Loving The Wrong Guy

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Derek's P.O.V.

I woke up the next morning to the sunlight streaming through the window. I looked over to see that Simon's bed was empty, sheets tangled. I sat up, glancing around the room. What happened? Was he okay? Did he—?

A laugh sliced through my thoughts. Chloe's laugh. Then the sound of Simon's voice, but distant, like it was coming from the living room. My gut clenched. When I heard the sound of Dad's voice, though, I relaxed.

Damn it, I thought. Stop acting like that.

I sucked in a breath and climbed out of bed. I trudged out of the room and into the living room, where Chloe was seated on the couch with Simon, fingers entwined. Something boiled in the pit of my stomach, and I winced. Chloe shot me a worried look.

"Are you okay?" she said.


Simon looked up at me, grinning. "Morning, bro."

"Morning," I grunted.

I looked over at Dad, who was seated on the chair beside Simon and Chloe. He smiled just as brightly as Simon did. "Morning, bud."

I grunted again and strode over into the kitchen.

"We don't have any food," Dad said, "since we just got here last night. Lauren went out for grocery shopping."

I turned back around, and just as I did, I picked up on Tori's scent, coming closer. I swallowed a groan of annoyance and turned to face her as she entered the room. She stopped in the entryway and stretched out her arms. Then she looked over at Chloe and Simon and faked a gag.

"Oh, God," she said. "Don't make me barf." She waved a hand. "Save that for later."

Simon shot her a look. Chloe's cheeks heated and she mumbled a "sorry" before slipping her hand from Simon's. I didn't notice that my body was tensed until I felt my shoulders relaxing, the knot in my stomach dissolving. I mentally cursed myself some more before I shouldered past Tori.

"Wait!" Chloe called, jumping off the couch.

I turned.

Her cheeks heated. "W-where are you g-going?" she stammered.

"Bathroom. To take a shower."

"Oh." She bit her lip and nodded. "O-okay, then."

I turned away and left the room.

* * *

While I was in the shower, I thought about how Chloe had acted. What did that mean? Why did she hastily jump of the couch like that? Why did she sound like she wanted me to stay? Didn't want me to leave? Wanted me to—

I growled at myself.

Stop, I thought. Stop thinking like that. She likes Simon, and Simon likes her. You can't like her, too.

A strangled, frustrated, hiccuping noise snapped me back to reality. I focused my attention to that. With werewolf hearing, I can pick up on distant sounds, sounds no one else can hear. The noise came again, this time more clear. When I knew who it was and what they were doing, I froze.

It was Chloe. Crying.

I immediately shut off the water and grabbed a towel, quickly drying myself off and throwing on my clothes. I needed to know what was wrong. Protect her from whatever was hurting her. I didn't want to see or hear her cry. I wanted her—needed her—to be happy. I raced out of the washroom and to her room. I didn't go inside, though. That'd be invading her privacy. I didn't want to be rude. What if she wanted to be alone?

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