“Oh. Well, then you can’t object if she finds someone who wants to actually, you know, date her.”
Cold sweat dripped down my back, and I ignored him, watching as Rosalie walked over to where Jacob was leaning against the gate.
When she offered him a sip of her drink, I called out, “Get the fuck away from there, he’s supposed to be working.”
Rosalie glared at me, sticking out her tongue so the piercing flashed in the sun.
God, I wanted her so badly. Sick jealousy filled me.
Surreptitiously making sure my cock wasn’t standing straight up, I got up and walked toward her. It was like I couldn’t relax unless she was near me.
“Get that nasty cigar out of my face,” she said.
My body prickled with lust the closer I got, my fingers itching to untie her bikini top, run my tongue down her cleavage. But when I tried to make a joke about her drink, my smoking,anything, she turned away.
She wouldn’t even talk to me.
Her jokes were all for Matt. Or Roberto. Or Jacob. Or Dolly. Not me.
And I was jealous over every single thing I was missing. Sharing a drink with her. Having hersmileat me, laugh with me.
I couldn’t stand the loss of it.
Maybe it had never been casual at all.
CHAPTER 12
Kingsley
Last show in Chicago and Cornelius was droning on about how to stop all the gossip sites from running with headlines about me chasing Rosalie down at the restaurant.
FROM PLAYBOY TO NAY BOY, one of them read.
“Just a few photoshoots with Dolly,” he had begged, but I refused.
“Kiss her on stage then,” he tried. “Just one kiss. Come on. It would make the crowd wild.”
Instead of trying to make Rosalie jealous, I now had a panicked fear that making the slightest move toward Dolly would make it even harder for Ro to forgive me.
Did I even want this stupid movie role anyways? What was the point of it? Yeah, it was a fucking big deal. But did I really want all the shit that came along with it? Did I want to have to please Mr. Vázquez and the other studio heads with my good behavior?
Not if it meant losing Rosalie.
Nothing was worth that.
I picked up my phone, but even looking at it made me feel sick.
None of these options appealed to me.
I looked morosely at the tits of a Swedish Olympic gold medalist.
They were nice but they weren’t Rosalie’s.
I scrolled down my inbox, and it was the same all the way down.
Even the ass of an Instagram model with 8.6 million followers didn’t make my dick so much as twitch.
8.6 million people wanted that ass, but apparently I wasn’t one of them.
