by KV Rose
She grabs a bottle of water, twists off the cap just as Alex comes to stand in the kitchen.
“Zara?” he asks again. He’s in shorts and nothing else. From this angle, I see both of them, staring at each other.
I glance down at the hem of her shirt. His shirt. If he steps closer, if he touches her, he’ll get my cum all over him.
I hold my breath, waiting, leaning against the wall in the dining room.
“Are you okay, princess?”
She tips back the bottle of water, the plastic crinkling as she drinks. Then she sets it on the counter at her side, nodding.
I see her glance in the dark my way, but I know she can’t see me.
Still, I slip my hand into my pants, rub my wet fingers up and down my hard cock, watching them.
Alex steps closer. “You scared me,” he says quietly.
Then she reaches up, wraps her arms around his neck. Her shirt rides up, showing off the bottom curve of her ass. He grabs it, squeezing.
I bite my lip, stroking myself faster. Harder.
And then he says, “What’s on your shirt?” as he steps back, dropping his hand from her ass.
She grabs it in her fist, covering the wet spot. “Water,” she lies, her voice husky. “I spilled water.”
Alex laughs a little, rubbing her arm. “Come on, clumsy. Let’s get you back to bed.” Then he throws his arm around her shoulder, and together, they walk out of the kitchen. But just as they disappear from view, she twists under his arm and glances back at me.
“Scared, princess?” Alex whispers.
I just catch sight of her smile before they disappear down the hall. “No. Not with you.”
Bitch.
13
Zara
Waking up is hard.
I can feel the exhaustion in my bones and prying my eyelids open takes way more time than the half a second it should. I taste something strange in the back of my throat, like…
Whatever the hell Jax gave me last night that I snorted up my fucking nose.
I sit up in a bed that isn’t mine, scoot back against the padded headboard behind me. I blink a few times, the light streaming in from the half-open curtains too bright for my sensitive eyes. I take in the familiar room that my brain is having trouble placing right now; hardwood floors, a desk against one wall, doors on either side of it.
A framed photo of some pro football player catching a ball in the endzone.
Alex.
This is Alex’s room.
Get it fucking together, Zara.
I pull up the sheets to my chin and fist my hands in the shirt I’m wearing.
The shirt I’m wearing.
I yank the covers down, hold out the white t-shirt of Alex’s I’m in. It feels rough in a spot at the hem, rough because…
Eli.
My chest tightens, panic making that taste in my mouth turn sour as I draw my knees into my chest, yank the covers back up.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Eli.
I think about his fingers inside of me. His lips against my ear. How he told me to touch myself.
I clench my thighs together and close my eyes a second, lost in the memory. Fuck. Alex could have seen. Alex could have seen and then we would be so fucked. What the fuck am I doing?
I run a hand over my hair and take a breath to pull myself together. Then I open my eyes, feel around under the covers of the king-size bed for my phone. I lift the sheets up, peer over the edge of the bed onto the dark wooden floors, then the nightstand, on my right, and the one on the opposite side of the bed.
Nothing.
An alarm clock, the end of a charger and nothing.
Aside from the football picture, I’ve always thought Alex’s room felt impersonal somehow.
Except, no—
Is that a fucking Bible?
On the opposite nightstand, beside the alarm clock and the charger, a black, leather-bound Bible.
That’s new.
I mean, I know Alex’s dad is a pastor, but Alex has never mentioned God to me.
Jesus Christ.
I push thoughts of Alex and Christ from my mind and press the heel of my hand against my eyes, thinking about last night. There are gaps in my memory, which is no surprise. I was with Jax, and I snorted the line of the K-coke miracle drug, and everything was great. I was dancing on the table and Jax kept giving me water and I was sweaty, and my heart was racing, and I felt so…alive. The very opposite of what I’m feeling right now.
Right now, I feel heavy.
I need something to help me out with that, and since I have no clothes on, don’t see them anywhere in Alex’s room, and have no clue where my phone is, it’s going to take me a minute to figure out how to get back home and get to my stash.
Alex.
I keep my eyes closed, fingers threaded through my hair, trying to piece it all together. He was at Jax’s. Did I call him? I must have, because he wouldn’t have come otherwise.
He said he needed space. Time to think.
Clearly not that much time.
And Eli.
I remember Eli.
But I don’t remember getting to him. I don’t remember getting out of this bed. I try to think through everything. Through Alex carrying me inside. Stripping me down. Putting the shirt over my head, muttering about how we needed to talk in the morning.
Then I got up, because I was thirsty, and besides that, every time I closed my eyes, stars exploded behind them. I couldn’t lay down, couldn’t stay still. I went downstairs, and Eli was there.
Eli was there and he touched me and God, I wanted him.
I wanted him.
I groan, pressing my fist to my mouth.
Fuck.
Alex will kill me. If he knew, he’d fucking kill me.
And then, what happened after that?
It’s like grabbing at straws, it’s right there. I can feel it, see it. But I don’t know how I got from the kitchen to here. Another gap.
And then another thought intrudes on me trying to piece this together.
I pick my head up, nearly crick my neck turning to look at the alarm clock. It’s one of those with the day and date in a little box in the corner. Shit. Rihanna’s funeral is today.
I am definitely not going but I don’t want to be here and see if Alex and Eli are. Fuck that shit.
Before I can decide to fuck it all and steal some clothes from Alex, the door flies open and then slams shut, making me flinch and yank the covers up higher.
Alex’s entire body stiffens when he sees me, his eyes narrowing into slits, his jaw clenching, hands fisting by his sides. It’s unfortunate he’s so pissed off because without a shirt on, wearing low slung, black basketball shorts, he looks damn good.
“Get dressed,” he barks, turning away from me and yanking open the door opposite the bed. His closet door.
He ducks under the doorway, storming inside.
Literally ducking.
He needs a bigger house with bigger doorframes and vaulted ceilings in every damn room.
I watch his back muscles shift as he rips a black t-shirt off a hanger and throws it at me without looking back. He yanks a pair of sweatpants off from the space above the racks and throws that at me too. I catch them before they smack me in the face.
He turns back toward me, shuts the closet door at his back. I see his nostrils flare.
I grab everything he threw at me and hold it close to my chest. Clear my throat.
“Um. Do you want to tell me why you look like you’re about to drown me right now?” I almost wince as I ask the question, thinking belatedly about Rihanna Martinson.
And then, Eli.
God, Alex doesn’t know. He can’t know. He has to be pissed about something else because if he knows, that means it’s really over and I need him. I need something stable in my life. I need a distraction.
He can’t know.
But he really does look like he could strangle me right about now, no p
ool required.
“Are you fucking joking?”
I clench and unclench my fists, resisting the urge to bite my nails. He can’t know. If he did, there’s no way he would be this calm. There’s just no fucking way.
But the comedown from whatever it is Jax gave me last night is already making me feel like shit, and compounded with whatever Alex is flipping out about right now, I feel sick with nerves.
I’m not about to ask any questions that could hang me before I know what his deal is though. I pull off the dirty shirt, pull on the clean one, trying to hide my body as much as I can because he’s still staring at me like he wants me dead. I swing my legs over the side of the bed, thankful Alex is a big ass freak of nature and his giant t-shirt hits at my thighs.
I put on his sweats, use the drawstring to cinch them as well as I can. Then I steel my spine, facing him with my hands on my hips. It can’t be about Eli, and if it isn’t about Eli then I don’t have anything to feel guilty about.
God, where the fuck is Eli?
I hope he isn’t here. I hope he doesn’t make this any more awkward than it’s going to be.
Gathering up all of my courage, which is in short supply at the moment considering I fucked around with my ex’s best friend and he has no idea, I keep my tone even as I demand, “Either tell me what happened or please give me a ride home.”
He laughs but it dies quickly, and then he steps closer to me, leaning down to get in my face. “Do you remember what you did last night? After we got back here? After I took you home from a party that you might’ve gotten gang raped at?” His voice is low, but I can sense his rage, and it makes my stomach twist up in knots. He’s usually so loud and obnoxious; when he’s all quiet and shit it’s a little unnerving.
But he cannot know.
No way. He would’ve torn this house apart. Probably set the mattress on fire with me in it.
I need water. I need to go home. I need to get the fuck out of here.
But I do not need Alex fucking Cardi in my face talking about a potential rape of all things.
Because I remember. I remember what Jax said.
“No, but you wanna tell me why people say you might be a fucking rapist yourself?” I step back, his eyes narrowing into two coal-black slits. The flecks of amber are gone, almost as if his anger has swallowed them whole. “I didn’t think so. Until you’re ready to have that conversation, get out of my face with all this shit. I went to Jax’s for the drugs, I went back here with you because you—”
“Because I what?” he snarls, stepping closer again.
I swallow, still tasting that vile drug drip taste in the back of my throat. Crossing my arms, I look down at the floor, not wanting to admit it. Not wanting to tell him exactly why I don’t want to be without him. Even if I do stupid shit. Even if I fucking blew Jamal Clint.
Even if I just fucked around with his best friend.
It’s stupid. Idiotic.
I can’t say it.
I don’t say it.
Because you make me feel safe.
I’m an idiot.
I shake my head, meet his gaze again. “Nothing. You said you needed space, I’ll give it to you, okay? Just, take me home. Go to Rihanna’s fucking funeral. Let one of her grieving friends suck your dick—”
He shoves me.
He actually fucking shoves me.
I sink down onto his bed, losing my balance, and before I can jump back up, he steps between my legs and grabs my wrists, pinning them down by my sides.
“Get off me,” I snarl.
His eyes are blank. Dark and dead and he’s breathing hard, his bare chest rising and falling with each inhale and exhale and I think about what Jax said. I think about watching Alex break Nate’s nose. The blood pouring down his face. How he swept me up in his arms right after without a care.
I think about him forcing that bottle into my mouth. Jumping with me into the pool when he knew I wouldn’t be able to swim.
He tightens his hold on my wrist.
I don’t know if I’m afraid. I’m not sure if I think he’ll hurt me. But maybe I’m just used to treating people like shit and being treated like shit. Maybe that’s the comedown talking because everything feels kind of heavy and sad and some weird part of me wants to fold myself into Alex’s arms even though he’s not looking at me right now like he wants to hug me. Unless a hug constitutes squeezing someone so hard, they choke to death.
“What did you do last night, Zara? What did you fucking do?”
I suck in a breath, swallow a few times. My throat feels tight, but I keep reminding myself this room would be torn to pieces if he knew.
He doesn’t know.
“What are you talking about?” I hate how my voice turns up at the end of that question, hate how his eyes flash when I ask it.
I hate how he smirks at me. “You don’t remember.” It isn’t a question.
“Alex.” I swallow, try to push up, but he yanks my arms down, keeping me on his bed. “I have to go.” I try to find a reason I need to go and come up with, “My mom—”
“Your mom know you were snorting shit up your nose last night? Think I should tell her about that, huh? Maybe I’ll go with you to the engagement party and make an announcement, what do you think?”
I furrow my brow, feeling suddenly clammy, my palms sweaty as I grip his sheets. “How do you even know I was snorting—”
“Your good friend Jax told me.”
“Shit,” I swear under my breath, going with this deflection. If he’s pissed about me doing drugs, that’s okay. I can live with that. I’m sure Alex asked him what the fuck I was on and Jax, being a fucking drug dealer, didn’t think shit about it. I shake my head. “It doesn’t matter. That was really none of your business. But speaking of moms, if yours needs a reputable dealer for all that Xanax she’s doing, Jax is definitely her guy.”
I know it’s a low blow. I know I shouldn’t have said it. I used a secret he shared with me against him. A moment where I met his family and knew his mom had a problem. And I know, I know it’s wrong, but I can talk drugs all day long.
Eli, though, I can’t.
Alex lets go of my wrists and digs his fingers into my thighs, pressing his weight into me as he leans in, his breath against my mouth. “Don’t ever talk about my fucking mother. I—”
“Fine,” I snap. “I won’t talk about your mother, but I am not your problem, Alex—”
“You are.” He presses his forehead to mine, his fingers tightening painfully around my thighs. “You are my problem, Zara. It’s why you’re in my bed. It’s why I picked you up last night.” I watch him swallow, watch him close his eyes. And for a moment, I feel guilty about something besides Eli.
I feel guilty about all the drugs and last night and even texting him in the first place. I feel guilty for trying—and failing—to hide my problem even from him. For lying to my mother. I feel guilty about all of it.
“Why did you take your shirt off in front of my best friend last night?” he asks me, catching me completely off guard.
What?
What the actual fuck?
I’m so genuinely confused, all I can manage is a, “What the fuck are you talking about?” Despite the fact I didn’t do what he said, I feel my cheeks grow warm, and I’m so glad his eyes are closed.
Just keep them closed. Just keep them closed.
“Eli said you went downstairs, and he was there, and you… God, what did you do, Za?” His voice is hoarse, his words quiet, and his eyes, they’re squeezed shut, like he’s anticipating what I might tell him. What I might say.
Eli fucking lied. He lied to him. We got away with it, and he screwed it all up.
“I didn’t, I don’t know what you—”
“Tell me the truth, Zara.” Alex’s voice is still strained, his eyes still closed.
And I want to tell him. For one wild second, I want to tell Alex. I want to tell him that Eli is a fucking liar. That something is wrong with his best frie
nd. Eli Addison is not right. He’s full of shit, and I didn’t fucking flash him, he fingered me.
I want to tell him, but I can’t do it.
I’m not that brave. Eli put me in this position, and he knows it. He fucking knows it.
I’m going to kill him.
The only thing I can do is deny it. “I don’t know what you’re—”
Alex’s eyes fly open and he grabs my throat, his brow still pressed to mine. “Stop fucking lying to me, Za! Stop fucking lying!” He’s breathing hard, his eyes locked onto mine. “I am so fucking sick of your bullshit!” But his voice breaks on those last words.
And there’s more than anger there.
He’s scared.
He’s scared for me.
“Alex…”
His grip on my throat loosens and he slides his hand down to my shoulder, then up through my hair, his fingers grazing my scalp. The little hairs on the back of my neck stand on end and he steps closer to me, between my thighs.
I lift my hands, run them over his back, feeling the strength in his muscles. His warm, smooth skin. He’s so familiar to me. His body is so…mine.
“Don’t lie to me, Zara. I can’t do this with you if you lie to me.”
I swallow, wanting to hide under these sheets. Wanting to run out of this room to disappear from his life. I think about him seeing me with Jamal. I think about how he carried me out of that house without saying a word after he beat the shit out of Jamal.
I think about how he took me home, still not speaking.
I think about everything he’s done for me.
Everything I’ve done to him.
“I—”
“Do you remember?” he asks me, his fingers still massaging my scalp, his breath on my mouth. He smells like toothpaste. Different from Eli, from that cotton candy scent his mouth seems to have.
Don’t think about Eli.
“Do you remember?” Alex asks again. “He said you took your shirt off. He said you tried to kiss him. He said you… Fuck, Zara. If you don’t even remember…” His expression is one of anguish, his brow furrowed, jaw tight, lips pulled down. “Baby, if you don’t even remember, you could’ve…”
“I don’t,” I lie to him, my lip trembling, and not from sadness. Not from the reason he thinks. My drug problem isn’t a problem. I’m fine. It’s everything else that’s a mess. And Eli is going to fucking die. He’s essentially blackmailed me into this shit. “I don’t remember. I’m so sorry, Alex, I don’t. I must’ve been out of it. I’m so fucking sorry.”