Chapter 2 - Dustin

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She makes me fucking crazy.

Olivia Hudson, my best friend, my first kiss, the first girl who ever touched my dick, the first girl I ever made come, the first and only girl I've ever been in love with, doesn't love me back.

Not in the way I want.

I try my damnedest to play it cool with her, but that rarely works. I always end up revealing my hand, revealing my feelings when I'm in her presence, and she either acts like she's completely oblivious or that she doesn't want to know.

And that sucks.

So here we are at this stupid party at Tuttle's house, the night before she leaves for her dad's for like, six weeks. There are so many people everywhere, the front yard and back, the pool, the hot tub, it's like I can't avoid anyone even if I tried. They're all people I know, most of them I'm friends with or at least know, but shit. I want a moment of quiet. I want privacy. I want Livvy in my arms, my mouth locked with hers and my hands roaming all over her hot body...

"Have one of these." A cold beer is suddenly shoved into my hand. "Looks like you need it."

I smile in relief and crack the can open, the satisfying hiss still sounding when I bring it to my lips and drain half of it in record time. "Thanks," I say as I wipe the back of my hand across my mouth.

Jordan Tuttle sends me an unreadable look, nodding toward Livvy, who's already wandering off. "What's the deal between you two?"

"I have no clue." I sound disgusted because damn it, I am disgusted. And frustrated. So sexually frustrated I feel like I could blow the next time someone accidentally touches my dick.

"Isn't that Olivia Hudson?" Tuttle asks, his brow lowered in confusion.

Give me a break. He knows exactly who she is. We've all been going to school together for what feels like forever and our high school isn't that huge. He only has a select group of friends and he's fairly standoffish with everyone, including those so-called friends, so I guess I should consider myself lucky Tuttle talks to me at all.

"Yeah, it's Liv." I grimace, hating how her name leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. I can't be angry with her. It's a waste of time and emotion. If I had any balls, I'd go to her and tell her how i really feel.

But I'm fairly certain she'd freak out, so I keep my mouth shut.

"I haven't talked to that chick since eighth grade." He frowns. "Maybe even longer. Maybe not since sixth grade."

"She isn't your type." Meaning if they don't easily spread their legs and give him what he wants, then they're not Tuttle's type at all. He's a screw 'em and leave 'em type of guy.

I've contemplated more than once about trying to adopt his attitude. Tuttle seems to move through the halls at school like he's untouchable. The girls know his game, know that he'll never give them what they really want.

And that's every bit of himself. Where I'm like a jackass ready to give it all up to a girl who's blind to whatever I'm willing to offer.

"I assume you're hitting that?" Tuttle asks.

I laugh, then stop when I realize I sound bitter as hell. "Nah. We're just friends."

He laughs too, tipping his beer to his lips after he drawls, "Right."

Scowling, I walk away, not in the mood for Tuttle's shit anymore.

But when am I ever?

I push my way through the crowd, the music loud, the bass making the floor vibrate. A group of girls say my name, waving at me when I make eye contact and I wave back, offer up a little smirk. They giggle as they turn away, one of them squealing over how tall I am and I'm tempted to go join them. I'm looking to flirt. Looking for that adoration I suddenly feel the need for. I want to let go tonight.

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