too well. “Is that what’s bothering you? It’s just gonna be us?”

“Don’t flatter yourself.” Yeah, that might be part of it. “You really should go home and shower or jump off a cliff or something.”

“Sounds like a good idea.” Dylan moves quickly to the back of his car, opens the trunk, and starts digging around.

“Which one? Jumping off a cliff I hope.”

“Showering.” Pulling a bag out of his trunk, he slams it shut, then walks toward the house as I follow behind him.

“You are not showering here. And why do you have that in your car? Do you even have a place to stay, or do you just go around tormenting people and borrowing their showers?”

He stops at the door, waiting for me to unlock it I assume. But I don’t, and he says, “Nah. I have a place. I just like to be prepared for the unexpected.”

“Yeah, sure.” Rolling my eyes, I turn to unlock the door, accepting that he isn’t going to give up on this ridiculous taunting, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it or him.

“Not that I could’ve prepared for you,” he mutters.

Halting in place, I avoid looking to him. I don’t know why because I’m still fuming, but he’s getting to me, and that can’t happen. “Bathroom is down the hallway, but I’m sure you found it last night when you were snooping around.”

Thankfully, he heads to the bathroom and leaves me alone in the kitchen. I have half a mind to bail, just get in my car and get as far away from him as possible. But I can’t because of Dad and Levi.

Busying myself around the kitchen, I run out of things to do, so I plop down on the sofa, flip on the TV, and mindlessly scroll through channels. Anything to avoid thinking about the egotistical moron who’s currently showering in my bathroom. Memories of our early morning kiss in his car flashes through my mind. It was just as stupid then as it is now. And even more so, it shouldn’t stir any feelings in me except anger. But that’s not all I’m feeling, recalling the sensation of his mouth devouring mind. Damn it. I need to get him—and that kiss—far out of my mind. Why do I get the feeling even if Dylan brings enormous pleasure, he’ll elicit even greater pain?

24

Dylan

Why does she make me so fucking weak? Just when I think I have a grip on myself, I blurt out exactly what’s on my mind—and when it comes to Sadie—that’s not a good thing.

Taking my time showering, I get ahold of myself and thankfully feel refreshed after pulling on a clean pair of jeans and brushing my teeth. All mental progress made in the shower is lost as I glance around the small bathroom, imagining Sadie growing up here.

Opening the bathroom door, I grab my shirt and bag, heading down the hallway to find her on the couch watching the television until her eyes turn to me. They slowly trail down my stomach, lingering before she swiftly looks away.

Yeah. She can pretend all she wants, but I know desire when I see it. And I won’t give up until she admits it. Tossing my bag aside, I drop my shirt on top of it before sitting beside her on the couch. “There’s no shame in looking—and you can touch if you’d like.”

Her head slowly turns, a murderous glare directed my way.

“I’d like to throat punch you.”

Fuck, she’s so fun to stir up. “Whatever kink you’d like to explore, I’m game.”

Her eyes close as she shakes her head. “You’re such a jackass. I’m sure you’re used to panties dropping at your beck and call, but that won’t be happening with me.”