Chapter Twelve
Phoebe
Rocky... with a girl.
The iron bistro table is intimate and tiny. Her long legs are crossed, ankle brushing against Rocky’s knee. Her yellow floral sundress is provocative yet classy, and I’d think it’s cute if I didn’t have this involuntary desire to burn it.
Great.
I work my jaw so I’m not scowling. You knew he’d be at the club today. Keeping each other in the loop is generally how we all operate so that no one trips up. But I don’t like that he’s positioning himself in a role that requires more lies. And why is he sitting with a beautiful girl? Sure, I haven’t seen her face yet, but from the back, she’s already a twelve out of ten.
I capsule my feelings as I approach the table.
The pretty girl is reading over a menu, her back facing me, and Rocky easily shifts his gray eyes to mine.
“Phoebe,” he greets. “How’s your first day going?”
Before the girl can peer over her shoulder, I come directly to their table like the amazing, dutiful server I am.
She lowers the menu to study me. “Wait, you know her?”
He didn’t even mention me to this girl? It would’ve been so easy for him to just say: oh hey, so I have this ex-wife that’s working at the country club.
Nothing, though. I didn’t even get a freaking honorable mention. It shouldn’t hurt.
It doesn’t hurt.
It doesn’t.
Is it because I’m the pleb here? The service.
My stomach twists, and I answer her first. “I’ve never seen his ugly face before.”
Rocky’s eyes darken and nearly roll, but he hasn’t shifted off my gaze. Not once. “She’s my ex-wife.”
The girl tries to be polite and stifle a cringe, but I can read the muscles in her face. “Was it recent?” she asks him and me.
Rocky is quick to answer, like maybe he’s worried I’ll dig us further into a hole. “Not really,” he says. “But we’ve remained friendly since she’s my little sister’s best friend.”
I’m not sure why that unnerves me. That that’s all I am to him. Hailey’s best friend.
He’s not on a job, so there’s nothing to ruin here.
Rocky sits straighter from his relaxed position. “Val, this is Phoebe,” he introduces us more formally.
Val extends her hand to me. “Valentina de la Vega.”
I shake and balance the tray with one hand. “Nice to meet you, Valentina.” And when I drop her hand, I blurt out, “He’s a jerk—just FYI in case this is a date situation.”
Valentina is caught off guard. “It’s... it’s not.” She lifts the menu to hide a flash of discomfort or awkwardness. I’ve made this awkward, if that wasn’t clear.
The heat of Rocky’s glare intensifies on me. I genuinely just pissed him off. Maybe I should add a third D to Drama and Danger.
Destruction.
“Water?” I ask them.
“Can you excuse me, Val?” Rocky asks her. He’s already pushing out of his chair, the iron scraping against marble.
“Yeah, no problem.”
She seems nice.
Sweet, even.
She’s the kind of girl I’d never pull a con on. Or I’d try not to. It’s not always up to me who the mark is.
Rocky stands up and hisses in my ear. “Follow me.”
I do as I’m told, hating that I’ll take orders from him. But there’s something exhilarating about the fact that I’m drawing his attention away from Valentina.
Rocky leads me through the French doors. Back in the main dining room, we’re abruptly stopped by Mr. Burke.
“Phoebe.” He grins. “I’ve been looking forward to that Cognac.” His desire drips down me with zero subtlety.
Rocky has gone rigid. While he’s assessing my situation, I do what any good server would do and smile brightly. “I have it right here, Mr. Burke.”
I’m about to pick up the Cognac.
“Come back over, will you? I want you to have a taste, too.” He turns to lead me.
“Oh, I couldn’t—”
“The club won’t mind. Trust me.” He’s about to catch my hand, but Rocky steps into my situation like a territorial grizzly.
“She’s actually preoccupied at the moment.” The dangerous look crossing his face is enough to cause Mr. Burke to tilt his head and become flustered.
“And you are?” he questions.
“Grey Thornhall.” His gaze only darkens. “Her husband.”
“Ex-husband,” I cut in. And make no mistake, Rocky purposefully made me clarify this, so the widower knows where my ex stands.
Rocky keeps staring Mr. Burke down. “And you are?”
“Weston Burke.” They don’t shake. Instead, Mr. Burke takes the Cognac off the tray I’m holding. “Your ex-wife was telling me about the best Cognacs. She loves a smooth one.” His attention flits to me. “Nutty, didn’t you say this was, Phoebe?” The corner of his lip rises as if we share a dirty secret.
He’s trying to embarrass Rocky.
“Notes of almonds,” I lie. I have no clue what nut it tastes like.
Rocky could unspool the lie I’ve woven. He knows my disgust toward Cognacs, but he doesn’t insult me or criticize me. It’d open a door for Mr. Burke to think less of me and possibly do the same.
Instead, he rests a protective hand on the small of my back.
Mr. Burke notices, then eyes Rocky more keenly while sipping the Cognac. “You’re new here, Grey?”
“Visiting,” Rocky says curtly. “At the moment.” He appraises the ceiling and walls with a short glance. “Who knows? Maybe I’ll make this place my home like Phoebe has.”
“Well, advice from someone who has been here for four generations,” Mr. Burke says, lifting his glass toward his lips. “You don’t fuck with another man’s Cognac.”
Is he seriously trying to correlate me with his stupid liquor? I’m biting my tongue so hard to keep from speaking. I feel myself instinctively tucking closer to Rocky.
“Wise words,” Rocky slingshots back.
Instead of waiting out the cockfight, I spin around Rocky. “Excuse me,” I say to them. Katherine could be hawk-eyeing me from across the dining room for all I know. And getting canned on day one is not the goal here.
I veer toward the bar to continue my actual job, but Rocky is hot on my heels. I’m about to tell him off until I detect the raw urgency in his eyes.
Fine.
Setting the tray on the bar, I follow him out of the dining room, through the rotunda. Down another hall, and we bypass the state-of-the-art gym with more Fiji water at guests’ disposal, I’m sure, and suddenly, Rocky has found a nice, totally cute storage closet.
Tennis balls, baskets of rackets, croquet sets, and a volleyball net are surprisingly crammed in disorder on shelves and the floor.
He shuts the door behind us, and as soon as he faces me, he whisper-sneers, “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” I sneer back. “This is my job. Mr. Burke could get me fired for what you pulled back there.”
“He won’t.”
“You don’t know that for sure, Rocky,” I nearly shout, but I try my best to keep whispering.
“Firing you does nothing to hurt me, and that rich prick would rather use you to fuck me over. I made the enemy.”
I flame. “And I’m just the pawn between you two? Just the thing you can tug back and forth with no say?”
“You think I wanted to piss all over you like you’re a fucking fire hydrant?”
I breathe hotly, a strange hurt crossing over me. I shouldn’t be upset that Rocky is saying he hates possessing me. I should want to maintain my own agency. I’m not a thing. But still, I wish he would answer with, I’m yours as much as you’re mine.
Rocky reads me quickly.
I stiffen and thread my arms defiantly.
“You liked it?” he questions.
My cheeks burn, and I don’t deny it. “There was no reason for you to mark your territory. I was fine.”
He steps forward. “There was no reason for you to piss all over me in front of Valentina,” he retorts, like it’s the same.
Is it?
Were we both just claiming each other?
Tension stretches taut the closer Rocky stands. He grips the shelf beside my head, and the musky scent of his cologne is familiar and dizzying.
I refuse to step back. Our gazes bolt together with smoldering heat, and very quietly, I say, “I didn’t enjoy pissing on you either.”
He doesn’t ask why I did.
It’s obvious enough that jealousy played a factor.
Rocky slips a scathing glare over his shoulder. At the door. And I have to assume that was reserved for Mr. Burke. Especially as he says, “Those men aren’t changing, Phoebe. You could start your new life anywhere, but you chose the upper echelons of society with misogyny ingrained in its ether. How Mr. Burke spoke to you is what these bastards do.”
“And what’d you do?” I shove back, wounded. “I loved the part where you told him to fuck off and go eat shit for treating me like a naked mannequin.”
Hurt flashes through his eyes. “I’m playing with the deck of cards on their table.”
True meaning: He has to be a rich prick, too. “That’s bullshit,” I say. “You’re not here to con anyone, Rocky. You don’t need to be one of them!” I step closer at the same time that his hand encases my mouth to catch my near shout.
My body is welded up against Rocky’s muscled chest, and my pulse is pounding in my veins, his heat swathing me in familiarity and comfort.
His chest rises and falls with heavy breaths against me. Like I’m chasing him around the tiny storage closet.
He pushes forward until I have no option but to shuffle back. My spine crashes into the shelves. Our latched eyes scream untouched notes of padlocked desire, and the tempo accelerates between us—his hand sheathing my cheekbone, my nails clawing at his back.
Rocky grips my hair, his forehead bowing toward mine. Heat surges, and a whimper scratches my throat. Holy shit.
The noise in his throat is husky, deeper with coarser frustrations and cravings. “Phoebe.”
My name is a warning. A we can’t.
Neither of us moves away. He’s pressed to me, his thick hardness bearing against me. My pussy throbs like a tortured drumbeat, aching for the feeling of him inside me. Desire swirls like the hottest perfume, and yet, there’s the greatest pull back to this push forward. An invisible barrier prevents Rocky from completely reaching me.
He eyes my lips like maybe he wishes he could kiss me.
I stare at his lips, wondering if he ever will. We agreed we never would. But I can’t deny how good his body feels against mine. This shouldn’t feel like home. This shouldn’t feel right.
We know what we are together.
My mom’s greatest dream. Which is my worst nightmare.
It scares me. I flinch against him.
“Phoebe?” He releases his clutch on me and inches back. The distance is uncomfortable and stinging.
I avoid his gaze. “That was...”
“Appalling?” he offers roughly, a huskiness in this throat that he clears with a deep guttural sound. It’s sexy, honestly. His arousal.
“The worst,” I say dryly and risk a glance.
He’s scraping a rough hand through his perfectly disheveled hair, his face twisting in thought. “How can I walk in there and be honest, Phebs?” He gestures to the door. “You think anyone will respect me if I tell them what I’m really honest-to-God thinking? I’ve already imagined setting this place on fucking fire. You think that’ll help you?”
No.
I can picture the dark depths of Rocky’s bitterness and contempt for most people. It’s not a recipe for a welcoming cocktail. It’s poisonous. Worthy of being exiled from the town.
And how he responded to Mr. Burke is what he knows how to do. He’s used to being another apex predator.
It’d be more difficult to change.
Hell, it’s hard for me. I stayed quiet while Rocky tried to protect me. It’s what we usually do in these situations. So I shouldn’t be shocked that we naturally fell into the roles again.
“I don’t think it would help me in the long run, no,” I whisper more softly. “And I get you’re looking at the big picture here, which I appreciate.” It’s strange that he’s trying to preserve the longevity of my stay in this town instead of imploding it. “I just wish I could’ve told Mr. Burke to fuck off without risking my job.” I shrug. “And I wish you could’ve done that for me in the meantime, too.”
Rocky contemplates this for a tense beat, a pain in his eyes that he tries to shift away from me. After another rough hand through his hair, he tells me, “I talked to your brother.”
My heart lifts. “Which one?”
“Nova. I let him in on your plan here.”
Surprise jumps my brows. “Everything?”
“Vaguely, yeah. If you want to reach out to them, it should be safe. They know to keep this quiet from our parents.”
Relief washes over me. I didn’t have to be the one to risk jeopardizing Hailey’s plan. “Thanks, Rocky.” I see the glint of the time on his watch face. “Shit. I need to get back to work.” We’ve been in the storage closet for fifteen minutes. “I really am trying to keep this job.”
“Obviously.” He sounds unenthused.
I try to fix my limp ponytail, and I panic at the lack of mirror. “Is it straight?” I ask Rocky. “Are there messy pieces?”
“Come here.” He motions to me with two fingers.
I hate him for making me visualize those fingers inside me. “You come here.”
He rolls his eyes, then rounds my body. His chest brushes against my back, and his height is a shield protecting every single inch of me.
“Don’t bite my hand off,” he says roughly.
“I’ll try not to.”
Rocky unties the pony and collects my deep blue hair in one hand. With the other, he smooths the baby hairs away from my forehead. I shut my eyes and sink into the melodic motion of his hand sliding against me. His fingers slip around my ear, and the sensation zips a tingle down my arms.
I sense him tying the pony once and then twice. Until it’s tight and a little higher than the middle of my skull.
“And there you go,” he says, his voice a husky gruffness. “The best ponytail of your life.”
“Let’s not go that far.” I spin back around. “It’s average.”
His smile peeks, a shadow of one while he examines more of my face than my hair. “It was above average before I was here.”
My lips part at the unusual compliment. “Thanks?”
Rocky forces a wry smile. “You’re late.”
“Oh shit.” I bolt for the door and power walk down the hall. If Katherine noticed my absence, she doesn’t let on when I return to the dining room. The widowers have left, and Chelsea sends me to the pool for snack service.
Everything is falling into place.
I peek over my shoulder, expecting to see Rocky watching over me. Less like a guardian angel. More like a two-horned demon.
Hailey passes me with a tray of mojitos.
“Hey, Hails.” I catch up to her side and keep her brisk pace. “Did you see your brother?”
“Yeah. He just left the club. Why, do you need something?” She halts midway to the sunbathing guests.
I try to ignore my disappointment. “Uh, no. Just curious how long he’d spy.”
“Longer than I thought,” she admits. “Hey, maybe we should ask him to pick up Italian for dinner?”
Can’t escape Rocky. It’s always been a comforting idea, hasn’t it? “Yeah, go ahead.”