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“Your drink, miss.”
I pull a bill out of my pocket, a generous tip for free drinks, slide it on the counter and take the margarita before Rose can, together with my glass. “Keep them coming. And keep your eyes to yourself if you don’t want them spinning in the back of your skull.”
With a huff, Rose sticks her hand out, demanding her drink. Instead, I run the cold, salty, glass surface up her arm. Her body rewards me, just like I hoped it would. Her pores raise, goosebumps coat her silky skin and, my ultimate prize — her nipples pebble under her dress. Taut and firm. Mouth-fucking-watering.
God, I love satin.
Placing the margarita in her hand, I can’t help but try and test the waters. The back of my fingers extend just enough to graze the hardened flesh, my stare firmly set on hers, taking in her every reaction. Now that I know exactly what shade of delicious pink they are, the picture is clear and fucking vivid. She doesn’t flinch. Her breath is caught in her throat, her mouth a little ajar. Shock, maybe? She holds it in, her chest immobile in a silent consent her words cannot speak.
“Oops, sorry. It’s a reflex.” Not exactly a lie.
“The reflex of a manwhore.” Her breath finally releases in a huff. She is trying to be mad, her dilated pupils and rising chest tell me a different story.
I dip my finger in her cocktail, then slowly run it over the salt trail I left on her arm. “I prefer rake,” I correct, sucking my finger clean.
“Vintage manwhore then.”
“That reminds me. Where is saint Greg? Late as usual?”
“No. I came without him.”
“The story of your life, I imagine,” I reply with a brow wiggle and a chuckle, earning me an eyeroll, but no counter. That’s not the Rosy I know. I bite my tongue and backtrack, she’s truly bothered. Something tells me this is the reason for the full suitcase in her bedroom. “Why’s that?”
“None of your damn business, James.” She downs her drink and turns her back to me. As much as I appreciate the view, I pull her back and I’m met with that pair of piercing blue eyes, sparkling under a layer of unshed tears. But what I see isn’t sadness, it’s resentment and anger.
I can feel my blood boiling, my hands clenching in a rage I don’t think I’ve ever felt before. Rose winces under my grip and I snap back to reality and loosen it.
“Did he hurt you, Rose?” I am dead serious now, my face reflecting the shade of the décor like a mirror, as I wait for her answer.
“No, James he didn’t.” She pulls away from my vice grip, but my gaze still has her pinned down to her spot. Her face starts to shed her defiance, her guard dropping as I pry again.
“Tell me what happened or I’ll go pay him a visit right now and pull it out of him.” She knows me, she knows my threats are never empty. She’s been on the receiving end since she was fifteen, and knows just how deeply carved in stone my promises are. “Rose,” I grunt in another warning.
“We broke up, okay? But you can’t say anything. Not tonight, James.” My hands rush through my hair. I shouldn’t have opinions or feelings about this, but fuck do I. “Promise me, James.”
“Rose–”
“James, please. I don’t want to be explaining myself today. I need time to process and figure out how I’m telling Dad.” She interrupts me, taking away all the bickering ammo I had with her sincere words. “Today, James, all I need is another drink and rebound sex.”
“Rebound sex?” So that’s the deal with the dress. “I’m in shock! What have you done with my by-the-book, innocent Rosy?”
“Shut up. And yes, rebound sex, revenge sex, call it whatever you want, but I’m having it.”
“Bravo, Rose Valentine.” I give her a small ovation. “Now that’s what I’m talking about! I knew you couldn’t be all pantsuits and button ups.” She swats my shoulder for my mockery but can’t hold her giggle back.
“Maybe the guy behind the bar would be up for it?” She motions towards him for another drink. Her second intentions are clear in the flirty smile she’s sporting.
No, no, no and hell no.
“All that boy behind the bar is good for is getting you a drink, not getting you off.” My voice comes out low and laced with an aggression I couldn’t control. “If you want oblivion, you need a man.” Her eyebrow is raised high in defiance.
“Anyone you recommend?” I chuckle and pull her closer, my hand resting on the small of her back.
“We’re kicking Greg to the curb tonight, buttercup.”
“What?” Her nose is scrunched in disgust, but I know it’s faker than the snake skin on her shoes.
“I know you liked what you saw up there. Don’t you tell me you have never masturbated to the thought of me.”
