Point of View: Leon
"You will never fucking guess who I picked up at Metro last night," Jake said.
Like I gave a damn about his latest sexual escapades.
"Who?" I asked, though I literally couldn't have cared less.
Of course, at that moment, I was fairly certain nothing would ever bother me again. I was laying in the lap of fucking luxury. Nick might be a little prick, but he sure had a good taste in homes. I was lounging, carefree, on a patio in his expansive backyard, which had more plants than a tropical rainforest in it, by a gorgeous pool with the most brilliantly clean water I'd ever seen.
"Kayla Martin."
I spit the mouthful of whiskey I'd just taken; it sprayed through the air in a mist from my mouth. "My Kayla Martin?" I demanded.
"The one and only," Jake bragged.
I'd tried to make Kayla go to Metro a thousand and one times. I felt like fucking laughing. Kayla went to Metro? I pictured her awkwardness, her meekness, her sheer naïvety, and tried to pair it with the thumping, sexual tension of Metro. I broke her, I thought proudly.
Then it hit me what Jake was saying.
"You fucked Kayla?" My voice was stone cold.
"You kidding? I know you'd fuck me up if I slept with her, I'm not a total moron," he answered.
My body relaxed. A little.
"We did everything but, though, and let me tell you, dude, that bitch is one hot ticket," Jake laughed.
I tensed again.
"She gives one fuck of a --"
"Stop it." I growled. "Shut the fuck up." Jake stopped talking. "I need to go." I hung up the phone, shivers of anger and excitement rippling through my body.
I wondered if she planned on telling Nick about her little escapade at Metro.
