Free The Duff: Designated Ugly Fat Friend by Kody Keplinger

When Jake touched me like that, I knew he loved me. I knew sex was a beautiful, passionate thing, and
     it was right to be with him.
    Sleeping with Wesley Rush was entirely different. While I definitely got more physical pleasure out of it, the closeness and
     the love were missing. When it was over, I felt dirty. I felt like I’d done something wrong and shameful, but at the same
     time, I felt good. Alive. Free. Wild. My mind was totally cleared, like someone had hit the refresh button. I knew the euphoria
     wouldn’t last forever, but the filthy regret was worth the momentary escape.
    “Wow,” Wesley said. We were lying in his bed only a few minutes after we’d finished, with a foot or more space between our
     bodies. “I definitely wasn’t expecting that.”
    God, he ruined everything when he talked. Annoyed, and still wading through the emotional repercussions, I sneered. “What? Ashamed that you screwed the Duff?”
    “No.” I was surprised by how serious he sounded. “I’m never ashamed of anyone I sleep with. Sex is a natural chemical reaction.
     It always happens for a reason. Who am I to dictate who experiences the joy of sharing my bed?” He didn’t see me roll my eyes
     as he continued. “No, I just meant that I’m shocked. I was honestly starting to believe that you hated me.”
    “I do hate you,” I assured him, kicking off the covers and moving to pick up my clothes.
    “You must not hate me too much,” Wesley said, rolling onto his elbow and watching me dress. “You did pretty much throw yourself
     at me. Generally, hatred doesn’t inspire that kind of passion.”
    I pulled on my T-shirt. “Believe me, Wesley, I definitely hate you. I was just using you. You use people all the time, so
     I’m sure you understand.” I buttoned my jeans and grabbed my alligator clip from the nightstand. “This was fun, but if you
     ever tell anyone, I swear I’ll castrate you. Clear?”
    “Why?” he asked. “Your reputation could only improve if people found out you slept with me.”
    “That might be true,” I admitted. “But I have no desire to improve my reputation, especially not that way. So are you going
     to keep your mouth shut or do I need to find a sharp object now?”
    “A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell,” he said.
    “You’re not a gentleman.” I put my hair back up in the clip. “That’s why I’m worried.” I glanced at my reflection in the full-length
     mirror on the wall. Once I was sure that I looked normal—not guilty—I turned to face Wesley again. “Hurry up and put your
     pants on. We need to finish this stupid essay.”
    It was a little after seven that night when Wesley and I finally finished the essay for English. Or at least, we finished
     the rough copy. I made him promise that he’d e-mail me the draft later so that I could edit it.
    “You don’t trust me to get it done?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at me as I put my shoes on in the foyer.
    “I don’t trust you with anything,” I said.
    “Except getting you off.” He was wearing that grin I hated. “So, was this a one-time thing, or will I be seeing you again?”
    I started to snort, to tell him he was dreaming if he honestlythought I’d be back, but then I remembered that I was about to go back home. The manila envelope would probably still be lying
     on my kitchen table.
    “Bianca?” Wesley asked. A shiver ran across my skin when he touched my shoulder. “Are you all right?”
    I jerked out of his reach and moved toward the door. I’d gotten halfway out before I turned to him and said, with a moment
     of hesitation, “We’ll see.” Then I ran down the front steps.
    “Bianca, wait.”
    I clutched my jacket closer to me, trying to fight the cold wind, and yanked open the door of my Saturn. He was behind me
     in seconds, but, thankfully, he didn’t touch me this time. “What?” I demanded as I slid into the front seat. “I need to get
     home.”
    Home, the last place I wanted to