Page 66 of Make Me Dream of You

She quirks an eyebrow at me and I’m going to be letting her tattoo my ass, aren’t I?

“I’ll get you some pig skin soon,” I say.

But I’m smiling at how much I don’t hate the thought of her tattooing my ass when Anthony strolls up. Sidling up next to where Livvy is sitting, leaning against the wall, flexing his arms, cocky grin.

“’Sup.” He winks at her.

His face is extremely punch-able.

She stands, smiling at him. A big, breathtaking smile that’s all teeth and peachy cheeks and red lips…

“Oh hey, Anthony.”

I don’t want her smiling like that at him. I want her to smile like that for me.

Only me.

“So, uh—” His gaze lazily slides from her face down to her chest.

I have to physically unclench my jaw.

“I didn’t get the chance to ask after our last date—” He glances at me as he clears his throat.

The image of his arms around her, her hands on his waist, his lips on hers clouds my vision. My hand aches. I put down the tattoo gun grip I’ve been holding—or squeezing.

“—but I wanted to ask you, in person, if you wanted to go out with me again some time.”

No.

No.

Say no.

Her smile widens and she nods. “Yes, I’d love to go out again!”

I don’t know where this voice in my head is coming from, but it’s screaming. No. Mine. Don’t go out with him. Go out with me.

And there it is.

Fuck.

It’s not protectiveness. It’s jealousy.

I want Livvy.

I’m in a foul mood all evening. Livvy and I eat in silence in the dark apartment, a single light on in the kitchen. It’s storming outside, wind and thunder at the windows while rain pelts against the glass.

She keeps looking at me with her big eyes.

I don’t know what to say or how to act. I’m an asshole. I’m supposed to be her friend. Roommate. Boss. I’ve known her since she was little. I’m not supposed to be pining for her. Thinking about her perfect curves. Jerking off to her. Wondering what her lips taste like. Or pissed off that Anthony knows that answer.

I rinse the dishes and she loads them into the dishwasher. We don’t say anything.

Normally we’d be talking. Laughing. She’d put on her ridiculous show, and I’d pretend I wasn’t just as invested as her to see who Ainsley is hooking up with now and who’s talking behind Braxton’s back.

She puts the last glass on the rack then turns toward me. “Are you mad at me? Did I do something?”

Shit. “No, Liv. No, you didn’t, I’m sorry. It’s me, I’m just in my head tonight is all. Thinking about stuff.”

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