Page 30 of Bedding Rose
“Hey! Give that back!” she whispers furiously.
“Trade.” I wink at her and slide my phone across the middle of the seat, keeping my hand over it so that she’ll be forced to touch me.
“Keep it down, please, I’m trying to memorize this,” Ms. Dalton says from the front, waving some note cards in the air. Rose’s mother is in her own world—as always.
“Yeah, if I don’t get to have fun, you guys don’t either,” Quique glances in the rearview mirror with mock severity before returning his eyes to the road and changing lanes.
Rose turns a delicious shade of pink that I think is a combination of fury and embarrassment. She won’t say anything, because that’s just not who she is. She gives in. Unless she’s with me. Then she turns into a bold little vixen who’ll turn around and jump me in a parking lot.
That better only be with me.
Her fingers scrabble at my hand, roughly shoving it away as she takes my phone, quickly texting her own from it.
Rose from my phone:I hate you.
Me from her phone:Oops. I see you have me mislabeled in here. Bastard, huh? Fixing that for you. Boyfriend sounds better.
Rose from my phone:Don’t you dare!
Me from her phone:Want me to skip right to husband?
Rose:We are not dating.
Me:We are now.
Rose:NO. WE. AREN’T!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Me:Shouty capitals make you hot, babe? Because they’re getting me hot.
Rose:Stop it. Change the subject. Why are you even here?
I decide to take pity on her and give her a little reprieve, though I’ve only laid out the facts. It’s still going to take her a little bit to get used to them. But she’s mine and I just told her as much.
Letting out a sigh, I give her a softball text that’s nowhere near my real reason for accompanying her tonight.
Me:I have a burning need to know. Are you majoring in … chemistry?
Rose:If you’re about to turn that into a lame pickup line, I’ll hate you even more.
Me:Glad you’re picking up what I was putting down.
Rose:Lol.
Me:Ok, not pre-med and not chemistry. Religious studies?
Rose actually gives a tiny, adorable little snort when she reads that text and I find myself grinning, edging closer to her. Her fire is tempting, but her amusement is absolutely irresistible. I want to make this girl laugh again and again. I want to swallow that sound with my mouth.
I have to restrain myself so I don’t just lean over and kiss her right this second in front of her family. I know better than to do that. Ms. Dalton … she liked me in the beginning, but it wasn’t long until she found out who my father was. Now, she tolerates me because she has no choice. But I’ve heard her go rounds with Quique about me and my thuggish connections while I was in the next room. Her fancy-ass open-concept house lets sound carry.
It’s never bothered me before that she disapproves of me. Thinks of my family as glorified gang bangers. As if she’s any better. The fuckers she takes money from have more blood on their hands than I do.
But Ms. Dalton’s disdain bothers me now, grates on my nerves. I want to call her out on it just like I used to want to call her out on the fact that she kept her ex-husband’s last name—not to stay connected to her children but because his family is well-known throughout the state. That woman in the front seat is the epitome of double standards. I don’t know how Rose has retained her innocence growing up being raised by a shark like that, but I’m fucking glad she has.
And Quique … as much as he says he isn’t Rose’s keeper, I know if she protested against my advances, he’d batten down the hatches in two seconds flat. He’s actually the one person in the world besides Rose that I’d never want to hurt. I’m closer to him than even my father, and the knowledge that I’m going to have to figure out how to do something delicately, for the first time in my life, holds me back.
So I don’t give in to the urge to kiss her in front of them. Instead, I drag my finger up and down the back of her neck along her spine. But, oddly, I don’t feel the collar of Rose’s dress. I let my hand drift lower, sweeping from side to side underneath her coat. Nothing. Not even when my fingertips reach her shoulder blades.
Is she wearing a backless dress?
