RIP ME: A Dark Romance

by Naomi West

  I cover my face with my hands as I feel a blush spread across my cheeks.

  Rett throws her head back and laughs. “I mean even if you haven’t seen it up close and personal, come on. People are generally built in proportion and he’s gotta be, what, 6’5”?”

  I blush even further and peek back over at him. To my complete horror, he’s staring back at me. And for the first time in two weeks he doesn’t look completely neutral. He looks curious.

  I shade my eyes from him and lean over to Rett, yanking her ice cream out of her hands.

  “Hey!” she yelps, grabbing for it.

  “You’re embarrassing me! You’ll get your ice cream back when you can behave.”

  Rett gives me puppy dog eyes and crosses her hands together in front of her like she’s praying. “I solemnly swear I won’t talk about how hot Lurch is anymore. Or postulate any more theories about the size of his presumably enormous-”

  “Everything alright?” Dare cuts her off as he suddenly looms over the table.

  I squeak and hand Rett her ice cream back.

  “Just peachy,” Rett says as she takes an enormous lick of the cone.

  “Alessia, we’re going to be late for your discussion section,” he says to me and it’s the longest sentence he’s said to my face in weeks.

  I glance at the time on my phone and gasp. “Shoot, I thought we had more time. Sorry, Rett! I’ve really gotta go.”

  “That’s okay,” she says through a mouthful of ice cream. “Check your phone in a minute. I’m gonna text you the answer to the problem you’ve been having?”

  She has an answer for how to get rid of the sex dream problem? I nod, curious what she’s going to say and relieved she’s not going to say it in front of Dare. He and I quickly leave the cafeteria. I startle in surprise when we reach the street and feel my messenger bag lifted off my shoulder. He tosses it across his back and veers in the direction of my next class, his eyes sweeping from side to side.

  “You don’t have to carry my bag!” I exclaim, hurrying to keep up with his pace. His long legs eat up the sidewalk. I have to take three steps for every one of his.

  “I’d rather carry your bag than carry you to the emergency room in a week,” he says gruffly, throwing out his arm to keep me from plowing into the street at an intersection.

  I ignore the shooting thrill of his arm against me. “Why would I go to the emergency room?”

  “Because you push yourself too hard in school, you never sleep, you only eat when Rett makes you, and your bag weighs a third of your body weight. Carrying it for you is a preventative measure for the stroke I’d rather you didn’t have.”

  He seems angry and for some reason it sends a thrill of excitement through me.

  “You don’t sleep either,” I say and try to grab my bag back from him. He swats my hand away and holds open the door of the building we’re going into.

  “Excuse me?” he asks, raising his eyebrows.

  I shrug. “Judging from the purple underneath your eyes I’d say you enjoy sleeping in that condo just about as much as I do.”

  He grunts but doesn’t say any more. He stiffly hands my bag back to me as we enter the classroom together and I realize he’s closed his face off again. Without another word, he turns and strides to the back of the classroom.

  I sigh and go to my usual seat. Looks like the silent, hulking, looming black hole is back. I run my fingers through my hair and tell myself it doesn’t matter. I don’t need him to be warm or sweet to me. I just need him to protect me and stay out of my way.

  Iceberg.

  As I pull out my notebook and textbook for class my phone buzzes again in my pocket. It’s the text Rett promised me.

  The answer to solving your wet dream problem is about to sit next to you in class.

  I look confusedly at the empty seat where Chris usually sits.

  Chris?

  Yeah. Ask him on a date. Execute a little wham bam thank you ma’am and clear out some of the sexual energy that’s been dogging you.

  I blush deeply and have no idea what to text back. But I don’t have to ponder it for long because Rett texts again.

  Seriously, Lessi. It’ll work. I swear. Your body is telling you to get off your ass and get those needs met!

  I blush even further but end up laughing when I get three more texts in a row.

  Do it!

  Make Chris’s day!

  Get yours!

  “What’s the joke?” Chris asks as he plunks down in the seat beside me. I jump a little and bobble my phone but he swings forward and catches it before it hits the ground.

  He grins up at me as he hands the phone back. “Here you go, butterfingers.”

  I find myself grinning back. His light blue eyes shine and his blonde hair peaks out from under his baseball cap. His face is open and simple and handsome. Boyish, something that belies a simplicity I’ve never really had in my life, and I realize suddenly how much I want those things.

  I glance to the back of the room to see Dare, headphones clamped on. Permanent frown etched on his face. Arms crossed over his chest. I take a deep breath.

  “Chris, do you want to go on a date with me?” I ask.

  “Yes,” he says instantly, his delighted smile going all the way to his eyes. “Anytime. Tonight? Wait, too eager? How about tomorrow?”

  His words come out in a jumble and it feels good to be wanted. After a month of being completely ignored by Dare, except in my dreams, it’s nice to be acknowledged.

  “Well, it is a Friday…,” I say.

  “So tonight? Great. What time? What do you want to do?”

  My smile dims when I realize that Dare is going to have to come along with us. I really don’t want to have to navigate a romantic meal with Robocop in the background. Chris obviously doesn’t like my hesitation because he immediately supplies a suggestion. “Bowling?”

  I smile. Cute suggestion. Not the most romantic, but it’ll totally work. “Perfect. how’s seven sound?”

  “Perfect.”

  The rest of the day flies past pretty quickly. My stomach twists and my heart races every time I think about my date. I’m not sure if it’s the thought of Chris or the thought of having Dare observe me on a date. It’s because of Chris. I firmly tell myself as I nervously brush my hair in front of the mirror of the master bathroom. Chris will be here any minute. My enthusiasm has definitely waned throughout the day, but my arousal, on the other hand, has not. Even wiggling into the little red dress I’ve chosen to wear had me gasping. It reminded me of a dream last week where Dare peeled me out of that same red dress.

  I toss the brush down and angrily slick on a touch of red lipstick. I’m sick of thinking about Dare. He doesn’t have anything to do with my date tonight, and even though I’m extremely nervous about being physical with a man for the first time, part of me is looking forward to quieting the lust that’s been pumping through me.

  Chris doesn’t exactly make my blood race, but my blood has been racing enough over the last couple of weeks. I think about being intimate with someone, how this will be the first time, how my consciousness seems divided between wanting it to be special and wanting to get it over with, just to get rid of this weird sexual pressure.

  The door to my bedroom slams open, making me jump about a foot in the air. Dare fills the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest.

  “The lobby just called up. They say there’s a Chris Walter here for you. He seems to think you’re going on a date.”

  Chapter Nine

  Dare

  She regains her composure quickly and marches to her closet. Flinging open the door, she bends over to select a pair of shoes. I get an incredible view of her perfectly lush ass against that scrap of a dress she’s wearing. She turns back to me and wiggles into one high heel and then the other. I bite back a groan and force myself to stay in the doorway.

  Her hips in that dress. Fuck. My fingers flex and curl at my sides. Calm down.

  “Chris
and I are going on a date,” she stomps past me and grabs her purse from the coat rack.

  I follow her out and slam my palm against the front door, keeping her from leaving. “And you didn’t see any reason to tell me this?”

  “Why do I have to tell you who I date?” she spits back in a way that tells me she already knows the reason.

  Because in your dreams you fuck me like I’m your personal porn star. I bite it back. “Because I’m the head of your goddamn security.”

  She wilts a little bit at that, but she rallies another excuse. “We both know that Chris is not a threat to my safety.”

  “I don’t know shit about bologna dick and neither do you.”

  Her mouth falls open. My eyes drop to it. I want to suck the breath right out of her. I want to show her all the things she could do with that open mouth, but I can’t.

  “We don’t know who this guy is, where he comes from, what his associations are. We don’t know where he lives. Or where he’s taking you-”

  “A bowling alley,” she cuts in.

  That slows me down for a second. “He finally got you to go on a date with him and he’s taking you fucking bowling?”

  Any modicum of respect I may have had for this jackhole completely disintegrates.

  “What’s wrong with bowling?” she puts her hands on her hips and glares at me.

  It would be cute if I wasn’t so fired up. If I hadn’t spent the last two weeks attempting to ignore the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever seen. If I hadn’t spent every second of my time with her biting my tongue instead of shoving it between her legs where it belongs. If I hadn’t walked past her room last night on a security check and heard her moaning my name again. But all of those things have happened. I’m at the end of my goddamn rope and I can’t be patient or gentle or understanding anymore.

  “Because you don’t take a woman like you to a fucking bowling alley, Alessia.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?” Tears are suddenly glistening in her eyes and I thank God they don’t spill over. “Because I’m not fun? Because all I ever do is study and read and prepare for class? Because I’m boring?”

  “Of course not. What the fuck does that have to with anything?” I take a step toward her, I’m fully in between her and the front door. “You don’t take a woman like you to a fucking bowling alley because you are made for unfiltered attention and care, Alessia.”

  Her pupils dilate and her breaths are ragged. She takes a half a step back from me and I fill the space immediately. I realize I’m walking a thin line, now, but I continue.

  “If a man is lucky enough to take you out on a date he doesn’t drag you out in public,” I take another step. I can smell her, “he makes you dinner and plays soft music and has you all to his goddamn self.”

  She gapes at me, her lips parted and her eyes taking up half of her face. “If a man gets you to go out with him, he doesn’t abide anything that could distract him. He gives you every moment, every ounce, of his focus.”

  I reach my hand up to touch, just once, her hair. But she smacks my hand away. Her eyes are suddenly both shuttered and fiery. “He gives me his focus?” she spits my words back at me. “You mean as opposed to completely ignoring me for the last month?”

  She sidesteps me and marches toward the door, her dress stretching across her ass with each step. “Chris may not be the most romantic guy in the world, but he talks to me and notices me and wants me.” She hurls each word like it’s grenade that she’s just pulled the pin from. She doubles down on the last part. “He wants me. And tonight, he’s gonna have me.”

  She turns back toward the door and yanks it open. Something inside me snaps in two. Maybe it’s my sanity. Maybe it’s my control. Maybe it’s my patience. Maybe it’s all three.

  “He’s gone,” I murmur.

  She stills in the doorway. She doesn’t turn around. “What are you talking about?”

  “I sent him away. Told him you weren’t coming down.”

  “You. Did. What?!” She slams the door and whips back to me. I’m instantly reminded again of Cleopatra. She looks like a queen, standing there in her skintight crimson dress, the same color of blood, and strikes me that no matter how far she goes in this life she’ll always be encumbered by her birthright. Her eyes are wild and sparking, her hair tumbling down her body in all the places I want my hands to be. Her chest heaves with anger and her breasts threaten to burst out the top of her dress.

  “I sent him away,” I repeat. My voice is deadly even to my own ears.

  She takes a step forward and points her finger at me. “You cock blocked me?”

  Her cheeks flame at her own use of the phrase, but she doesn’t back down. I chuff out a laugh even though I’m seething with rage. “Yeah, I deprived you of two minutes of sweaty, self-conscious sex with bologna dick. I’m a monster.”

  At that, she throws her purse down on couch beside us and tosses her hands up. “What I do in private is none of your goddamn business!”

  “It’s exactly my business. For the next year, it’s not only my business, it’s my fucking job. To make sure you’re safe, from the Grecos and from limp dick boys who wouldn’t know what to do with you if you were naked and begging for it.”

  Her eyes go completely cold and she crosses her hands over her chest. “Fine. Maybe you’re right that Chris isn’t exactly a love connection for me. That isn’t the point! Are you honestly telling me that you’re not going to allow me to date anyone for the next year?”

  Is that what I’m saying? Fuck, this is way over the line. She’s an adult. Intellectually I know that she’s able to date anyone she chooses, and all I can do is vet them and make sure they have no connection to Greco., but somehow, I can’t bring myself to say that.

  “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

  “This is fucking ridiculous!” She throws her hands up again and tosses her hair back over her shoulder and I’ve never seen her look so angry. Or so beautiful. “You can’t deprive me of contact!”

  “You have Rett. Contact her. Or Clara.” I know I’m being an asshole but I can’t stop.

  “I mean physical contact!”

  My blood runs cold and hot at the same time. My cock tightens in my pants and I swear her eyes flicker down to it and back up. She uncrosses her arms and I can see her nipples pressing against her dress.

  “I-I have needs, Dare,” her voice quavers a little bit, and I can’t tell if she’s admitting this to me or to herself, but she sounds strong and womanly and so goddamn sexy my cock grows another three inches. “A-and Chris could have helped me with that,” she staggers.

  My mouth goes dry. This is it. This is the moment I tell her to go back to her room. Or I tell her to call Chris and I take them on their fucking date like I’m a chaperone. Or I turn on the TV and tell her to sit her ass down and watch it until it’s time for bed. This is the moment for me to deescalate this situation and go drink a glass of ice water and remember why the hell I’m here in the first place.

  I can see that path, that life, laid out clearly in front of me. It’s simple and expected and there’s fucking birds twirling and chirping, leading the way. Instead I pour gasoline on the last bridge I have left and strike a match and burn that life to the ground.

  “Chris takes care of your needs, huh?” I say and she opens her mouth but I keep going. “So, Chris watches over you every second of the day, does he?” I take a step toward her. “He carries your groceries home? He obsesses about your safety? He makes sure every door and every window in this whole fucking place is locked a hundred times a night?”

  She pants and leans her back against the front door. I take another step toward her. “He makes sure you sleep in the safest room every night?” I’m all up on her now, only six inches of space between us. The air vibrates with electricity. I’m drawn to her by an animal instinct. I put one hand on the door beside her head and look her in the eye. I don’t want her to miss what I’m about to say.

  “You got
needs, huh?” She’s trapped in my stare. “Well, he doesn’t take care of them. I do.”

  Chapter Ten

  Alessia

  Every single muscle in my body clenches at his words. I’m not sure if someone can reach orgasm simply by listening to someone’s words, but it's either that or I pass out. I lean against the door for support. I’m caught in the snare of his eyes and I can't breathe or think. All I know is his consuming stare.

  One hand still imprisons me against the door, the other one reaches up and laces through the hair at the back of my scalp. He tips my head up so our lips are separated by the width of a swipe of lipstick.