F*CKER:Westbeach #2

By: Amo Jones

PRESENT

The fairy lights dropped around the darkness of the night like little fireflies hovering above me, a silent but bright reminder of my poor choices. One being to attend this damn wedding. I should not have come, but as always, I had to keep up family appearances. The last name Monroe held power and respect. Power. I almost scoffed to myself. Obviously I had no power, or I wouldn’t have been sitting on this white chair, sipping the crisp bubbles of Kruseg Clos d’Ambonnay, and locked into a stare down with the man I spent the first half of my high school years loving, and the last half absolutely hating. A hate so strong that it drove me to move to Croatia to finish my school years. Moving to a completely different state in the US was not an option back then. Nope. I needed to uproot my entire life and leave, because yes, it was that bad.

My eyes bored into his. His mouth was set in a hard line as he caressed the supermodel’s back who sat in the chair next to him, all while taking a long pull of his beer. With his hair messy and falling all over the place, his white suit top unbuttoned, and his tie sitting loosely around his neck, I was well aware of how dangerously good-looking Ryker Oakley was. It was hard not to see it when everywhere you turned your high school tormentor was all over the news, magazines, and social media. He thought our secret was buried long ago, but he was wrong. I’d battled the demons all of us had created together—on my own.

Three things:

Ryker Oakley was still drinking Bud.

He could still disarm any woman with one flick of his stupid long eyelashes—and then have her drop her panties with his smirk.

Judging by the crooked grin on his face, aimed right at yours truly, he was still a fucker.





“Please, I’m fucking begging you, Ryder. Do me a fucking solid and don’t invite them,” I pleaded with my asshole brother, while they were writing up the invites. Think he’d listen? Fuck no. This was an Oakley we’re talking about here.

“Ryker, that was years ago. You think she’d still be holding onto a grudge from that long ago? Fuck no, bro. You’re giving yourself too much credit,” he answered with a scoff.

But judging by Bryleigh’s green eyes, which had droplets of honey laced through them when she was mad, I’d say yes. And yes, I still remembered the yellow honey flecks that were woven through her eyes. Cheesy? I don’t fucking care. One of the first things I noticed about Bryleigh Monroe—after her ass—was her fucking eyes. It wasn’t that they were an out-of-this-world color; it was the way they would look at me. Stripped my very existence with one gaze, because that’s all it took and the bitch hooked me. Well, that and her peachy ass lifted into the air. Was I a piece of shit for the way I’d treated her? Yeah, you could say that. But it was easier for me to push her away then, than let her get her heart broken. When Valentine’s Day ‘08 came to an end and the destruction of our actions came pouring down upon us, I knew I was fucked with this girl. I had to push her away the only way I knew how.

Three things:

Bryleigh Monroe was still hot as fuuuck.

She still flicked her rings around on her fingers when she was nervous.

She can still un-man me with one look.



When I realized number three, I smirked at her around the rim of my beer and buried myself in…

“What’s your name, baby?” I whispered into the ear of the woman sitting next to me. Her long, silky legs were crossed and her perfectly straight platinum hair was hanging down her back. She threw her head back and laughed at me, hitting me playfully with the back of her hand. When she brought her eyes back to mine and noticed I wasn’t joking, that I really didn’t know who she was, she scowled. “Are you kidding me?”

I smiled behind my beer. “No, I’m not.” My amusement vibrated through my chest as I raised my glass back to my lips.

Her eyes narrowed in on me. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t just say that. When I get back from getting another Moet, I think you should show me all the different ways I can scream your name.”

I ran my tongue across my bottom lip and smirked, following her fine ass as she walked back to the bar in the middle of the yard. Shaking my head, my eyes involuntarily scanned the area until they landed on Bryleigh. She was standing next to a man who looked old enough to be her dad. My eyes narrowed as I raised my hand up to my chest, scratching over my heart. She yanked her arm out of his grasp in such a way it made my knuckles twitch—the only way they twitched when this fucking girl was around. She shook her head at the man before bringing her eyes straight to mine, and just like that, there was a silent pull of conversation that was set off between us.

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