Page 149 of Volatile Obsessions

“I’m going to pass,” I deadpan, trying to move her off me, but she holds on tighter still and pushes me back against the ledge of the bar top.

“C’mon, Rome—let’s finally finish what we started during the hurricane. And this time, you don’t have to worry about Kelsey. Just me.”

“Again, I’m going to pass, Azalea.”

“I’ll put the pep back in your step, babe. Suck your cock so good you won’t even remember what you’re so angry about.”

“Third times the charm perhaps? I said I’ll pass. I have a—”

My phone vibrates in my pocket, pulling my attention away from the woman trying to seduce me.

I fish it out and the message on my lockscreen rises every hair on my body in a panic.

My Queen: I’d say I’m surprised, but I should’ve known better. Hope you and Lilac have a wonderful evening. x

See?

She had it all wrong.

It looked terrible, I know, but fuck—hadn’t I proved myself to her? Hadn’t I proved that she was it for me?

That she was all I wanted. All I needed.

I tried putting myself in her shoes, tried thinking about how I would’ve handled seeing some wanker all over her, and while I definitely would’ve felt the green-eyed monster possess me from the inside out, I never would have jumped to conclusions.

Never would’ve left her there with nothing but a text.

But Lux was a woman, a damaged woman who’d never experienced a real relationship, so I couldn’t bring myself to blame her.

Did her silence play on my nerves?

Absolutely.

But I wasn’t going to push her.

I’d done my part. Now, all I could do was wait for her to come around.

She had twenty-four hours.

Otherwise, I was taking it back into my own hands again before this spiraled into something worse.

* * *

I didn’t hearfrom Lux until later on that evening, and I was no where near my phone when the calls started. I’d been out in the pool, swimming laps to ease my mind from the stress of the last almost twenty-four hours.

When I got back inside, I was surprised—and a tad unnerved—by the amount of calls and voicemails clogging my lock screen. She’s been calling as frantically as I had, and it appeared that, for every call, there was a voicemail that went along with it.

Most of them were of her singing, very drunkenly, to one of Rihanna’s more vintage sounds. She wasn’t alone either, cajoling Suki into singing along with her at some point as well. Each voicemail was literally a continuation of the last, and by the time I listened to the last one, I was in stitches.

Relieved.

Showering and dressing in record time before I jumped in the Benz and called her back.

“There you are,” she said lazily.

“Do you enjoy serenading people in a drunken stupor often?” I joked, gunning it down I-95.

“It’s only fun when they”—hiccup—“answer the phone.” The smile tugging her lips was utterly palpable.

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