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“He’s drafting the Erickson-Estavez contract as we speak. You know exactly what. More specifically who—I’m talking about.”
“He knows, and he’s okay with it, but even if he wasn’t, it’s my life, and it’s my business,” I reminded him, shrugging into my navy dress shirt, buttoning the cuff links and adding, “Also, last time I checked, he was the very person to try to steal my girlfriend from under my nose when we were still together, including—but not limited to—kissing Millie while we were dating. Just to be on the safe side of being a full-blown dick, he kissed Rosie, too. So, really, other than trying to shove his tongue into my mom’s mouth, he pretty much tainted all the women I care for.” Saved for Payton and Keeley, my sisters. Truth was, Keeley had told me one drunken night that Vicious made out with her when we were juniors. It definitely gave me a little shove as far as my morals went when it came to pursuing Millie.
If nothing else, my little speech zipped Jaime’s mouth. Rosie was fucking mine. Every part of her. From the tips of her toes to the baby fine hair on the top of her head. Every single bit was going to be claimed and marked. And the beautiful thing was that no one had a say in this shit. No one but Rosie herself.
“Here’s the address to the club.” I threw my phone with the Yelp app into Jaime’s hands, and he caught it mid-air. “Call the limo service downstairs. I’ll go make sure Vic is ready.”
“Dean.” Jaime grabbed my wrist as I turned to walk through the door to get my pants.
“Baby,” I purred into his face, smirking. “I know I’m irresistible, but I’m sure Mel is more flexible, with that ballerina background and all.” Jaime narrowed his eyes at me and threw my wrist like it was dirt.
“Jesus, can you un-creep yourself for a second? Listen, I’m the last person to lecture you about who to be with.”
“Because you fucked my lit teacher when I was eighteen.” I nodded on a laugh. “Married her, knocked her up, and almost gave your mom a heart attack in the process. Yeah, agreed. Neither you nor Vicious can tell me what to do.”
“But.” He raised his voice, and damn, Jaime Followhill had some authority in him, I’d almost forgotten. “I swear to God, Dean, if this is just another one-night stand, and you’re going to screw around with the dynamics of our group—with our families and friends—for a quick bang…”
“It’s not just a fuck,” I gritted out. I needed to remind myself that Jaime had a good reason for poking the subject. I’d been known as the one to shove his dick into anything that has two legs and a dress, so what the fuck was I expecting? But I wasn’t Vicious. I wasn’t blind to what had been in front of me for years. I owned up to what I wanted from this girl from day one.
I never pursued anyone this hard, and with Rosie, I didn’t even decide to do it. It was like Jimmy Fallon’s career. It just kind of happened before anyone could stop it.
“What are your intentions?” Jaime asked, holding my gaze, serious as a fucking funeral. What are my intentions? Living in London made him sound like a British lord or some shit. Making fun of him should have been first priority, but a part of me wanted him—and other people—to stop fucking talking to me like I was a male hooker who refused to slow down until his dick fell off.
“Jaime,” I snarled, nostrils flaring. I got in his face, feeling like a raging eighteen- year-old again. “I didn’t ask you what the fuck your intentions were when you bent Mel over her desk and fucked the shit out of her in the classroom, so you don’t get to ask me the same question. Rosie is a big girl. People need to stop acting like she’s an old pet no one wants. What we have between us is ours. Not yours. Not Vicious’s, and not Emilia’s. Anyone who thinks differently is welcome to settle this with me. And, true to our brotherhood’s fashion, I won’t be nice, polite, or apologetic about it. Am I clear?”
I didn’t wait for an answer. I turned around and walked away. I had a date to go to.
She just didn’t know it yet.
What makes you feel alive?
Lusting after someone. So badly your center aches, your eyesight is blurry and your morals are thrown out the window.
MY SISTER WASN’T DRINKING.
That was the only thing that occupied my mind. Not the fact that we had a kick-ass time. Not the amazing Britney Spears show. Not the distorted, tall, radioactive-looking alcoholic drinks we carried with us all day. But the fact that Millie did not consume a drop of them, or any other type of alcohol.
