Page 47 of Trust Me

The last one came five minutes ago, and I debate replying. Knowing Elio, though, it’s easier to text him back.

I set my phone on the wireless charging pad, then roll over, attempting to sleep. It evades me all night, thoughts of Elio with those girls running laps in my mind.

I hate how jealous it makes me. More so, I hate how much it hurts me. Especially when I have no reason to be this upset. This is why I leave romance to books. Because in real life?

It fucking sucks.

Chapter 21

Elio

I don’t know what the fuck happened tonight, but I don’t like it. Jasmine’s acting strangely and I don’t know why.

The game was nearly impossible to focus on with her lingering at the back of my mind. I had texted her to see what she was doing, and no response.

Jasmine and I had finally gotten somewhere with our relationship, with her opening up a little and being nice to me, well, mostly. She still teases and taunts me, but I like that she does.

We’re at the bar now and she still hasn’t answered. I text her a third time and she finally replies, easing the tension in my chest. Until I read her message.

What the fuck? She went to a club?

The possessiveness inside of me wants to know every detail I missed. I find myself not liking it one bit. The idea of her out, looking sexy as fuck with all those eyes on her and me not there to tell them to back the hell off.

Mine. My mind growls in protest, and this time I don’t tell it to fuck off.

Because that’s exactly what she feels like. She lives under my roof, takes care of my girls, we cook for each other, she sits next to me in class, and willingly spends her time at home with me now.

She feels like mine, even though I know she isn’t.

I’m not sure when it happened, where the physical pull I felt toward her turned into something else.

I want all of her. She’s on my mind more than I’d like. She’s the first damn thing I think about in the morning and my last thought before I fall asleep. I’ve been worried about her since we left yesterday. I missed having breakfast with her this morning.

I like her, dammit. More than a roommate should. More than someone who works with her dad should.

She’s fucking beautiful, selfless, and smart, with an even smarter mouth. How could I not like her?

She’s everything.

I text her back to call me, telling Ned good night and leaving the bar. I don’t know why I even came, but I felt pressured to by Ned. It was mostly okay. The players on the team who were old enough to drink were drunk, singing karaoke and having a good time, but I mostly sat there and watched, surrounded by annoying puck bunnies.

I used my best fake smile, the one I reserved for public settings with fans, signed some things, then sent them on their way. There was no chance in hell I’d be bringing them back to my hotel. Not when they weren’t five-foot-four, with a smart mouth, a bold middle finger, and curls that I want to squeeze with my fist while I claim all of her firsts.

I don’t know how we got to this point, but I’m not going to think twice about it. I’ll feel guilty, especially because of my relationship with her father, but it’s a price I’m willing to pay.

I receive another text telling me that she’s going to bed and she’ll see me Monday. I nearly throw my phone across the pavement in frustration. Why the hell is she pissed at me? I try to think of what happened but come up blank.

I’m not even there. What could I have done?

I don’t text back. Instead, I call my pilot. I took it to get here, hating the idea of spending so many hours on a bus with the team.

My pilot answers on the first ring. “Mr. Mazzo, what can I do for you?”

“Get the plane ready. We’re leaving as soon as possible,” I tell him, nearly jogging down the street back to the hotel.

“On it, sir. See you shortly.” He hangs up the call.

At the hotel, I quickly gather my things, then hail a cab to take me to the airport where my plane is waiting.

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