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Chapter Fifteen
Jace
I’m furious, pissed as hell, and my cock has never been harder. This girl ties my insides into knots better than a professional macramist. Kissing Marisol against that tree was the closest thing to my wet dreams coming true as I’m going to get. She’s perfection. All day, I fought off her so-called friends just to stand next to her. My old man-whore self would’ve considered himself in heaven with all the college chicks fighting for his attention. When they invited me to the party tonight, I said that we would love to, hoping they’d get the hint by adding Marisol to the equation. If they did, they didn’t care.
When I pulled Marisol aside, I only planned to talk to her and get her thoughts on the tour. She’d seemed down since we left the gym and began walking back to the courtyard. Except, when I pulled her close, all my senses unwind and tighten simultaneously. Laying my cards on the table for her dissection was harder than leaving my sister this weekend for the first time, only to be rejected again.
She’s giving me a complex.
I’m being unfair. She’s cautious, but it’s understandable. We’re both risking important people in our lives over newfound emotions that are uncertain at best. But I can chase only so far. She needs to come to me. Forcing her into this connection will not bode well for either of us. She may discard the idea now, but when her back was pinned to that tree and I was devouring her mouth, she didn’t push me away when her friends interrupted. Instead, she claims me by sinking against my chest, tightening her grip as if I were priceless, and she couldn’t bear the separation even if it were only an inch.
When I stalked away from her, it was the best and hardest thing I’ve done since confronting my dad about Margret’s treatment of Jasmine. I’ve said my peace. I’m ready to sacrifice everything for her. Everything. The proverbial ball’s in her court. What she plans to do with it is still a mystery. There isn’t anything more to do, short of kidnapping and forcing her—which I haven’t completely ruled out. Good thing the party will provide an ample distraction. Getting fucked up at a college bash seems like the perfect place to forget myself.
~~~~~
I skip the hotel.
It’s too soon to see Marisol.
I’m whipped, even though we’re not dating. Even though she’s still denying me. But that doesn’t stop the obsessions: wondering where she is, what she’s doing, who she’s with. Basically, driving myself up the wall.
Normally, Alex and I are late entries to any party, but by the time the soiree rolls around, I’m happy to have somewhere else to go.
The second beer sits uneasily in my empty stomach as the back of my hand wipes over my mouth, catching the leftovers. Kimmy, or Kippy, or maybe it’s Kitty, is keeping me entertained. Like a cat, she marked me as soon as I walked through the door, claiming me as hers for the night. She’s good to keep around—to ward off the other vultures—but she has to know by now I’m not interested. My girl is back at our hotel, probably sulking. Right about now, I’m feeling like a complete and utter douche. Not only is she distraught, but we’re in unfamiliar territory. I should have checked in with her hours ago.
Once the realization clicks, I try to detach my blocker of a date when an unknown force pulls my attention to a smoldering pair of brown eyes. Instantly, she steals the breath from my panting lungs. Her hair reflects off the light, shimmering, causing my fingers to twitch with their itch to run wild and carefree through the strands. The caramel color of her skin is practically glowing, spelling my tongue to travel every inch of its perfection. The pair of nonexistent shorts she’s wearing draws the eyes of every asshole in this place. Not to mention the white tank top that perks up her perfect tits and gives the illusion of a see-through top. She’s gorgeous, and every fucker in this room wants a piece of her. Over my dead, fucking body.
When my brain refires, rebooting after being drunk off her presence, our eyes meet again, and engage in a silent stare down. Me silently pleading my apology for my behavior… and her flaring with anger and saluting the middle finger before breaking contact to chat with the guy next to her who’s practically eye-fucking her. What the fuck!
“Are you all right?” Kimmy, Kipper, or Kitty purrs, trying to trace my chest with her too long gaudy nail.
Without thought, I reply, “No. Go away,” dismissing her easily.
“What!” she screeches, as if she’s never been rejected.
When the clinger gets the hint that I’m not going to engage, she walks away, pissed as hell. But I’m a dog with a bone now, watching every move Marisol dictates. She’s laughing and flirting with this asshole, giving him hope that he may have a chance with the hottest girl in this house. Don’t think so, dick. That’s my girl, you’re eye fucking.
Normally, possessiveness would have me marching over and beating his ass, but the twinkle in her chocolate eyes is absent. She’s faking a good time, trying to get a rise out of my jealousy. The thought has my smile stretching like the Cheshire Cat. Our longstanding friendship comes in handy when our history allows me to see through her performance.
Now that she’s in my sights, becoming a chameleon and stalking from the shadows is my primary focus. She’s brought the devil out in me to play and I’m up for the challenge. The last of my beer gets dumped in the trash. If she’s here, there’s no way I’m risking her safety by being inebriated, and I’ve already got a slight buzz going on.
A revolving door of desperate girls shuffle over with sweet whispers and promises, trying to entice the stoic loner, who’s watching his prey. As soon as one’s turned away, there’s a replacement for her seconds later, flipping their hair or smacking their lips. If I’m lucky, sometimes both. The repetitive acts of provocation are wearing my last nerves, to where I don’t respond, just blankly stare at Marisol across the room. The whispers will surely start soon about the weird guy leaning against the column in the living room. Why don’t females hold themselves on higher pedestals? The girls that’re soliciting me would’ve taken an hour tops to hit and quit. These are the parties I loved only weeks ago. Man, my sister was right. I am a shallow asshole.
Since Marisol’s the starring role in my every waking moment lately, the thought of returning to the old me is repulsive. Being around her brings an entirely different man to the surface. One that wants to dominate, possess… own. But one that also wants to cradle, protect, and love.
A pang spears through my chest sharply, remembering her rejection. The incident still fresh. She has to see reason.
When I shake the gloom that’s threatening to suffocate off and glance up, the asshat she’s talking to is handing her a beer, and the smug expression on his puss raises suspicion. Or I just hate his face. Either way, that shit’s not happening.
The crowd parts as my focus homes in on its prey, noting his hand trail down her back, ripping a snarl free.
Before I can reach her, she trails her delicate fingers down his chest, knowing I’m watching from across the room, but little does she know I’m coming for her. She’s driving me bat shit crazy.
“What’re you doing?” I growl, snatching the solo cup from her hand, and slamming into the douche’s chest. “If you want to stand here and pretend to be into this chump, fine, but don’t ever take a drink from some rando at a fucking party.”
She glares. “Did you see me drink it, Jace? No, you didn’t. I’m not fucking stupid. Go back to stalking from the other side of the room.”
My temper is getting heated. If I don’t step away, I’ll beat this guy’s ass for no good reason. Can’t have me losing my scholarship opportunities for this guy.
