“You know what? Think I’m about to go play a round of pool with my brothers. I’m good, ladies.”
I gently lift Wildflower off my lap and move Spank back as I get up and head away from them.
Guilt washes over me about my actions, but I’m doing what’s in our best interests, right? Then why do I feel like shit?
Pissed doesn’t even begin to describe what I felt last night or what I’m feeling right now. I swear that if I knew where CJ was, I would be out of here. I would have walked away from the clubhouse last night, but he sent one of the prospects after me.
He didn’t even have the decency to follow me. That was the part that hurt the most. He saw me hurting, and he didn’t care enough about me to come after me and check on me. He was only concerned about me possibly leaving the property.
Torch and Juicy claimed that he was just trying to get a rise out of me because we had argued the night before and that morning. That wasn’t the way to handle it though. I don’t have time for immaturity and playing games.
Although it hurts, I refuse to shed a tear. I was so embarrassed yesterday, and he didn’t seem too pressed that I wasn’t speaking on the ride home. After he dropped me off, he went back out last night, and I lay awake wondering if he had gone back to be with those women. He didn’t come back until two in the morning, and he slept in the guest bedroom again.
I saw him in the guest bedroom this morning when I came down to eat. I’ve been coming and going up the stairs all day, and he remained asleep. It’s a little after one in the afternoon, and he steps out of the bedroom.
I hate that he looks so damn good. He’s wearing nothing but some boxer briefs, and his beard and hair is a little overgrown, not much. It’s time for him to get a haircut, but I love when it’s slightly thick like that. I love raking my fingers through his curls.
He stretches, scratches his beard, and then pulls his dick in his boxer briefs. He glances at me, and I roll my eyes. It takes a lot of strength for me not to speak to him, but I don’t, and he doesn’t press it.
He heads upstairs, and I can hear him in the shower. A part of me wants to cry, but I refuse to cry over a man who wants to be with another woman. I turn the channel on the TV, but I’m not watching it. I find a notepad and pen, and I busy myself with thinking of people I want to interview on my podcast when I return and questions that I want to ask.
“You hungry?” he asks when he returns a half hour later down the steps, fully dressed, looking as if he’s about to go out. He smells good, too, and it makes my pussy throb for him. Damn, I hate his ass.
“Don’t talk to me.”
“What?” He has the nerve to have an attitude when he speaks as if I’ve done something wrong.
“I said, don’t talk to me,” I repeat with even more attitude than he has.
“Watch ya self, Charisma.”
“Fuck you, Chaos.”
He jumps over the back of the couch so fast, straddles me, and pins my arms against the back of the couch. “Who the fuck you think you talking to, Charisma?”
“You!”
“Have you lost ya gahdamn mind? You know I’ll fuck you up!” he snarls.
“No, I haven’t lost my mind, but you did!”
“The fuck are you talking about?”
The tears finally break free and flow down my face.
“You treated me like shit yesterday! Like I meant nothing to you! You didn’t have to embarrass me like that. I did nothing to you. I fucking hate you, Chaos!”
“I did nothing but what you expected me to do.”
“I thought things were changing between us, but you disrespected the hell out of me.”
“How the fuck you gon’ get upset with me for chillin’ with somebody else when you got a man?”
“I have never used him to disrespect you.”
“Yes, you did.” His gaze narrows, and his nostrils flare in anger.
Although I don’t want to ask him the question, I do. “When?”
