29. Kai #2
I have to tighten my abs so my stomach will stop quivering. I don’t want to think about Rooke changing, because if he can change, then Haven might—
Ha, ha—fuck that.
We’re not going down that road tonight.
Rooke returns with three mugs, setting them on the coffee table, and then disappears into his bedroom without a word. As soon as he’s out of sight, Haven sits forward in a rush, causing me to groan as her ass grinds against my dick.
“Fuck, Haven, what—”
“Shh!”
She leans over the coffee table and rapidly shuffles the three mugs around like a street hustler running a shell game. Then she falls back against my chest, giggling silently just as Rooke reappears.
He’s put on a shirt, but the black tee stretches across his chest so tightly that it’s worse than when he was naked.
He stops at the edge of the coffee table. He looks at the three mugs. He looks at Haven’s shit-eating grin.
Without breaking eye contact, Rooke reaches down, picks up the mug on the far left, and hands it to Haven. He hands the middle one to me. He keeps the last one for himself.
Haven’s smile vanishes.
“Drink,” he commands, perching on the edge of the table opposite us.
Haven takes a cautious sip, her brow furrowing. “This isn’t espresso.”
“It’s an oat milk latte with hazelnut syrup, and you’re going to love it.” His eyes flicker to me. “Both of you.”
Haven just stares at him, the mug hovering near her mouth. “How the hell do you know what I’ll like?”
“I pay attention, Haven,” he murmurs, taking a slow sip of his own latte. “You wanted to drive your barely road-worthy car across town while high out of your mind. Instead, you’re going to sit there, drink your coffee, and wait for your blood sugar to stabilize.”
She glares at him over the rim of the mug, but she keeps drinking.
I wrap my hands around my own mug, grateful for something to do. The warmth seeps into my palms, but it doesn’t reach the cold in my veins.
Rooke is watching me. I can feel it without looking.
“You’re quiet,” he says.
“Tired,” I mumble.
“Hmm.”
That sound. That fucking sound. It brings back the memory of this afternoon—his throat working as he swallowed, his eyes locked on mine, that same mmm vibrating around my cock—
I set the mug down too hard. Coffee sloshes over the rim.
“Careful,” Rooke murmurs.
“Fuck off.”
Haven’s head swivels between us, her eyes narrowing. “What’s going on with you two?”
“Nothing,” I say quickly.
“Nothing,” Rooke echoes, his voice maddeningly calm.
She doesn’t look convinced, but she’s too stoned to push. Instead, she drains her mug and stands up, sticking out her hand again like she did out on the porch.
“Okay. Coffee’s done. Keys, please.”
“You’re not driving.”
Her head lolls back before she snaps her neck straight again. “God, are you fucking serious—”
She cuts off the instant Rooke stands. They’re less than a foot apart, yet she stands her ground, glaring up at him expectantly.
Not sure what the fuck she’s expecting, but she seems ready to tackle it head on.
And I don’t know what the fuck I’m expecting, because two sips of Rooke’s coffee apparently just cured my whiskey dick.
“You are not driving, girl—” he raises his voice over Haven’s when she tries to protest again “—and if you don’t stop your shit right now, I’ll pull you over my fucking knee like the child you are.”
Haven’s mouth is still open.
I’m kind of hoping Rooke shoves his fingers inside and hooks her like a fish.
She swallows, and when she speaks, it’s almost meekly. For Haven.
“I really, really want my car back.”
“Then I’ll fucking drive you,” Rooke growls.
“You?” Haven snorts. “In my ‘death trap?’” she air-quotes aggressively. “Puh-lease.”
“Then you’ll stay the night.”
It’s my turn to snort. “Hard pass, Rooke.”
“Then I guess you two don’t have a choice,” he murmurs, glancing at me before he heads back to his bedroom.
The drive is excruciating.
Haven called shotgun before I could protest, which means I’m stuck in the backseat of her dad’s shitty sedan, watching the back of Rooke’s head while he navigates the dark roads.
He complains the entire way.
“This clutch is a travesty.”
“The suspension is nonexistent.”
“How do you see anything through this cracked windshield?”
Haven giggles, clearly enjoying his misery.
I stay silent, staring out the window at the trees blurring past. Every time Rooke shifts gears, his shoulder moves, and I can’t stop thinking about how those shoulders felt under my hands, and how his skin tasted when I licked up his neck.
Jesus, enough!
When we reach the Airbnb, Rooke parks the car and cuts the engine. We all get out, Haven holding her hand out for the keys. Rooke drops them in her palm and wipes his hands on his sweats like they were a dead rat.
Haven opens her mouth, then closes it again, changing what she’d been going to say.
“Thank you.” It sounds like she had to drag the apology from the depths of her soul, and it fought back every inch of the way.
“Don’t mention it.”
Her brows twitch. “Seriously, I mean it. You didn’t have to…”
Pretend to be human just for us, I fill in mentally when she trails off.
“I assure you, it was the highlight of my evening,” Rooke says dryly. He holds her gaze a moment longer, and I swear I see a flash of disappointment on her face when he looks away to order an Uber on his phone.
She turns on her heel and hurries to the Airbnb, giving me a curious glance over her shoulder when I don’t immediately follow. I lift my chin at her, and she rolls her eyes, hugging herself hard against the icy night air.
Rooke lowers his phone, giving me a once-over. “Are you making sure I don’t steal her car?”
The smudges under his eyes look darker out here on the poorly lit street. Because we woke him up, or because he’s suffering withdrawal from his usual weekend debauchery?
I guess even a seasoned pro like Rooke needs to give his liver a rest every once in a while. And his fucking soul.
“I’m here to stop you if you try to come inside,” I growl.
Rooke sighs. “I’ve already ordered an Uber.” His eyes narrow. “And anyway, why on earth would I want to—”
“To fuck with us,” I cut in.
More accurately, to fuck us.
Because that’s what I’ve been expecting since he opened his front door—filthy condescension until one of us breaks.
He turns to look at me, eyebrows raised. “You two delinquents dragged me out of bed at one in the morning, now you’re expecting me to fuck you both senseless?”
I don’t even hesitate to throw my girlfriend under the bus. “It was Haven’s idea.”
“What? Me fucking you two senseless?” There’s a faint smile toying on his lips, but he looks too tired to fully commit.
I groan, looking away. A pair of headlights appear down the road, headed our way.