I’m a business owner, a father. I have to change my mindset about shit.
The asshole kisses her cheek next.
On second thought, fuck this shit.
Thirty-Five
Sierra
“Oh shit,” is all I hear Chloe say before Maliki captures my elbow, hoists me up from my stool, and hauls me outside, the crowd watching with curious eyes.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he snarls, unclasping me when we make it to the edge of the parking lot.
What does he think he’s doing?
“Enjoying my night,” I fire back.
“Bullshit.” Temper flashes in his eyes. “You’re enjoying making me miserable.”
Yes, that, too.
I internally shrug.
He deserves it.
I’ve been miserable since our breakup. It only seems fitting it’s the same for him.
“Whatever. You know nothing,” I somewhat slur, realizing how much I’ve had to drink now that I’m standing, no longer supported by the barstool. “Better yet, maybe I should play games with you like you did me.”
He thrusts a hand through his hair. “Jesus Christ, you’re plastered.”
“That’s your fault.”
“My fault? I didn’t shove those drinks down your throat.”
“I never planned to drink this much, but I needed to erase the image of your baby mama, the one you were … whatever with behind my back, coming down from your apartment.” I struggle to keep my voice strong, and it cracks near the end. Heartbreak clutched at my heart when I saw Jessa.
He shakes his head. “What happened with Jessa isn’t what you think.”
I flick my hand through the air. “I don’t care. I’m leaving.”
“You’re not going home with that kid, FYI.”
“Excuse you, that’s where I live, FYI.”
He stands tall with his arms crossed. “You’re drunk. He’s drunk. Not happening.”
“I’ll sleep where I damn well please.” I tap my finger against my lip. “Hmm … maybe I should sleep with my new roommate. This one might not break my heart.”
“Do you want to be responsible for that kid getting his ass kicked?” His pissed off glare lifts into a smile. “Not to mention, he’s too young for your liking.”
I want to slap that stupid smirk off his face. My head throbs, and the liquor is making its strike to my brain. “Where am I supposed to sleep then, huh?” I regret my question as soon as it drops from my lips.
“You can crash in the guest room.”
I release a cold laugh. “Oh, yes, that sounds like a blast. Maybe I can eat Jessa’s dinner to sober myself up. Is she still up there?”
“Jessa came over with Molly, so I could visit with Molly. I don’t give a shit about Jessa. Barely spoke to her until after she pulled that shit. She said it to provoke you, and you fell for the bait.”
I scoff, “Whatever.”
“I’m already taking care of one kid, Sierra. Don’t act like that.”
“Screw you,” I hiss, turning and walking around the building. “I can’t believe I was dumb enough to fall for every word that came out of your lying mouth. I swear, it’s always the cute ones. Cute guys break your heart. I need to switch up my type, pronto.”
He grabs my arm, stopping me from walking back into the pub, and leads us toward the apartment. I don’t jerk away, but I do throw a string of curses alongside each step we make.
He releases me when we make it to the stairs, standing behind me, and blocking me from going back to the parking lot.
Fuck it.
I turn and stomp up the stairs. He remains quiet while following behind me as I swing open the door that leads to the apartment stairs, surprised it’s unlocked.
“You had me walking around, looking like a fool.” My stomps grow louder and harder when I make it to the apartment, my muttering continuing, “You’re like every man in my life—like my father, Devin—”
I’m abruptly cut off, and I yelp when Maliki grips my shoulders and twists me around to face him.
His face is inches away from mine, his dark eyes settled on mine. “Don’t you dare compare me to them.”
I shove him back, destroying our eye contact. He can’t witness my impending tears.
“Why? You’re no different.” I retreat another step and stare up at the ceiling, blinking and silently yelling at my emotions to stop being such a pansy.
“You and I both know I’m nothing like that. I never touched anyone but you when we were together.”
I dip my chin after I’ve calmed down the tears and bumped up the anger, catching on to the past tense of his words. “Oh, but what about now that we’re not together?”
“Still haven’t touched anyone. Don’t want to touch anyone.” He raises his arms. “Now that we have that cleared up, drink some water and sleep that bullshit off. We’ll talk in the morning.”
“Fine,” I snap, maintaining my stomping game into the living room. I kick off my shoes, snatch the pillows on the couch, and hurl them across the room. Next, I start grabbing cushions and chucking them.
“What are you doing?”
“Sleeping, like you told me to.” I throw the last cushion down. “No way am I sleeping in a bed you could’ve screwed her in.” My drunken mind doesn’t believe him. My wonderful, pessimistic friend—aka tequila—is screaming he’s a liar. “I don’t want to sleep here, but it seems it’s the only choice I have, considering you threatened physical violence on my new roomie.”
He stays quiet, standing in the corner, and I drop down on the couch.
I suck in a breath. My intoxicated anger has shifted to intoxicated sadness. “Why did you make me do it?”
“Do what?” he asks in a strangled voice.
“Make me fall in love with you.” I sniffle, a failed attempt to suppress my tears.
“I should ask you the same.” He releases a hard sigh. “ There’s no damn reason for us not to be together.”
I lift my head, and my back is stiff as I sit against the bare couch. “Losing Devin was nowhere near as painful as losing you. I offered you too much of my heart.” Tears swell in my eyes, and I wipe them away with the back of my arm. “I would’ve accepted you having a daughter, accepted her into my heart, because she’s a part of you, and I love every part of you. You never gave me that chance, and now, we’ll never have that chance again.”
“Sierra,” he gently says.
I stretch on the couch to my side, turning my back to him. “Forget it. I’m over it, and I need sleep.”
All I hear is a sharp sigh from him, and the room turns miserably silent.
Minutes pass.
No words.
Did he leave?
I reposition myself, still facing the rear of the couch but allowing myself to peek behind my back.
My throat tightens when I see Maliki sitting on the floor by my feet, his elbow resting on his knee as he massages his forehead.
The air turns heavy as we remain quiet—a silence that’s too loud.
Finally, I yawn, my eyes feeling weighted as I shut them.
I don’t know how much time passes before he lifts me in his arms and puts me in his bed.
I’m too exhausted to fight it.
My throat is dry and scratchy when I wake up.
My pounding head is calling me an idiot.
I rub my forehead and glance around his bedroom.
Relentless jerk.
He’s nowhere to be seen, but I hear clattering in the kitchen. I slide out of bed, brush my teeth with the toothbrush Maliki didn’t give Rex, and rub my sleepy eyes decorated with old mascara off with a washcloth.
I make a stop at his closet, snag one of his tees, and find a pair of my panties in the drawer I was using. Yes, I’m walking out half-naked, but whatever. It’s nothing he hasn’t seen.
Maliki’s head rises, his attention moving from the sizzling pan to me when I wander into the kitchen.
How much shit-talking did I do l
ast night?
I don’t realize those words actually left my mouth until Maliki answers me.
“Oh, you definitely expressed yourself, Jailbait.” He forks out bacon strips from the pan and drops them onto a plate with a napkin covering it. He grabs another pan and cracks two eggs inside it.
“Oh, we’re back to Jailbait now, huh?”
He turns to snag a water bottle from the fridge, motions for me to sit, and slides the bottle to me when I do. “Drink this.”
“All right, Dr. Hangover. Do you know how many times I’ve been plastered? Way more drunk than I was last night?” Sorority life hurts your liver.
“I won’t dispute that, but next time, make sure you’re only plastered around me.”
“I thought drunk people annoyed you?”
He scoops the egg on a plate, drops a few bacon strips on it, and hands it to me. “They do. You’re not just a person to me, so I don’t mind.”
I slump down in my stool and start eating.
I miss you.
And just like the shit-talking comment, that wasn’t supposed to come out either.
He doesn’t eat. He just stares at me, leveling his elbows on the island, even though he made himself a plate. “Fix it then. Pack your shit and move back in.”
“You need time.”
“I need you.”
“You’ve had a serious life change,” is my next argument.
“Still doesn’t change the fact that I need you. If anything, this is when I need you the most—when I’m going through some shit.”
“I wish you had needed me when everything started,” I mutter. “Or at least told me.”
“If I could take it back, I would.”
“But you can’t.”
His face falls. “Tell me this, do you trust me?”
I swallow.
“Do you trust me, Sierra?”
I shake my head. “I don’t trust anyone anymore.” Not my family, not my exes, not even the lady at Sephora when I went there last week.
My new life philosophy is, Don’t trust anyone. Maybe I should get it tattooed.
His lips twist downward. “Never doubt your trust in me.”
I pick up my fork but drop it seconds later. “I never doubted you before, but you can’t honestly stand there and defend what you did, say that it didn’t hurt our trust.”
He nods. “You’re right, but I’d never jeopardize my relationship with you for her or any other woman. I promise.”
“Maybe you want to have your cake and eat it, too?”
“Wrong. I wouldn’t be pushing through these problems, begging you not to leave me, if I didn’t love you, if I wanted another woman.”
“I know,” I whisper. I take a large bite, wishing for this conversation to be over. My head needs to be clear when we sit down and have a mature talk about our relationship.
“How’s staying at Rex’s?”
“Not as disgusting as I thought it’d be. He’s actually pretty clean.”
“And the other guy? The roommate?”
I keep my focus on my eggs. “What about him?”
“Don’t play coy with me.”
I glance up at him. “What if I was fucking him?”
He flinches. “Excuse me?”
“What if I was fucking him?”
His face hardens. “Don’t fuck with me, Sierra.” His fork clangs against the plate when he drops it and circles the island, grabbing my stool and swiveling it so I’m facing him. “If you want a boy who plays beer pong with his friends and doesn’t know how to please anyone but himself, go right ahead, but we know that’s not what you want. Is it?” He rests his hands on my thighs.
My stomach turns inside out as I struggle to control my composure. “I said nothing about dating him. I’ve stopped confusing sex with love.”
He releases a harsh laugh. “Then, why are you here, huh? Why were you in my bed last night and not his bunk bed with Spider-Man sheets?”
“I hate you, and in case you forgot, I was taken into your bed unwillingly.”
He travels a hand up to my chin, raising it, and tightens his hand resting on my thigh, smirking. “You would’ve rather been in his bed last night?”
I gulp. “Yep.”
I’m not sure how the sneaky jerk does it, but somehow, someway, he—or his hands—convinces me to stand at the same time his mouth meets mine.
His tongue slides into my mouth, tasting like coffee and vanilla and a man I’ve missed so damn much. Our knees knock into each other’s as he backs me against the same wall we visited the first night we had sex. That memory only turns me on more.
Seconds ago, I was lying about wanting for sleeping with another man.
Now, he’s drifting his hand up my shirt, his fingers exploring my stomach.
“You want to be in my bed. Not his. You’re lying. Admit it,” he grinds out against my mouth, his hand dipping to the band of my panties, panties that are soaked and waiting for his hands, his mouth, his cock—anything of him.
I ignore him, and his hands move when I pull his sweatshorts down.
“Admit you’re lying,” he repeats, slightly pulling away.
I don’t.
He yanks up his pants, taking a step back. “Then, no dick for you.”
“Are you kidding me?” I snap, my heart picking up speed.
“Nope.” He’s fighting to control his breathing, control his hands from touching me, and there’s no controlling his erection.
I shove him back. “I don’t want to touch anyone but you, you bastard. You want to know why?” I don’t wait for him to answer. “’Cause I fucking love you!”
He grins. “There’s my girl.”
I squeal when he grips my waist, lifts me into his arms—my legs wrapping around him—and walks us to the bedroom. I’m thrown onto the bed, bouncing up while he undresses. He crawls up the bed, pulling my shirt off, and slips my panties to the side, two of his fingers diving inside me. My back arches as he works me, and right as I’m about to lose it, he pulls them away along with my panties and positions himself between my legs.
I moan when he shoves himself inside me.
“The only girl I want in my bed.” He pulls out and slams inside me.
“The only woman I ever want to be inside.” Another thrust.
“The only woman I’ll ever love.” Another thrust.
“The only woman I want to spend the rest of my life with.”
His slams get so rough, so hard, as if he’s pushing his words deeper and deeper inside me so I have no choice but to believe them.
Thirty-Six
Maliki
Being inside Sierra again is like going back to heaven after being punished in hell.
There’s no damn way I’ll ever want any woman over her.
She’s perfect—stubborn as hell but goddamn perfect.
We’re sweaty against the sheets, attempting to catch our breaths, but each time I push myself inside her, we lose them again.
She hooks her legs around the indent of my hips, drawing me closer, and digs her heels into my back when I obey.
“Your nails,” I say.
She pushes her chest against mine, her mouth hitting mine, and rakes her nails down my back.
I grind my teeth.
I love when she marks me.
If she leaves me after this, I’ll have the marks of her being here again, if even for a few days. I feel her pussy clench against my dick as her nails claw at my skin, and she yells out my name.
“Fuck, you feel good,” I groan with my release.
When her eyes open, I brush her hair from her face and stare down at her.
“Jesus, you’re beautiful. Thank you for letting me touch something so perfect,” I whisper.
“You ready to hand out more truths?” I ask Sierra while she sucks in a few breaths and falls down on her back next to me.
She takes a moment before glancing over at me. “Hmm? What truths?” She narrows her eyes. “You can’t
make me orgasm like that and then expect a deep conversation. That’s cheating.”
I chuckle. “I can give you another one, sentence by sentence, if you’d like?”
She throws her head back “Oh my God. I would die, and then we couldn’t have that conversation. I’ll take an hour-by-hour orgasm.”
“I’ll give you whatever you want.”
She grabs the blanket and draws it up our naked bodies. “I’ll actually take sleep and then another orgasm.” She yawns. “Can we save all serious talk until then?”
I pull her into me, taking a chance, and she has no problem with snuggling into my side.
All the tension I had of losing her releases.
She’s mine, and I’ll hand her every damn secret, every thought in my head, every move I make if it means keeping her.
I made her hot wings.
Correction: I went down to the kitchen and asked the cook to make her hot wings.
They’re her favorite, and she deserves as many of her favorites I can give her for making me so goddamn happy.
I set the basket in front of her, and a thought hits me.
“So, are we made up?” I ask with an eager smile. “I gave you the truth, orgasms, and hot wings. There’s no way you can turn a man down after that.”
She swallows her bite and cleans her hand with a napkin before answering, “If we do this, it needs to be complete honesty going forward.” She grabs another wing, dips it in ranch, and takes a bite.
“Complete honesty,” I agree with a nod. “I owe you an apology. I should’ve never kept secrets from you, especially one of that magnitude. Hiding that from you and hanging out with Jessa behind your back was fucking stupid.” I blow out a breath. “I was scared to tell you, for fear of losing you. I needed the right plan. It needed to be at the right time, and whenever I tried to convince myself it was, I would chicken the fuck out.”
“You really were planning to drop the bomb on the dinner date?”
I nod. “I figured if I wined and dined you, you’d surely accept it. Plus, I’d give you orgasms.” I wink.
“Had you revealed you were hanging out with Jessa behind my back, I would’ve thrown that wine at you.” She wipes the sauce off her mouth. “You know I wasn’t upset about you having a daughter, right? It was the whole secrecy and Jessa part that hurt me.”
Just Roommates Page 23
