gave him a scorching case of genital warts and his dick would fall off.
Sure, it was irrational. Because while I’d admit—begrudgingly—that he was gorgeous and probably knew exactly what to do with that sexy body, he was the last person on earth I would sleep with. One, because I refused to be another number on his list of used-and-discarded. And two, because even if I lost every single ounce of sense I had and went there with him, he’d probably turn me down.
Yep, even the manwhore had a type, and apparently, I wasn’t it.
I should have been thanking my lucky stars, grateful that even though I’d entertained the idea one time—before I knew how incredibly gross he was—that I’d been spared the indignation and embarrassment. But it didn’t matter, it still stung. It hadn’t even been a real rejection, our interactions never getting past a platonic capacity.
Nope, I was an idiot, holding a grudge because he did the one thing I’d demanded. To be treated like a person instead of a vagina. I wanted no special treatment, to be one of the guys. And he excelled at it. Hell, half the time I was positive he’d forgotten I was a woman, trash talking with me like I was one of the men in his crew.
Gah, I hated I still thought about it. And hadn’t let the stupid—and unhealthy—fantasy of him go.
But if not for his questionable choices when it came to dating and women, he would’ve been exactly the kind of guy I’d want.
Strong, determined, hardworking—and someone who treated me like an equal. Throw in his amazing body and gorgeous face and he was perfect. Hell, I’d even been tempted to ask him out in the beginning, attracted to him in more ways than just physical.
But perfect doesn’t exist. And Tibbs was a crotch hound that I wanted no part of.
My eyes floated back over to where he was sitting, covertly appreciating how hot he was even though it would be a cold day in hell before I’d ever admit it out loud. I wasn’t in the mood to deal with him or his lady friends, so avoiding his vicinity was my prime objective. With any luck, Miller would give me the signal he didn’t need me anymore and I could head home.
If I stayed, and he saw me, Justin Tibbs would find a way to ruin my night. Because as much as I liked to look at him—and I liked it very much—I hated there was a part of me that was still attracted to him. Even though I knew it was never going to happen. And then have to watch him give it away so effortlessly to other women.
It was easier when we were part of a group, the buffer giving me a chance to ignore him or at least distract myself from the spectacle. But with Miller occupied, I was out of luck, and didn’t know if I had the energy or the inclination to be polite.
Justin
“WIPE THAT SMUG look off your face, I know you were with my sister. There was no need for you to go to the bar for beer, Denise would have happily delivered them.” I shook my head, Leighton returning to the table with a couple of beers. And unless he’d gone to get our drinks in Queens, he’d taken way longer than required. It didn’t take much to work out where he’d been.
“You have an issue with me saying hello to my future wife?” He eased back into the seat, not even trying to hide his smirk. “It would’ve been rude of me not to.”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” I rolled my eyes, knowing he’d been doing a lot more than saying a fucking hello. And not that I wasn’t ecstatic my best friend and my sister were going to be tying the knot sometime soon, but the idea of them getting busy wasn’t what I wanted in my cerebral cortex. She was still my sister, and I really didn’t ever need to imagine that.
Leighton laughed, taking a slow pull from his beer. “You know, I half expected you not to notice. Where did those women who were in your lap go? You run out of North’s deodorant?”
“Fuck you. North has nothing to do with it.” I flipped him off.
It had started as a joke, me stealing North’s deodorant from his locker whenever we got back from calls. The guy couldn’t go two steps without some woman throwing herself at him. It was