Chapter 5
SWAYZE
Fuck this and fuck her.
For the last two hours, I’ve had to listen to the girls giggling while Mia gets ready for the goddamn date she has lined up tonight.
It’s funny how she’s happy to date some random dude her mom chose for her, but when I asked, she basically laughed in my face before telling me no.
Chop-chop-chop.
Well shit.
Dropping the knife, I stare down at the mushrooms I’ve been slicing to make a stir-fry for dinner. I might’ve gone a little too heavy with the sharp object. There’s basically no mushroom left—they’ve been diced into obscurity.
Fan-fucking-tastic.
Pizza it is.
I scrape the board off into the trash, tossing the knife into the sink like it offends me. Which, right now, is hardly surprising because everything does.
Just as I collapse on our leather sofa, phone in hand ready to scroll the DoorDash app, Mia’s bedroom door jerks open, their voices getting louder as they approach.
Don’t look up, don’t look up.
Of course I look up—and nearly choke on my tongue.
Mia looks…
Please hold while I roll my tongue back into my mouth.
She looks incredible.
Phenomenal.
Ethereal.
Like my every fucking fantasy grew legs and walked right outta my head to stand right here.
Her long dark hair cascades over one shoulder in waves, drawing my eyes straight to her incredible cleavage framed in a dark red sweater dress the exact same shade as her lipstick.
Her striking eyes pop against the black eyeliner she’s wearing, and I’m pretty sure the thigh-high black suede boots are designed with the sole purpose of bringing men to their knees.
I’m sure as shit ready to drop to the floor and worship her like the fucking idiot I am.
But she’s dressed like this for him.
He doesn't get to see all of her though.
He doesn't get to see her with hair knotted on top of her head, bare legged, fresh faced, laughing at a late night movie.
He doesn't see her hair mussed from sleep, shirt slipping from her shoulder as she fumbles her way into the kitchen for her coffee in the morning.
Of course, neither do I most days anymore and fuck do I miss that.
Haven circles Mia like a TV game show host waving her arms like some kinda chicken. “Ta dahhhhh. How does she look?”
I allow myself one more glance at her, jealousy slashing through me like a knife to the gut. “Uhh… fine.”
Fine?
Fucking fine?
You absolute moron. And then you wonder why she rejected your dumb ass.
Of course I don’t look away fast enough to avoid seeing Mia’s face fall at my words. As if I didn’t feel like enough of a tool.
You think I’ve got no game, don’t you?
Admit it, you do.
But I’ve got game, I’ve got great fucking game… with anyone else. Just not with her, because she’s the only one who matters.
Haven shakes her head, pink curls flying, shooting a glare my way as they both walk out the door. I suppress a sigh when they don’t even say goodbye.
I deserve that.
But what the hell else am I supposed to do? Sit here and pretend like my blood isn’t boiling at the thought of her going out with some other guy?
If I had my way, I wouldn’t be sitting on our goddamn sofa scrolling DoorDash while she walks out of our door looking like that.
I’ll tell you what I want to do.
I want to follow her to the fucking restaurant and rip her away from whatever obnoxious asshole she’s having dinner with.
I want to tear his eyes out for even looking at her.
I want to toss her over my shoulder, bring her home to my bed and keep her there till she claims it as ours.
I want to cuff her there and make her come repeatedly until she screams my name loud enough for the world to hear.
I want to make her mine in every sense of the word.
I want to be hers. Forever.
But you know what my mom always said?
I want—doesn’t get.
I’ve never felt those words as hard as I do now.
I should never have fucked her in that restroom. Before that, I was fine.
Totally fucking fine.
Sure, I had some shit repressed, but who doesn’t? At least I didn’t have to feel like this. This is the worst.
The sex ban's screwing with my head and making me crazy.
I did it to prove to her that I’m not the manwhore she thinks I am.
Yeah, okay—I’ve had some fun, but what else was I supposed to do?
I spent my early teens wrestling with myself over breaking bro code. Then, before I could grow a pair and be straight with her brother about my feelings, the Jackass beat me to it and asked her to prom.
I wasn’t about to try and muscle in on another guy’s girl. That’s not my style.
Mia was all I ever wanted, but once she was in a relationship—and she was in it for a long damn time—I didn’t have a snowball's chance in hell.
So now, I’m living like a fucking monk. I haven’t touched anyone but her in ten months. Actually, I’m pretty sure we’ve tipped into the eleventh month now. That’s almost a YEAR.
But to what end?
It sucks because the second she finally let me break out of the friendzone, it confirmed everything I already knew.
She was it for me.
Correction… she is it for me.
And when you get a taste of heaven, you don’t want to crash back down to earth again.
Dragging a hand through my hair, I toss my head back against the sofa in frustration.
She had no such realization and clearly has no issues dating. I’ve had to watch her walk out that door countless times. She scrolls that stupid dating app, one I’ve talked myself out of joining just to read her profile a million times now.
It’s time I face facts and accept it’s me she doesn’t want. I need to find a way to lock up these feelings like I did before, even if it feels like trying to cage a feral lion.
I glance down at the DoorDash app again, but fuck it. I’ve lost my appetite.
I walk to the kitchen drawer, and grab a Post-it, scrawling today's date and a quick note I shove into my pocket to deal with later.
She’s left the door open, and as I walk past her room I pause in the doorway and let her floral scent surround me like the sad sack I am.
Clothes lay strewn everywhere, across the floor, all over the bed. A fucking thong even hangs off the window.
What the hell?
No. I don’t want strangers seeing her underwear.
The house backs onto the ocean, my guy.
But. There’s. Boats.
Fuck it.
Striding into her chaos, I tug the offending thong off the window handle, stroking my thumb across the lace. It’s so soft. Scrunching it up in my fist, I draw it slowly up to my nose and suck in a deep breath, my heart sinking to find it’s clean.
You dirty fucker, drop her panties and get the hell out of there.
Jesus, what am I doing?
I shake myself out of my newfound pervy panty haze and yank my hand back, dropping her thong to the floor. Running to the hallway, I slam the door shut behind me.
Living with her is psychological warfare.
I’m gonna drive myself crazy imagining the panties she’s wearing for him if she left those behind. What if the date goes well and she goes back to his?
There's no way I can keep doing this. She has me acting like a damn simp for her. That ain’t me. I don’t even like myself right now, so no wonder she doesn’t.
Tomorrow shit changes. It’s time I get over her and work on rebuilding our friendship.
That decision doesn’t stop my dick throbbing at the memory of her thong though. From imagining that lacy string disappearing into the curves of her biteable ass.
I sink my teeth into my lip and bite back a groan.
Last time.
It’s the last time I let myself do this.
I stride into our bathroom, locking the door, and squeeze my aching dick. Her scent is stronger here and my cock surges, throbbing painfully, assaulted by her proximity.
Is she just going to linger everywhere?
I’m gonna need to get hold of her perfume and throw it in the trash at this rate. Every time I smell it, I’m transported straight back to the moment my head was buried in her neck, and she broke apart in my arms with a scream.
“Fuuuuuckk,” I growl, palming myself through my boxers.
Turning the shower on, I step under the hot spray, immediately gripping my length as I remember how good her pussy felt squeezing me last night.
I fist my cock tighter, remembering her low moan when I toyed with her nipples. The way her—suddenly the water coursing over me turns cold, hitting my skin like icy shards, and my boner shrinks faster than an ice cube on a hot day.
What the fuck, did she use all the hot water?
How long was she in the damn shower?
I can’t even jerk off now. She’s apparently found a way to fuck with me there too.
Frustrated and furious, I don’t even bother with a towel. Ripping open the bathroom door, I take long, purposeful strides back into the kitchen to grab my Post-it stash again.
Scrawling a note to her, I walk back down the hallway and slam it onto her bedroom door before disappearing behind my own with a bang.
That’s enough.
I’m done.