Chapter 12
Kingsley
Last show in Chicago and Cornelius was droning on about how to stop all the gossip sites from running with headlines about me chasing Rosalie down at the restaurant.
FROM PLAYBOY TO NAY BOY, one of them read.
“Just a few photoshoots with Dolly,” he had begged, but I refused.
“Kiss her on stage then,” he tried. “Just one kiss. Come on. It would make the crowd wild.”
Instead of trying to make Rosalie jealous, I now had a panicked fear that making the slightest move toward Dolly would make it even harder for Ro to forgive me.
Did I even want this stupid movie role anyways? What was the point of it? Yeah, it was a fucking big deal. But did I really want all the shit that came along with it? Did I want to have to please Mr. Vázquez and the other studio heads with my good behavior?
Not if it meant losing Rosalie.
Nothing was worth that.
I picked up my phone, but even looking at it made me feel sick.
None of these options appealed to me.
I looked morosely at the tits of a Swedish Olympic gold medalist.
They were nice but they weren’t Rosalie’s.
I scrolled down my inbox, and it was the same all the way down.
Even the ass of an Instagram model with 8.6 million followers didn’t make my dick so much as twitch.
8.6 million people wanted that ass, but apparently I wasn’t one of them.
Annoyed, I scrolled past her messages.
In theory it might be good to have that opportunity to get into acting.
It wasn’t worth her being angry at me, though
It could never be worth that.
I walked onto the stage to a roar of applause, but my eyes were only searching for her, my head craning around to see if she was backstage.
Warm and juicy emotions slid into my chest when I saw her standing behind my band.
Rosalie was wearing the raggediest, holiest shirt known to man, hair up in a messy bun, dirty jeans.
I had never seen anyone look so tempting in all my life.
No one could ever compare to her.
I tried to ignore the rush of lust I felt at the sight of the inches of tanned skin as her T-shirt rode up.
“Come dance with me, baby girl,” I said into the mic.
I walked over and pulled Rosalie onto the stage to dance, as the drums pounded in my ears, the rhythm reverberating through my body.
With the spotlight following me, I knew she couldn’t refuse.
Pulling her into my arms just feel right, but I also felt desperate, buzzed.
“Daddy earth, sweet-green,” I sang, that old first hit of mine that Rosalie had written for me in my dorm room late one Saturday night after we’d had sex three. . . four. . .how many times?
She’d laughed as she came up with the lyrics, legs criss-crossed under her, swamped in one of my big T-shirts, riffing back and forth.
“Wait, that’s good,” I protested.
“Right,” she said. “And then we could do a music video where you’re, like, digging your arms into the dirt and wearing moss on your head.”
And then we did it and it hit, racking up a million views on TikTok in only a few days, securing me a contract and sending me into superstardom.
And it had always been her.
Singing with my arm around Rosalie just felt right, her soft sweet body nestled perfectly in mine.
I could even feel the second she relaxed into me, the minute her tensed muscles unwound.
She stayed longer than I dared to hope before slipping out of my arms. But I wanted to spend the whole concert that way.
It had always been her.
Suddenly I knew I had to say something. Right then. Right now. So she’d know how I felt.
“I’ve made a lot of mistakes,” I said, my fingers tightening on my guitar strings. “But I’m going to make things right.”
And for a moment, just a moment, I almost had her, her eyes looking surprised.
“But when you’ve met the most beautiful. . .” my voice trailed off. Exactly how the fuck was I supposed to summarize Rosalie? It was impossible to summarize her.
My heart felt insanely full, juicy warm feelings spilling all over my guts.
“One day when I get you a ring,” I sung, drinking her in with my eyes.
Why had it taken me so long to realize how I felt about her?
And then suddenly she was gone.
Wait, fuck, what had I said wrong?
I went through the next song in a blur.
What the hell? What had I said?
Then suddenly it hit me. For years I had told her I wasn’t into commitment, that it was bad for my brand. She must have thought my song was another way to put off committing to her.
But hell no. But fuck no. I wasn’t putting off shit. I was going to tie Rosalie down right now.
I stopped mid-song and raced backstage.
“You can’t leave mid-set, there’s one more song,” Cornelius panted, but I shrugged him off.
“I’m not going out there without Rosalie!”
I hurried backstage, my heart pounding.
Where was she? For that matter, where was Matt?
My hands were sweating, gripping my guitar so tight my fingers were white.
“Rosalie! ROSALIE!”
I clutched my limo driver’s arm. “Have you seen Rosalie? She didn’t leave, did she?”
My stomach was sinking to my knees.
“No, sir, no, I haven’t seen her.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Rosalie, fuck! This isn’t funny!”
She had to understand what she meant to me. I was over putting things off. I was going to commit so fucking hard.
Panting, I rounded a corner and came upon a long dark hallway that seemed to be empty. But there were noises coming from the other end of it, low, throaty moans and little breathy squeals.
Stumbling, my guitar knocking into the concrete walls, I ran forward.
My shaking hands gripped at the blinds, ripping them open, desperate to see, to make sure. . .
And Rosalie was standing up, one foot with her combat boots propped up against a windowsill, the silky length of her legs gleaming in the dim light.
Matt knelt between her thighs, his broad shoulders stretching her wide, and from the way she was gripping his hair between her fingers and gasping, it was very clear what he was doing.
“Rosalie, no!” I croaked, but I was strangely out of breath, the hallway spinning unpleasantly around me.
As I watched, horrified, she threw her head back and cried out, hitting that tone that was so familiar. Except I thought it was only for me. That I was the only one who could get her to make that noise.
But I wasn’t.
“Stop!” I croaked, my voice high and cracking.
Her whole body shook, tits quivering in my face, her nipples peaked and pressing against the thin fabric of her dress and to my horror Matt’s fingers snaked up to play and pull on her nipple rings, his hands closing around her perfect round breasts.
I stumbled and fell.
And she met my eyes as she rode out her peak on his face and I thought I would die to see that blissed-out expression, pure panic and rage and animal pain flaring through me, and the fierce need for that to be the last orgasm she ever got from anyone else.
Matt turned around, and I could see that he had her thong pulled to the side and her pussy was wet, her thighs slick, and Matt’s lips and chin were shiny, dripping with Rosalie’s release.
“I told you to stay away from her!” I roared.
Matt’s face looked shocked, miserable, but somehow not guilty enough, and I gripped him around the collar, put my hands around his throat, and squeezed.
“She is mine, do you understand? Mine!”
In my rage, I couldn’t stop.
Then Rosalie kicked me sharply in the shins and I slumped to the ground in front of her.
“Dude, are you crying?” Matt asked, and I hadn’t even realized I was until then, but there was hot liquid rolling down my cheeks. My whole face was wet, there were tears dripping down my throat.
“Please, Rosalie, please, I’m sorry. I can’t stand this anymore. Fuck, hell, I give up. I’m begging now. You win. I don’t want you with any other man, baby. I want you all to myself.”
“You idiot, you’re the one who made your choice. Deal with it.”
“I made a mistake!” I howled.
Just then, Dolly came galloping around the corner like a horse, dressed exactly like Rosalie. Except she could never compare. No one ever could.
“Kingsley, what’s wrong?”
She shrieked when she saw Matt.
“Matt, what—happened to your throat.”
“Kingsley was choking me.”
“Why?”
Her eyes flicked back and forth between all of us.
And then dumb Dolly had to have her one moment of lucidity.
“Kingsley, there’s—something between you and Rosalie isn’t there? You like her? You like like her?”
It was such an inane summary of the obsessive dislike I had at the idea of my Rosalie having sex with anyone else that I snapped at her.
“It’s none of your fucking business,” I snapped, and of course her big blue eyes filled with tears.
“Now man, that’s not called for,” Matt said sharply, and Rosalie swung her legs around and took two quick steps before I could grab her, putting an arm around Dolly.
“I’m so sorry,” she said comfortingly. “He’s a brute.”
“But—"
“I think you’ve done enough,” Matt said sternly.
“It’s over—” I roared, opening my mouth to blow up this whole fake dating thing, but Rosalie interrupted me before I could get anything else out.
“Just come with us. We’ll go somewhere and get a couple hot chocolates.”
“Rosalie, you are not getting away from me. Please, baby. You misunderstand. I’m not putting anything off until the future. I want you now.”
Dolly gasped like I’d punched her in the face.
“Someone needs to tell Eunice,” I said. “I’m not faking this shit anymore. I’m going to do it all with Rosalie. The girlfriend thing. The public shit.”
Dolly began to weep.
“Dude, you could have broken it to her in a nicer way,” Matt chided.
“Let’s go,” Rosalie said soothingly. “You’ll find someone better, I promise. Not hard to do.”
“Oh hell no,” I snarled, grabbing her as she tried to get away from me. “We’ll all go in the limo back to the hotel together. I’m not letting you out of my sight.”
It was a silent limo ride back except for Dolly’s sniffling, and Rosalie shook her head disapprovingly when we arrived.
“Why don’t you take her out for a drink, Matt.”
Finally, they were gone, but now I had to get rid of my manager, too.
“Kingsley, I have a plan,” Cornelius said, sweating profusely. “I’ve hired three separate songwriters for you. If you could just step in here with me—figure out who you gel more with—”
“Don’t bother,” I interrupted rudely, because I was feeling both down as fuck and horny, not a pleasant combination.
“It’s Rosalie or nobody.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, no new songs unless Rosalie writes them for me.”
I pounded on her door as everyone melted away behind me with muffled curses. My band thought I’d gone absolutely insane.
But it was time to go absolutely belly-up and fix this whole fuck-up.
When Ro finally opened the door, she had her suitcase in hand.
“I want to date you,” I gasped.
I waited for this revelation to bowl Rosalie over, waited for her to gasp with surprise, but her expression didn’t change.
“I’m done with the roster shit.”
Still she said nothing, and sweat began to break out all over my body, run in scathing hot rivulets down my back.
“That shit with Dolly was so fake. I only had sex with her once or twice. I don’t want her. I don’t need some nice girl.”
“Thanks, you’re such a gentleman.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Yeah, I know what you mean. You’re just trying to get in my pants. You don’t really want a relationship. You just want access to the person who knows how to make you come three times in a row.”
“No, I don’t!” I said hotly. “That’s not true at all. I want you, goddamnit! For your personality and shit, too! Fuck! I’m ready to commit, I swear I am! Can’t you see I’m suffering here.”
“Kings, we make better friends,” she said with a pitying smile that went right to my gut.
“I don’t want to be friends!” I snarled. “There is no one better for you than me. We belong together.”
“Well, I thought so. But that was before Matt.”
“I promise,” I said desperately. “No more women. Just you. I swear, Rosalie. Please baby girl. Give me a chance.”
“It’s over. You just aren’t boyfriend material.”
“Give me a chance. What do I have to do to prove it to you?”
“I don’t know if there’s anything you can do, Kingsley. I think it’s just too late for us.”