I swallowed down my pain and my rejection.
Kingsley didn’t want to date me. Maybe he was never going to want to date me.
I should put a stop to this, find someone else who could actually commit.
But I just couldn’t resist him.
“Bones deep in the soil,” he sung, his brows drawn together.
I was in love with him.
Did he know? Could he tell?
I would have to be very careful to make sure he didn’t know. Just let him think I was cool and casual, too.
“These lyrics don’t make any sense,” he protested.
“Who is the brains of this operation, you or me?” I demanded, moving into that achingly familiar back and forth with him, equal parts comforting and painful. “You just practice singing those lyrics.”
There was something about Kingsley that just screamed wild folk god. I knew if he got a chance, with these lyrics, he could be a star.
We made the perfect team.
As long as I could bury my feelings.
And yet my stupid heart couldn’t help its foolish wishing.
What if. . . someday. . .
CHAPTER 7
Kingsley
Islept like shit and I woke up jittery and pissed as hell and sick to my stomach.
God, Rosalie could be so stubborn sometimes.
My cock was painfully hard, leaking precum all over my shorts, and I had woken up with a splitting headache.
That was too many whiskey shots even for me.
I had to wait for my cock to go down to piss, and constantly thinking about Rosalie didn’t help.
Squinting against the bright morning light, I pulled up my bank app and transferred as much as the fucking app would let me do at one time into Rosalie’s account.
What should I put in the notes section?
Sorry, baby girl?
Let’s make up?
No, I had to be direct. Had to own my shit.
I’m really sorry
I miss you
The words felt cringey, strange, but they were true, and I couldn’t think of any better ones. Still, the whole thing was cringe as fuck.
