Page 156 of Dark Romeo

I pushed her aside, causing her to yelp, and damn near leapt out of the king-sized bed. I grabbed my steel-colored bathrobe, wrapping it around my half-naked frame. “How the fuck did you get in?”

She shrugged. “I had a copy of your key made since you were so rude as to not provide me one.”

How the hell did she get a hold of a key to copy? Mine hadn’t been out of my presence. “Whose key did you copy?”

She pouted her sticky pink lips.

“Rosaline?” I warned.

She crossed her arms. “Benvolio let me borrow his key.”

For fuck sake. I made a mental note to slap Benvolio upside the head the next time I saw him. Also, to get my locks changed. Abel had a key. Benvolio had a key. Now Rosaline. Apparently, my keys were candy that was handed out like it was Halloween.

I pointed at the door. “Get out.”

She crawled on all fours on my mattress, wiggling her ass. “Aww, baby, are you still mad at me?”

I snorted. “Mad is a temporary situation. Hatred is a better word for what I feel for you. Even that is being generous.”

She crawled towards me, giving me a shot right down her cleavage. “There’s a fine line between love and hate, baby.”

Jesus fucking Christ. “Rosaline, get the fuck out of my apartment.”

“Or what? You’ll call the cops?” she sneered.

I flinched at the thought of Jules breaking down my door to find Rosaline in my bed dressed like that.

She continued, “Besides, you can’t kick me out of my apartment.”

“It’s. Not. Yours.” I ground out. If only she was a guy so I could break her nose and throw her out the window.

“What’s yours is mine, remember?”

“Not yet.”

“But soon, baby. Soon.” She tweaked one of her nipples and let out a small moan.

I crossed my arms over my chest. “Yeah, well, until then, leave me the hell alone.”

“Are you sure about that?” She reclined on the bed, dropping her knees out so I got a shot of her black panties. Crotchless.

Dear God. It was past one a.m. I wasn’t getting back to sleep anytime soon. It looked like I wasn’t going to be getting my bed back soon either. I grabbed jeans, a dark t-shirt and my jacket. I would change in the damn elevator rather than stay here another second.

“Where are you going?”

“Out,” I called over my shoulder. “You better not be here when I get back.”

* * *

“I don’t like this place, Roman,” Mercutio said.

“Why?” I slammed down another shot of whiskey and indicated to the lanky, bearded bartender to keep them coming. These days it seemed that I had to drink down a stomach-pumping level of alcohol just to get a buzz. Even then I never got numb enough. My head was slightly fuzzy from the booze, my body buzzing with hot, pressurized aggression. Aggression I hadn’t been able to release despite the daily pounding of my boxing bag until I dropped to the ground covered in sweat.

We were in a flashy club downtown called Covert or Espionage or something like that, a place with a dance floor that lit up from underneath. The clientele was mostly gyrating Barbies in crop tops and tight jeans, wearing lip liner the thickness of crayons, and overly tanned guidos with tight white pants and too many top buttons undone.

It was a place I never went to. Partly because I hated the kind of Eurotrash pop anthems they played at an ear-splitting volume. But mostly, I never came here because I wasn’t exactly wanted in here. It was a slip in management that I’d been let past the front door. A slip in management that I was sure they were about to regret.

Mercutio frowned at me. “What are you staring at?”

---