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Summary
Meryl Davis always smelled of wintergreen and fresh perfume, and Charlie White thought it was because all of her friends smoked too much and she hated the way the odor would linger on everything. She might have been a rebel, but she was an picky one at that.
Meryl Davis, with her chipped black nail polish, inch thick eyeliner, skirts too short, and cropped leather jacket. She could work a room with her dangerous hips, ice-cold stare, and the way she’d pop her gum tantalizingly slowly.
It was pathetic how much he wanted her.
** Warning: Lots of Smut Ahead **