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I shoot daggers at the front door after it shuts behind him.
I mean what the fuck? We’re not really a couple, obviously, and I don’t need to know every detail of his life. But some basic fucking courtesy would go a long way.
I stand there for a minute, chewing on my lip.
I mean, maybe whatever Gabriel is doing is none of my business. Maybe I don’t need to know where he’s going.
But I sure as hell want to.
I crack the front door open, my pulse thudding as I watch Gabriel slide into the back of the town car as Trevor holds the door open for him.
Yeah, fuck this.
The second they drive off, I’m dashing out of the house, hailing a cab, and sliding into the back seat.
“Follow that town car, please.”
16
FUMI
What. The. Fuck.
Still in the cab, I stare across the street to where Trevor has just dropped Gabriel off.
…in front of Club Venom.
You sneaky fucking asshole.
Okay, we’re not really a couple. And I refuse to call the feeling surging inside of me “jealousy” because—well, I’m just not.
But real relationship or not, I think I do get to be pissed off, since Gabriel went out of his way to go all alpha on me about the way my “extracurricular activities” had to end now that we’re playing house.
Especially because those bruises were from my “extracurricular activities” with him and him alone. I haven’t really dated in years, not counting something miniscule like the time I made out with Felix from work for like four whole minutes.
And don’t even get me started on the fact that when Gabriel and I did…what we did…at Venom last time, it involved something I swore I’d never, ever do again.
Not after before.
And yet, it happened. And it wasn’t just because Gabriel’s obnoxiously attractive. It wasn’t just the thrill of “playing with a stranger”.
It was because he hit every single button I have. He tapped into dark places inside me that I barely know how to find myself.
And now here he is, back at Venom, probably looking for some other plaything.
Fuck. That.
I’m about to step out, when I stop and glance down at myself. I’m in yoga pants and a hoodie, which I doubt is remotely on the Club Venom dress code.
Shit.
I’m about to admit defeat when I remember something, and a wicked idea slips into my head.
“Sorry,” I smile at the cab driver. “My bad. I actually need to go to the Dolce and Gabbana store on Fifth Avenue.”
I use Gabriel’s black Amex card that he gave me to buy the wedding dress to make another purchase. This time, it’s a short black chiffon dress, matching heels, and black lace lingerie, in a transaction so rapid it makes the sales associate’s head spin.
Then I’m in another cab, heading back to Venom.
