Page 52 of Let the Light Shine Through

“Why don’t you fill that up, cowboy?” I say, my gaze still on Pixie. This…thing between me and Roz, it doesn’t include this girl. Not yet. Come morning, that’s a different story, but for now, I don’t want her touching Roz. I don’t want anyone touching him—tonight. Tomorrow…

Tomorrow.

Tomorrow, I’ll do what I always do. Cut bait and act like nothing happened while keeping my collection of memories to myself. The one I take out when nobody’s looking. It’s a punishment as much as a luxury but only because punishments are meant to teach a lesson and I haven’t learned mine yet. If I had, I wouldn’t be here, adding more to the stack.

“Gia,” Roz sighs, the pain in his voice as unmistakable as if it were written on his face.

I fight a wince. I don’t want to hurt Roz. I just don’t know what else to do.

I don’t know what I’m doing, period.

“We already have—”

“Heads up!”

The ball lands next to our feet and I don’t even have to look to know it was Fletcher’s doing. Jerkoff.

Pixie smirks. She’s a jerkoff, too.

I tilt my head to the side, telling Roz, “I’ll play your spot,” then place myself where he was just standing.

As Roz stalks off the spray-painted court, I finally tear my eyes from Pixie. The second he makes it over to the sidelines, he’s rocking side to side on his feet. He catches me looking and I blow him a kiss, making him crack a small smile before dropping his gaze to my outfit—a gray low-cut romper with shorts. Knee-high socks and my old-school Vans complete the look. It’s not as revealing as what Pixie’s rocking, but it’s probably the most revealing outfit I own. Scratch that, it is the most revealing outfit I own. I put an unbuttoned black and white long-sleeve flannel over the top, so it’s just my legs that are exposed, but I’m definitely showing more skin than I usually do.

I give Pixie another glance, checking out the dimples of Venus sitting just above her ass. Shit, that’s hot. Too bad she’s a jerkoff.

A game and a half later, I’ve got a healthy buzz going thanks to somebody’s genius idea to make the team that drops the ball have to take a shot. Roz disappeared for a while, but he’s back now and is talking to Johnny about who knows what. They don’t seem to know each other for shit, but their lips haven’t stopped moving since Roz sat in the grass next to him. And I would know because that’s all I can look at. Much to the frustration of the rest of my team, my attention is just not on the game anymore. I’m not sure it ever was.

Pixie had to rush inside to get an ice pack after the ball nailed her in the back of the head. It was one of those crazy instances where someone got an eyelash in their eye and they couldn’t see where they were hitting the ball.

It’s me. I’m someone.

Fletcher, the concerned hero, followed after her and we’ve just been fucking around while we wait for them to get back and the poor lit-up net is paying the price. It’s down several more lights now and is flickering every few seconds.

Pixie prances down the front porch steps—I’m pretty sure someone called her Annalise, but Pixie rolls off the tongue so much better—but instead of joining the game, she cops a squat next to none other than Mr. Roswell Fancy himself.

A couple of shitty serves later, I hear a noise so nauseating I swear my gag reflex engages all on its own and I almost dry heave. Beside Mr. Fancy, Pixie has her head thrown back on a laugh while Roz just smiles pleasantly at her, clearly immune to the foul-ass sound. I don’t know if she stinks, but her laugh just sounds rank.

If this is what jealousy feels like, I don’t like it. It feels like somebody put me in a salad spinner and cranked that baby to full speed. I don’t know which way is up, just that I might puke if it continues any longer.

“Hey, do you want me to give you a couple tips?” a guy on my team asks me.

What?

Oh. It’s my serve.

I look him over. Straight black hair, jawline clear of stubble, obnoxiously present shirt.

I’m game. Jealousy only has as much control as you give it.

My teammate wastes no time positioning himself against my back, aligning his groin perfectly with my ass to give me a pretty sizeable tip—and I’m not talking about in volleyball either. Annoying mansplaining aside, he is cute but not enough to get my briefs wet, not when Pixie clutches on to Roz’s arm again, this time in another stomach-churning laugh.

Extracting myself from the guy at my back, I stroll off the court without so much as an explanation or an apology to my team. Jealousy, the raging bitch, is in full control now because I’ve given up completely.

Pixie says something to Roz, but he doesn’t bother acknowledging her as he tracks my every step. At the last second, I swing around the small crowd, coming up behind him before lifting his chin and flipping my hair over my head like a shield in front of my face as I bend down to kiss him full on the mouth. Despite the fact that I’m upside down, his lips are already waiting for me as they part instantly, inviting my tongue right in. One of his hands comes up to grab the back of my head, keeping me to him.

A fake cough has me pulling back, but Roz’s fingers grip a handful of hair, showing me he’s not done as he nibbles my lips in a tease I feel down to my toes.

“I’ve been waiting to do that all week.”