Page 151 of Gathered Sparkle

The typing bubbles appear, then vanish. That alone makes me suspicious. The next message hits my screen, and my brain short-circuits.

I stare at the picture for a full five seconds before my mind processes what I’m looking at. It’s Novalee. Beautiful, undeniably her. But her tongue’s out, teasing the tip of an inked dick. Sylus’s probably. Because,of course, the lunatic has a star tattooed there. She’s taking the selfie with a playful grin and wicked eyes, and it’s like my brain bluescreens entirely.

The fuck?

Still in?

Why did you send me your dirty dick?

The typing bubbles reappear almost instantly.

To check if you’re really able to get over your ego.

All of the guys got that picture to prove they don’t mind her sucking other dick.

Think of it as an acceptance ritual to the Sparkle Syndicate.

This is fucking ridiculous. But…

I’m still in.

You gonna help me?

I’m fine to help you if you’ll make her happy. But if you fuck this up because you’re going to see her suck my dick, you’re in for a bad awakening. I don’t want her to get hurt again just because your balls aren’t big enough to handle competition.

My jaw tightens as I read his message, but instead of snapping, I force myself to focus. He’s baiting me. Testing me. And he’s right to do it. That’s the worst part.

You have a star on your dick. I think I’ll manage.

I mean it, Harrington.

No, I didn’t change my mind. I know she’s with all of you. I want to be part of it, not take her away from anything.

Good. You couldn’t, anyway.

Fucker.

I’ll be there in thirty minutes.

Better hurry, or I’ll get her in bed first and send you some more pictures.

I shove my phone into my pocket, already cursing Sylus under my breath.He’s a lunatic.But he’s also got a point. If I can’t handle seeing her with them,with him, then I have no business being here. Because this isn’t about me. It’s about her, about us, about finding a way to make this insane, unconventional situation work.

And I want it to work so fucking badly.

I step out of my room, still adjusting my sleeves, already rehearsing in my head what I’m going to say when I see her. But I don’t make it two steps before I hear Veronica’s voice drifting from the kitchen. “Nicholas.”

I pause at the edge of the hall. She’s on the phone, pacing in front of the counter with a glass of something dark in her free hand. Probably whiskey. The way she’s smiling, sharp and knowingly, tells me she’s sealing a deal, not making small talk.

Her eyes flick toward me, and she raises a perfectly manicured hand.Wait.

I bite the inside of my cheek and stay put. She ends the call with a clipped, “We’ll finalize it tomorrow,” then sets the glass down with a clink and turns toward me. “Where are you off to?”

I could lie. I almost do. But that would be a mistake.

“To Rosie.”

She arches a brow. “Is Rosie living with the Lanes?”

---