F*ckboy Psychos

by Stunich, C. M.

  “I …” I start, glancing down at the romance novel lying on the floor before I lift my gaze back to his. “Why do you read about it every day then?”

  Widow releases his hair and takes a step toward me. I think about what Lemon told me the first day that I met him, how he killed his uncle when he was only twelve. I had my suspicions then about why. I see now that I was probably right about all that.

  “I’m trying to understand,” he grinds out, looking pained. He slaps the back of one hand into the palm of the other, like he’s pleading with me. “Look at me. I’m falling apart. You are making me fall apart. I read this shit every day, and I don’t get it. I don’t understand it at all.”

  “I am making you fall apart?” I repeat back at him, scoffing. “How is it my problem if you find me attractive? Did I make you jack off and leave cum all over my steering wheel, huh? Did I? Did I, Widow?” I scowl at him and shake my head. While I feel for him, I won’t take any responsibility for his issues. “If you wanted me to fuck off, why not just say it? Why stroke my panties? Why follow me around?”

  “Get out,” he snaps, his tone similar to that day at the track when he masturbated for me. So many mixed signals from this guy. As I said before, he’s psycho. Just like Bohnes. I should be turned-off, but yet … God, I can’t deal with this.

  “This is my library and my school,” I hiss, locking eyes with him so that he can see the full force of my fury. “You get out. Now. Get the fuck out!” I throw my arm out in the direction of the exit and Widow takes off, but not before snatching his alien romance book from the floor.

  He tears past me and disappears out the doors as I stand there panting, putting my hand on my chest and letting my head hang forward for just a second, just to get control over my emotions.

  “Shit,” I murmur, gathering up the stack of spilled books from the floor.

  From now on, I am done playing games with Widow. He wants to pursue something more, he can come and find me.

  I’m still considering ‘hiring’ him to help me with this Ash Kelly thing, but whatever. That’s a whole different animal.

  I can hire him without getting sex involved.

  I swear … just not on my grandmother’s life or anything like that. More like a half-swear or something.

  Widow avoids both me and the library as a whole until Thursday. He even parks somewhere else. Don’t know where, but I don’t see his purple ‘Vette until Thursday morning, parked just inches in front of the Devil.

  “This asshole,” I grumble, swiping a hand over my face with a sigh. I head up the front steps with girls fawning over me. One of them even offers me a newly opened soda with a straw in it. I take it, sucking the drink down and lifting my shades up to offer an exaggerated wink in Officer Misogynist’s direction.

  He wrinkles his nose at me, handing me my knife the way he always does.

  Principal Vaughn sees me coming and scoots out of the way. He acts as if he has power in this school, but we both know that ain’t true.

  If I wanted to, I could ruin him. But I have other things to do. First, get my crew to graduation as whole and healthy as I can. I already feel like a failure for what happened to Evelyn so … I gotta make that as right as I can by dealing with Ash Kelly.

  Next, I’ll get myself and my family out of here. My fantasies include buying my grandma a big fancy house to live in. Doubtless my mom, aunt, and Alexis will end up there, too, but it’s mostly for Patricia. I want to buy her a nice car and fancy clothes, groceries that aren’t generic and on clearance at a cheap supermarket where people deal drugs in the parking lot.

  I want something better for myself, too. I refuse to rest until I get it.

  I forget about Widow for the remainder of the day, but I do look for Bohnes. I’m so damn horny that, even though I know he barely acknowledges me within the walls of this school, I figure I might try to pull him into the bathroom for a follow-up fuck.

  When he doesn’t show up to our fourth period class, I figure he must be off conducting business for someone else. Too bad. My nipples are diamond points. Add a little water and I could cut granite. And my cunt? Let’s just say that I’m glad I wore pants today. Might be dripping down my thighs if I had on another scandalous skirt.

  For lunch, I sit on the hood of my car and my girls lounge on the steps in front of the school. One of the freshman girls brings me a paper bag lunch that she made herself, and I offer up a sultry smile. She giggles and takes off as I dig into it, finding a Japanese-style bento box inside. It’s got rice, meat, veggies cut into the shape of flowers.

  The whole thing makes me think of Aspen, and I frown.

  Aspen.

  What a mistake. I hate myself for giving into him. What the hell was I thinking?

  I dig into the food with the provided chopsticks, chewing absently as I stare up at the school. Only thing worse than a Prescott boy is a rich one, and I broke all of my own rules. Part of me wants to tell Lemon that I banged her fiancé, but I know that I won’t. Wouldn’t change her mind anyhow. She’s too used to guys cheating on her and treating her like shit.

  The food, at the very least, is dope as hell. I finish it and then get one of the other girls to return the plastic box and chopsticks that came with it.

  By the time I get to the library, I’ve practically forgotten about Widow. My mind is too busy imagining possible scenarios for the party tomorrow.

  “Whatever you said to him on Monday, it worked,” Agnes tells me, patting my shoulder and giving my cardigan a fond look. She’s wearing one, too, but our styles are just a tad different. Hers is long-sleeved and falls past her hips; it’s the color of avocados, and I’m pretty sure she told me the last time she wore it that her grandmother bought in the seventies.

  Mine, it’s a mid-riff style cardigan, bright red, and it’s layered over little else but a black bra and paired with another pair of cigarette pants and wedges. My belly is showing as are my double belly button piercings.

  The two of these things are not alike.

  “It worked?” I repeat, moving away from Agnes as she gestures in the direction of the Human Health and Sexuality section. There Widow is, shelving books with so much force that you’d think they owed him money. He doesn’t look at me, but he does go still when I pause at the end of the aisle, blocking out some of the light.

  He stays frozen for a minute before he continues with the cart of books beside him.

  Huh.

  Well, good on him, I guess.

  I ignore him, going about my own tasks. About halfway through the period, I’m in the darkest, most private corner of the library, and I hear footsteps behind me. I turn away, focusing on the endcap and sliding the last three books into place.

  Widow’s footsteps don’t slow or pause and then, his hot hand is sliding across my belly. He yanks me back against him, breathing hard against the side of my neck. He licks and sucks on my ear, shifting his attention to my throat as my knees get weak and I nearly collapse back against him. He stops that from happening by pushing me forward, crushing my body between his and the bookshelf.

  Both of his hands slide up, pulling apart the buttons on the front of my cardigan and finding my tits. He squeezes and kneads them with powerful fingers, teasing the nipples through the black lace of my bra.

  I bite my lower lip to keep the sounds I want to make as contained as I possibly can, but holy shit … Holy shit.

  “Widow,” I groan as he sucks on my neck, grinding his body against my ass. With my wedges on, and my back arched, that puts his erection right between my cheeks. I want him to undo his pants and tear mine down, rut me right here and now.

  Instead, he takes his time kissing me, breathing on me, making these needy male sounds that have me reaching my own hand down to flick open my pants. I slide my fingers underneath my panties and find the plump flesh of my clit, rubbing it mercilessly as Widow grinds into me, working my breasts with his calloused hands. Paired with the fire he’s trailing down my neck with his tongue
, I’m lost.

  “I’m gonna come, Widow,” I breathe out, my knees getting weak as the pleasure takes over me, turning my bones to jelly. “Adrian.” His real name explodes out of me along with my orgasm and I sag forward, his huge body falling into mine, pinning me in place as I shudder and shake, biting my lower lip so hard that I can taste the hot copper of my own blood.

  That does it for him in a way that—even though I wish it wouldn’t—reminds me of Aspen and how he blew his load when I called out the name Ash.

  Widow growls against my ear, giving me goose bumps, and then he’s slamming into me as if we’re actually fucking. When his hands tighten painfully on my tits, and he lets out this almost frustrated snarl, I know what’s happening.

  He’s coming in his own pants, turning our ‘dry humping’ into something very, very wet.

  He releases me suddenly and stumbles back, slamming into the bookshelf on my left. I whip around, my own body sagging into the endcap shelf, and I watch him staring down at his cock like it’s the enemy. There’s just a bit of a wet spot on the front of his gray joggers.

  “Shit,” he grinds out, leaning his head back against the shelf. He swipes both of his hands down his face as I button up my own pants and cardigan, breathing heavily and finding myself immensely grateful that I wore thick-ass cotton panties today to catch all of my own juices or else I might be sporting a wet spot between the thighs.

  “What the hell was that?” I whisper, a cold fear snaking through me as I look around, trying to ascertain whether or not I can feel Bohnes’ indelible presence in the library’s many shadows. But no, he’s still not here. I haven’t seen him all day, right? But … did we just break his rules? Was that sex? I mean, it was but it wasn’t. “Oh God.” I look up at Widow and he stares right back at me, breathing heavily but not running.

  At least there’s that.

  He’s still here.

  “Let me talk to Bohnes about this, otherwise …” I trail off, turning my face away and biting at my thumbnail. Not good. This is not good. “You already have one offense on your record at the track—”

  “Just don’t tell him,” Widow says, standing up straight and then grabbing a random book off the shelf to hold over his dick. It just so happens to be Cruel Prince by Holly Black. I don’t read much, but I read that one. Cruel prince. Hah. Doesn’t that describe Aspen Kelly in a nutshell? “Who the fuck is he to you anyway?”

  “A fuckboy,” I respond automatically, but it feels just a little bit like a lie. “And it’s not about Bohnes and me having a sexual relationship. He knows I fuck other guys.”

  “What other guys?” Widow demands, the question like a command. It snaps out between his gritted teeth as he looks me over. “Whoever they are, stop.”

  “What?” I breathe out, looking at him like he’s nuts. “Screw you. You come in your pants once and now I’m supposed to, what, obey your every command? Okay, alpha-hole, let me get right on that.” I lift up both hands, palms out, and roll my eyes. “You bet Bohnes that you wouldn’t fuck me for the rest of the year. This is track stuff. I take it seriously, dude. We have to tell Bohnes and let him decide if he thinks you reneged on your promise or not.”

  Widow scowls at me and then moves forward, leaning over me and smelling like fresh sweat and sex along with all that other deliciousness that must be his cologne or bodywash or something.

  “I’ll race him again. I was off my game last time.” He looks me over and licks his lower lip, leaning in close to whisper to me. “Just wait. Give me some time. Not this weekend but the next. I’m working on my car to bring it up to Prescott standards. I’ll admit: I underestimated this school. I won’t make that mistake again.”

  “You’re going to race Bohnes for what, exactly?” I ask as Widow withdraws slightly and exhales heavily.

  “You,” he says, and I cannot even believe the level of authority he throws into that one word. Hasn’t he figured it out yet? I don’t obey anyone’s authority but my own. “I’m going to race him for you. And then I’ll race you next. I don’t want you fucking other guys.”

  That makes me laugh.

  “Why?” I ask, tilting my head to one side, genuinely curious. My body is sparkling and glittering from my orgasm, and I can’t imagine how much better it would’ve been if he’d actually put his dick in my snug, little cunt. “You fancy me or something Widow?”

  He just stares at me, but he says nothing. That, I feel, is answer enough.

  “You can race other guys to keep them from sleeping with me—I can’t stop you—but I sure as shit am not going to put my entire sex life on the line against you. Not even if I know I could kick your ass.”

  “You bet Aspen Kelly your body, but you won’t race me because I want to make you my girlfriend?”

  “Your … girlfriend?” I choke, and if I could’ve gotten away from him in that moment without brushing our overcharged bodies together, I would have. “I don’t want to be anybody’s girlfriend.”

  “I sat down last night, and I thought about it,” he continues, turning away from me to look down the aisle. Agnes pops her head in to check on us, and I offer up a bright grin. She narrows her eyes at Widow, smiles at me, and then totters off.

  I pray that I’m half as cool as her when I’m seventy-nine-years old. That woman is a legend. Her granddaughter died in an accident a few years back. The granddaughter’s husband did, too. Since Agnes’ daughter is also deceased, the five little kids had nowhere else to go. She’s been raising them, and she’s almost eighty years old. You know what? I’ve never seen such happy children in Prescott.

  Like I said, legend.

  “Thought about what?” I query, breathing hard, wondering why I’m even entertaining this caveman shit.

  He smiles at me. More like smirks. But it’s one of the few times I’ve seen him wearing anything other than a frown or a scowl or a moue or a pout.

  It’s devastating.

  He is devastating.

  “I thought about all of the romance novels I’ve read and what I’ve learned from them. So here it is.” He steps even closer to me, breathing against my hair. “I’m going to claim you as my woman.”

  “Get fucked. Sounds like you’re reading the wrong sort of romance novels.”

  Widow laughs at that and shakes his head.

  “No. I read exactly the right ones. I’ll make you my girl, Scarlett Force.” He takes a step back and then he’s frowning at me again, head slightly tilted to the side in a mimicry of what I just did to him. “I’ll be your man.” He smirks again. “Not your fuckboy. Oh no. One day, I’ll be your husband.”

  “Get the hell out of here,” I hiss at him, but he just laughs, the sound low and sultry and twisted.

  “I’m a virgin, Scarlett Force. I hope that isn’t a problem. I’ll let you pop my cherry. Just tell me what you like. We can learn together. For now, give me a list of guys that I need to challenge on the track. Or is it really just Bohnes and you’re bluffing to make me jealous? It’s working, by the way.”

  This time, I smirk right back at him.

  “Oh, I can promise you that it isn’t just Bohnes,” I purr, and Widow blinks those amber eyes at me for a few seconds before they widen in surprise, and his jaw clenches.

  “Aspen,” he breathes out, nostrils flaring as he turns away. “Aspen Kelly.”

  Shit.

  “Did I say anything at all about Aspen Kelly?” I ask with a sharp laugh.

  “You didn’t have to,” he grinds out, eyes narrowed.

  “Don’t kid yourself, Widow,” I continue, trying to defuse the situation. “This is a fruitless exercise. You want me to pop your cherry? Fine. I’d love to. You’re hot as hell, I won’t lie. But I sure as shit am not going to let you go Neanderthal on me and drag me back to your cave by my hair. Try a different romance novel, idiot.”

  “Whether they’re sweet or they’re dark, whether they make soft love on a bed of roses or rut on a dirty public bathroom floor, it’s all the same.” He
sweeps his gaze over me disdainfully, tucking Holly Black’s book right up against his crotch.

  Oh God, what would Holly say if she knew about this?

  “What’s all the same?” I ask, and Widow blesses me with one more dark smile.

  “Intent. I intend to see us together, Scarlett Force. You can teach me what romance and sex are all about. But I’m only going to try this once. Don’t fuck this up for me.”

  He turns on his heel and takes off as I stand there gaping at his back.

  Mildred gives him an odd look as he storms out with the book pressed against the wet spot on his sweats. The censors near the door go off, indicating that he hasn’t properly checked the book out. Mildred grabs her trusty broom, the one she beats Prescott brats with when they try to steal things.

  Another seventy-five-year-old badass.

  “You’ve got bad bitch energy, Mil,” I tell her as I move out of the aisle and put my hand on hers. “But let him go. I’ll … get a new copy of that book for the library. Promise.”

  “You’re a good girl, Scarlett,” she says, giving me a sweet, scented kiss on the cheek. She pets my hair, and I let her, staring in the direction that Widow just went.

  Good girl? Well, I don’t know about that. But you don’t correct Mildred Davies without getting spanked with a broom.

  And right now … if somebody were to spank me, I’d only want it to be Widow.

  Shit. Fuck. Damn.

  Fucking poisonous ass romance novels.

  What have they done to him?

  And what, exactly, am I going to do about it?

  Scarlett

  On Friday, I finally get the delivery that Alexei Grove promised me. It arrives just minutes after I get home from school.

  “Do you have a new beau, Miss Scarlett?” Grandma asks me as she looks down at the stack of sleek packages in my arms. The boxes are white and shiny and tied with glossy black ribbons.

  “Not exactly,” I hedge, offering her up a mysterious half-smile. My grandma is … well, she’s old-school. She still thinks Pussy Point is for—in her words—canoodling. And she blushes when characters on her soap opera kiss each other. “I’mma take this in my room and try it on for the party tonight.”