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“Chase, don’t try to lure me with that slippery tongue of yours.”
I smirked. “You normally love my slippery tongue.”
“I’m not doing this.” She pushed past me and joined the same douche frothing at the mouth to jump her bones.
My fists clenched. As much as I would have loved to punch him in his perfect nose, I needed to take a step back and get a grip. This was hardly the place to fight.
Releasing a deep breath, and admitting defeat, I shuffled back to my console and stupidly chose a ballad. The next minute, Ivy was waltzing with a man she’d only just met. Of course, everyone was watching, including my father, who wore a puzzled expression.
I think I shrank to the size of a pea behind that console, somehow hoping I would become invisible so I could be pissed off in private.
At the end of the night, everyone had gone to bed, leaving a few of my younger drunken cousins slurring their best pickup lines to the remaining female guests—a sobering reminder of what awaited me in the hollow world of singledom.
With that depressing thought squirming about, I entered our bedroom.
It was my bedroom, and I was sleeping in that bed.
Ivy pranced around in her panties and tiny bra and asked with a cold, dismissive tone, “What are you doing here?”
“I’m tired, and I’m going to bed.” I stripped off, and she turned away as if seeing me naked offended her.
Meanwhile, out to torture me, Ivy swanned around in her skimpy French panties, the ones I liked to rub myself against.
I lay in bed in pain. My balls were blue. This was a first while in bed with a beautiful woman. A woman I desired. Loved.
Loved?
She now hated me and wouldn’t even let me cuddle her. I loved spooning her. I loved nuzzling into her perfumed hair. Even with the comforter over me, I felt cold. With silence capturing the sound of crashing waves, I lay there, my chest in knots.
After a few a more deep breaths, I said, “I’m crazy about you, Ivy.”
“Don’t talk to me.” She moved to the edge of the bed. “And don’t touch me, or I’ll scream.”
“Is that a promise?” I asked.
“Can you tell that asshat in my bed to shut the fuck up.”
“I like it when you’re feisty.” I chuckled.
She glared at me. “Why the fuck are you here in this bed?”
“It’s my fucking bedroom. My fucking bed.” I softened my tone. “And it’s not over for me. You’re a part of me, Ivy. I won’t give up on us.”
“Stop sounding like you’ve just stepped out of a romance movie.”
“It’s unintentional. Trust me. That comment must be disturbingly buried in my subconscious, considering all the romcoms I’ve sat through with you.”
“Yeah, poking fun at them. And now you sound like one of the leading men, only worse, because at least they’re sincere,” she said.
“Hello… we are talking about fictional people here?” I thought about that for a moment. “And anyhow, isn’t that what you’d like? For me to emulate some romantic hero with a strong jawline that will do anything to get his girl back?”
Was I really sounding like one of those romcom douches? What did that make me? Shallow or confused?
I took a deep breath. “I’ll fight for you, Ivy. You’re fucking worth it.”
“Oh God, there you go again, sounding like a cut out from The Bold and the Beautiful. You’re not even good at it.”
“I’ll take that as an insult, will I?”
