Bad Romeo (Starcrossed #1)(45)
Author: Leisa Rayven

“You okay?” I ask as he unclasps the scabbard from his belt.

“Fine.”

“What was with you and Avery?” I ask.

“He’s an asshole.” He shoves the dagger into the scabbard.

“Why?”

“He kept asking if I was fucking you.”

“What did you tell him?”

“I didn’t answer.”

“And?”

“And he assumed I wasn’t.”

“Which is true.”

“Yeah, but then he thought it was okay to tell me how much he’d like to fuck you.”

“And what did you say to that?” I ask and take a step forward.

His gaze runs the length of my body before he says, “I told him if he went anywhere near you, I’d cut off his balls and feed them to my Rottweiler.”

“You have a Rottweiler?”

“No, but he doesn’t know that.”

I touch his belt buckle. It’s a rectangle with what looks like some sort of crucifix. Strange that he’d be wearing God’s symbol when he’s in league with the devil.

“So, let me get this straight,” I say while running my fingers over the cool metal. “You don’t want to be with me, but you also don’t want other guys to be with me?”

“He’s not other guys. He’s Avery. If you slept with him, your IQ would automatically drop forty points.”

“Have you stopped to analyze why you’re so jealous?”

“I’m not jealous. I just don’t want that fucking mouth-breather touching you. That’s just common sense.”

“What about Connor? Am I allowed to sleep with him?”

His expression turns stormy. “Do you want to sleep with him?”

I curl my fingers into his T-shirt and resist tearing it off. “If I did, would that be okay with you?”

He looks feral. “Fuck, no. Too vanilla.”

“What about Lucas?”

“Too stoned.”

“Troy?”

“I think he’s gay.”

“And if he’s not?”

“Too ambiguous.”

“And you say you’re not jealous.”

“I’m not.”

“Then give me a name,” I say. “You tell me who I’m allowed to sleep with.”

He throws up his hands. “Why the fuck are you so obsessed with sex?”

“Because I haven’t had any! And if it were up to you, I never would!”

He swallows and drops his head. “What the hell do you want from me, Taylor? Huh? Do you want me to fuck you? Or are you just looking for some random cock to pop your cherry? I’ll buy you a damn vibrator if that’s all you want.”

“That’s not all I want, and you know it.”

“Then we’re back to the reason we need to stay away from each other. You want what I’m incapable of giving. Why do you have so much trouble understanding that?”

“What I don’t understand is how you can feel this,” I say as I step into him and put my hands on his chest, “and just pretend it doesn’t exist.”

He doesn’t even blink as I run my hands over his pecs. “Haven’t you noticed? I’m really good at pretending.”

I shake my head and sigh. “So that’s it. You decide we can’t be together, and that’s just the way it is.”

“Pretty much.”

“And you think you can abide by your own rules?”

“Do you mean, can I stay away from you?”

He leans down, his lips just above mine, so close I can taste his breath, all warm and sweet.

“Yes,” I whisper, wanting nothing more than to rise up on my toes and kiss him.

His exhale is slow and measured. “Taylor, I think you underestimate my level of self-control. Apart from my slip during the sex scene, I’ve shown the restraint of the fucking Dalai Lama around you. Our first kiss? That was initiated by you. Today in the death scene? All you. Right now? You.”

“So your theory is,” I say, “that if it wasn’t for me jumping you, then you would have never had laid a finger on me.”

“Exactly.”

“Bull.”

“Please note that your hands are currently all over me, and mine are by my sides.”

I look down as I absently stroke his abs. I immediately step back.

God, he’s right.

It’s me.

Everything has been initiated by me.

“Okay, fine,” I say, and step back farther. “I won’t touch you outside of the show, unless you ask me to.”

“Do you think you’re capable of controlling yourself?” he asks, and I swear he’s putting some sort of sex mojo into his voice that makes me want to lick him. “Should we make it interesting?”

“What, like a bet?”

“Why not?”

I think for a second. “Okay, then. The first one to touch the other in an intimate way loses and has to give the winner an orgasm.”

He laughs and runs his hands through his hair, but I don’t miss how he rakes his gaze over my body. “That kind of defeats the point of the bet.”

“Not in my mind. We’d both end up winners.”

He grabs his bag and slings it over his shoulder. “Go home, Taylor. Have a drink. Try to stop thinking about me.”

“The bet is about touching. I can think about you in a hundred different sexual positions if I like, and there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”

He drops his head and sighs, and I know I’ve won the round.

“See you next week.”

“Yes, you will.”

Then he’s gone.

ELEVEN

STAGE FRIGHT

Present Day
New York City

Holt and I are heading to a wine bar not far from the theater for our “talk.”

Walking beside him is both strange and familiar, with just a hint of impending doom—much like most of our time together.

The cautious part of me is whispering that being with him is like wearing the world’s most comfortable pair of shoes that sometimes catapult you headfirst into a wall. It’s like having an allergy to shellfish and refusing to give up lobster. Like knowing you’re about to fall, face-first, into a patch of poison ivy but refusing to halt your steps.

His arm brushes against mine as we walk.

God, how I itch for him.

When we reach the wine bar, he opens the door for me and requests a table in the back. The hostess eye-fucks him within an inch of his life before seating us.