Page 39 of Wicked Roses

She’s said she’s fine, but she’s not. She’s fighting hard to keep it together only for the cracks to still appear.

“Phi, you don’t have to pretend. Maybe for everybody else. But not in front of me.”

“I just wanted a night out. I wanted to feel normal again, okay? I wasn’t going to have sex with Chadwick... or anyone. You can quit the possessive asshole shtick.”

“I might have overreacted.”

“Might? You were twirling a steak knife at him! You glared at him like you planned on chopping him up into pieces.”

That was definitely a possibility.

“Do whatever you need to do to feel normal. But my security has to be with you.”

“The dinner didn’t even help,” she confesses. “Chadwick is best in small doses. I’m just sick and tired of feeling like everything is out of my hands. Sometimes I want to go out and...” she pauses to shudder out another breath. “I want to go out and find him myself. Maybe it’ll give me closure so I can move on.”

My hands grip her shoulders. “You’re not to go looking for him. I mean it, Phi. We don’t know who this guy is. Anybody could be backing him. Let me handle it.”

Delphine doesn’t need to get her hands dirty. That’s what I’m for.

I’ll get my hands dirtyandbloody. It’ll be my pleasure.

“Why do you care so much?” she asks. The tables turn; her toffee-brown eyes flick up to mine and my stomach flips. Only she has the ability to make it do that. “We broke up twelve years ago. You were basically relieved for it to be over. You looked like you were going to celebrate at Nirvana the second you left my apartment. Remember the bottle girls?”

“When have I ever let anybody fuck with you? If I didn’t let Gannon, you think I’ll let anybody else?”

She shakes her head, still in disbelief. “It still doesn’t make any sense. Why now?”

Delphine doesn’t realize the truth—she’s my obsession, and I’m not the kind of guy who gets over those easily.

But these are things I’ll never be able to tell her. As far as she knows, I’m a cold, uncaring jerk who left her crying during our breakup.

She grows tired of waiting on me and runs a hand over her curly updo. Her other hand clutches her heels at her side as she announces she’s going to her room.

Something unexpected and greedy inside me doesn’t want her to go. I’ve already decided I’m not showing up to the club tonight and I’ve gotten her light fragrance in my brain after the last five minutes inhaling it, being so close to her.

I want more. I can’t go cold turkey again.

“Want to watch a movie?”

She stops short. “Me and you?”

“Don’t sound so suspicious. We used to watch movies all the time. Go get changed and I’ll put it on. I have a feeling you’re going to like this one.”

With a hesitant nod, she agrees, disappearing into the guest bedroom that’s now hers. Five minutes pass before she emerges changed into a Dupoint University hoodie and some yoga pants.

I’m at the window pretending like I don’t notice how those tight pants mold to her hips and thighs so well, she might as well not be wearing anything. The thought is almost too much to maintain my composure. Pervy as it may be, my attraction to her isn’t something I can turn off.

My pulse quickens and I force myself to calm down before I getvisiblyexcited. It’d be fucking embarrassing on my part. Even worse, it’d make her uncomfortable.

I scrub a hand over my beard and direct a glance at her. “Better?”

“Much better. Those heels were not comfortable.”

“That dress was very... friendly.”

She smirks out of exasperation. “Very friendly, because Ernest Jr., as you so fondly call him, is just a friend.”

“I’m sure he’d be disappointed to hear that.”

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