I haven’t seen much of Sloane all week. I was expecting her to be around the house more since there’s not much written on the calendar that hangs on her fridge—unlike the other color-filled weeks. I’d say she’s been avoiding me.
She’s home today, but she’s spent the entire day shuffling about in her room so much that Gigi left her room to come settle against me in my bed. We’ll hear the occasional swear word—another new habit of hers—echo from her room, but other than that we’ve seen no sign of life since she had her morning coffee.
Later that evening, when I’m sitting on the couch with Gigi, debating what to order myself for supper, she finally steps out of her bedroom. I’m so stunned my phone slips out of my hand and falls to the floor. The noise prompts a look from Gigi for interrupting her beauty sleep. Sloane looks gorgeous. Drop-dead gorgeous, if I’m being completely honest. But right now, I don’t want to let her leave this house. No one should be able to see her looking like this. No one but me.
Since I’ve been living here, I haven’t had the opportunity to see her in a dress, but right now, she’swearing what looks like the softest wine-colored sweater that hits mid-thigh. The length isn’t the issue though, it’s the neckline. There’s no way in hell I’m letting her put her two thigh-high boot-clad feet outside showing that much cleavage. No. Just no. The gold chain and pendant she’s wearing isn’t helping either. It’s begging my eyes to focus on her tits peeking out from the soft sweater. If she was anybody else, I would be tracing the line where skin meets the sweater with my tongue already.
I’m drooling and I haven’t even gotten to her face yet.
Her eyes were always what drew me in when she was a kid. Just a little too big, a little too round, a little too blue for her face, yet they are mesmerizing.
Those eyes were not disappointing me now. I don’t know what she did, but they seem even bigger and brighter when I finally bring my gaze to meet them.
“Why are you dressed like that?” I ask before I can stop myself.
“I have a date,” she explains, turning away from me.
Too shocked that she’s going on a date, I don’t take the time to appreciate how her sweater-dress-thing hugs her ass perfectly.
“The hell you’re doing on a date looking like that,” I tell her.No one but me is allowed to see her looking like that, I think to myself, letting my possessiveness seep through my thoughts, even though she’s not mine.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Sloane screeches, stopping in her tracks, hands on her hips to stare at me. And if looks could kill . ..
Her look does something to me, like all of her sass. I just want to fuck it out of her. With her standing expectantly in front of me, not moving, I take the opportunity to take in her form, from heeled boots to the soft curls framing her face.
And, again, before I can stop myself, I make things worse by saying, “And what’s that black stuff on your eyes?”
What I really want to know is why her eyes seem bigger, and brighter? I’ve always thought she had stunning eyes—all I had and still have to do is catch her eye and I can tell you exactly what she’s thinking. Right now, her eyes are telling me I’m lucky she has somewhere to be because if she had the time I’d be needing more than just crutches. That look doesn’t last, though. Before me, in the blink of an eye, I see her anger and confidence vanish.
Fuck. Once again, my mouth got the best of me again. I can’t seem to figure out how to talk to her. She used to be the one person I could talk to, about anything, whether it be the weather, her new shoes, or a ladybug, words just came out. She was my calm. Now? I hate myself around her as much as she seems to hate me. I’m always saying the wrong thing to her, or doing something to piss her off. And as much I find a pissed-off Sloane hot as fuck, I am not a fan of the look she’s giving me right now. She seems so dejected, and all because of me.
Hating myself, I feel my jaw clench and my fingers curl into fists until my knuckles turn white.
“Do I look that bad?” she finally asks, in a small voice—a voice I’m not used to hearing from her—as she turns to the mirror hanging by the front door. She fiddles with her hair, swipes a finger under her eyes, and tugs at the hem of her sweater thing. She’s stunning. I don’t know why she’s self-conscious all of a sudden. I feel myself relax as I keep drinking her in, my eyes unable to move away from her.
My relaxed state doesn’t last long, though. My jaw tightens once again at the thought of the douchebag that gets to take her out tonight. I know I have no sweet clue who this guy is, but I know damn well that he’s a douchebag.
“. . . I should have gone with the black jeans. . . Why did I decide on heels. . .” Her mumbling to herself in the mirror pulls me from my thoughts.
“You look gorgeous, Rosie.” The second the words leave my mouth, I see her spine stiffen. She doesn’t believe me. If only she could spend forty-five seconds in my mind, on any given day at any given time, she would quickly learn that I always think she’s gorgeous. That she’s been on my mind since thatkiss. The kiss that should have never happened because she’s my best friend’s younger sister.
However, the more time I spend living with her, the more I forget that she’s my best friend’s younger sister. The more time I spend in her orbit, the more I want to get to know her, like I would get to know any woman I was attracted to.
Chapter 11
I stare at my reflection in the mirror as I let Liam’s words sink in.
This is why I don’t date. I have no idea what people wear on dates. Jade told me to wear a dress, and this is the only winter-appropriate dress I own. Plus, I thought it looked pretty. I thought the deep red of the dress brought out the slight red hue in my dark brown hair. I thought the curls I spent hours trying to perfect would pull away from the risque neckline of this dress. Not that it’s actually risque, it’s just showing more cleavage than I’m usually comfortable showing, but I thought, why not? I haven’t been on a date in over a year and a half.
I don’t know why I agreed to go on a date with someone she set me up with while she was gone, though. I could have done all this next weekend when she was here to help me.
I knew I should have just gone with the black slacks, cream turtleneck, and brown ankle boots I had laid out on my bed, I think to myself, as I run my sweaty hands down the front of my thighs. Or better yet, I should have just told Jade I wasn’t goingon a date.
I look up, trying to keep the tears in, so Liam doesn’t have any more ammunition to make fun of me. It’s bad enough that every time I just think about maybe putting myself out there, of going on a date or even just talking to a guy, I’m brought back to eighteen-year-old me who threw herself at Liam, of all people, and suffered the rejection of a lifetime. Since then, I have a crippling fear of being harshly rejected all over again.
And because, to this day, no man even comes close to Liam, my subconscious tells me.
No, I answer right back. Liam holds no power over me anymore.
