Zoe
I hate Blake Thompson. I hate him.
It had been a week of me ignoring that motherfucker, and I was still fuming mad. I mean, I licked his c**k—sucked his c**k—and the bastard tried to open my computer? Seriously? It’s been seven days, and I haven’t returned a single one of his calls. Or texts. Radio silence. And yet, here I was, obsessing over it like an absolute i***t.
“Hey, what’s up, sis?” Preston said, strolling up beside me, completely oblivious to the emotional tornado inside my head. He nudged me with his elbow, and I swatted him away, my mood spiraling even further.
“Why are you so grumpy in the morning?”
I stopped dead in the middle of the hallway, shooting him a glare that could kill. “A. Because you’re annoying. B. Because you’re still annoying. And C. Did I mention you’
