Page 150 of Midnight Curfew

It felt…natural. Fucking him.

When he was straddling me and we were looking at each other, I…

I didn’t like it. It was like I couldn’t get far enough inside of him or have my hands in every place I wanted at the same time.

I didn’t want to stop.

Why him?

We finish and head to the locker room, pulling on our pants and the shirts we retrieved from the weight room.

I slick back my hair. “When are you seeing him?”

I see him look over at me as he pulls down his quarter zip. “Tomorrow night,” he mumbles, then clarifies. “Tonight.”

It’s past two in the morning. I want to know where and when, but I don’t need to know, so I’m not fucking asking.

God, I need to fuck someone else. Tonight.

“Well, if you don’t like him,” I say, meeting his eyes, “send him my way.”

He says nothing, just stares at me as he slips his phone into his pocket and pulls out his keys.

The guy was hot enough.

Finally, he looks away. “I’ll send a car for Sophia at seven a.m.”

He walks away, and in a moment, I hear the locker room door slam shut.

Lifting each shoe onto the bench, I tie my laces and grab my phone to text my brother. I need to make sure he made it back to the pub.

But something fills my throat, an invisible thread pulling at me the more the seconds tick by and the farther away Callum Ames gets from me. The breath leaves me, and I lower my hand before I can send the text and drop my forehead into the lockers.

A sob lodges in my chest, and I squeeze my eyes shut.

“Fuck,” I whisper.

Why him?

What do I care if he’s with someone else? He’ll still give in to me whenever I want. Of that, I’m certain.

I shake my head, grinding it into the locker.

I don’t want him. I don’t want anyone. I don’t want that life.

He can’t be trusted anyway.

Neither can I.

I could never say things to him that he’d want me to say.

The images won’t go away, though. He doesn’t deserve to be happy. Someone else kissing him, in bed with him, making him feel good and touching him…

Slamming my hand into the locker, I bolt out of the locker room, shoving my phone into my pocket. Taking a right, I charge down to the attached church where the students go for Mass every Wednesday morning. Yanking open the doors, I stalk down the center aisle as lightning flashes through the stained-glass windows.

I glare up at the crucifix hanging behind the altar. “Send a fucking hurricane,” I bark at him. “Kill him or wash out the road or ground all the flights or…”

Clenching my jaw shut, I draw in deep breaths and close my eyes, not sure what’s happening to me. What the fuck do I want?