Chapter 11
Kingsley
“Bro, there is no reason to be this angry,” Matt said, his voice laced with concern. “I promise you I would always treat Rosalie with love and respect.”
My fingers tightened around the glass of whiskey.
“I know you feel very protective of her—” he went on.
We were outside at the pool, Roberto and Jacob at both entrances, and Rosalie standing on the other end, holding a big tropical drink with a slice of pineapple in it.
She bent down to drink, putting those full lips around the straw, and then she sucked in, her cheeks hollowing at the motion, and I couldn’t help a swift intake of breath too, and I reached out for one of my cigars, shifting forward in my chair to hide the way my cock thickened at the sight of her.
“I’m a good man. I really care about—"
“Stop telling me you’re a fucking good guy,” I growled. “That’s not what this is about. I don’t care how good you are. She’s not yours.”
He gaped at me.
“Wait—you—and Rosalie?”
I flicked my lighter.
“Yeah, me and Rosalie.”
“You’ve never said anything. She’s never said anything. How long has this been going on? Recent?”
I sucked on the cigar.
“Since senior year.”
“Since senior year? Why didn’t you say anything?”
“It’s casual.”
But was it casual? That crawling, urgent need for her slithering over my skin wasn’t casual at all. The way my eyes raked down her body wasn’t casual at all. The way I was ignoring my phone going off constantly wasn’t casual.
“Oh. Well, then you can’t object if she finds someone who wants to actually, you know, date her.”
Cold sweat dripped down my back, and I ignored him, watching as Rosalie walked over to where Jacob was leaning against the gate.
When she offered him a sip of her drink, I called out, “Get the fuck away from there, he’s supposed to be working.”
Rosalie glared at me, sticking out her tongue so the piercing flashed in the sun.
God, I wanted her so badly. Sick jealousy filled me.
Surreptitiously making sure my cock wasn’t standing straight up, I got up and walked toward her. It was like I couldn’t relax unless she was near me.
“Get that nasty cigar out of my face,” she said.
My body prickled with lust the closer I got, my fingers itching to untie her bikini top, run my tongue down her cleavage. But when I tried to make a joke about her drink, my smoking, anything, she turned away.
She wouldn’t even talk to me.
Her jokes were all for Matt. Or Roberto. Or Jacob. Or Dolly. Not me.
And I was jealous over every single thing I was missing. Sharing a drink with her. Having her smile at me, laugh with me.
I couldn’t stand the loss of it.
Maybe it had never been casual at all.