Page 15

CHAPTER 15

Billie

I t’s my first day at my new job, and I’m fucking sore and sleep deprived. I knew it’d be a risk having a late night at Ford’s, but I didn’t anticipate we’d be fucking until five in the morning or that I’d have to sneak back home before Ivy woke up. I don’t want anyone else catching wind of this. Part of me knows I should stop, but I can’t. Especially after last night. I don’t know what the fuck possessed Ford in the early hours of the morning. He was like a feral animal, but I am so here for it.

Have I bitten off more than I can chew, though?

It’s like he was challenging me. And he awakened something in me I didn’t know was there.

Most of the day is spent on orientation: visiting the different departments, meeting coworkers, going through the onboarding process, and setting up my workspace. I lucked out with a desk by the window. It’s got a nice view from the fourteenth floor. And my manager, Tarissa, seems nice enough.

It’s not until midday when I’m standing in line for coffee downstairs, that I consider texting him. I tap my phone against my chin. I know I shouldn’t. We don’t message each other, but what harm could there be if we did? Ivy’s blocked my brother from hacking my phone and going through my messages so I could text him, right?

Would texting make things between us feel more serious? But fuck buddies still message, right? I mean, I’ve had fuck buddies before, but I always made a point not to message with them so Dutton couldn’t interfere.

I start typing out a question about Felix, but I realized last night that Ford’s kind of jealous of the attention I give the kitten, and it’s funny that he hisses at Ford. I made sure to spend as much time as I could with the little fluffball before I left.

And I still didn’t have the chance to ask about the jackets. So I text out a message asking about that but then end up deleting it. I kind of want to see his reaction about it in person, because it’s very unlike Ford. I remember going back for my jacket and a confrontation at the club when they wouldn’t let us back in to get it. Then it’s a little hazy after that.

I bite my bottom lip. Did I somehow force him into buying me one of every color?

Definitely not asking about that over text.

I finally settle on one thing I know he won’t be able to resist.

Me: I’m coming over this week. I need you to finish your job on this tattoo. I have to go to the beach.

I collect my coffee and go back to the office. I don’t check my phone until I’ve finished with work, and I release a breath because he did reply, though it was hours later.

Ford: What has your ass got to do with the beach?

Ford hasn’t really shown me he is the jealous type, but I’m curious if he’s capable of that emotion. I know we’re just fucking, but I want to prod him enough to see the real Ford, the man under the killer that not many people see.

I smile as I reply.

Me: Because my bikinis will show it, and I want a complete tattoo.

He replies quicker this time, and I read it as I’m stepping into my apartment.

Ford: Wear a cover-up. You shouldn’t be showing that ass to anyone but me.

Me: I’m looking forward to escaping to my favorite resort in Mexico, where everyone will see it and I’ll be fueled by margaritas. Jealousy doesn’t look good on you.

I bite my bottom lip mischievously. It’s no secret that I do, in fact, have a favorite resort in Mexico, and there are plenty of photos from our girls’ trips in the last few years where we practically lived in our bikinis. Ford knows this, but it’s interesting to see how he reacts.

I hate that waiting for his next response makes me giddy. The thought of him being jealous causes a flutter in my chest. And after being completely dominated by him last night, I kind of want to act like a brat on purpose. Because I want that kind of hard fucking all over again, even though I’m battered and bruised.

“Oh, thank fuck you’re here. You didn’t reply to my text,” Ivy says as I open the door. I immediately hide my phone, as if she might discover who I’m messaging.

“Sorry, it was hectic at work,” I reply as I slip out of my heels. She’s wearing a tight black dress, and I smirk. “You have a date tonight?”

“Correction. We have a date tonight. If you read your messages, that is. You’ve got twenty minutes to get ready.”

“What?” I ask, surprised. She’s combing her hair as she looks in the living room mirror, deciding between different earrings.

“It’s a double date. And you can’t bail. Dutton’s not in town, and when big bro is away, it’s time for Billie to play.”

I scoff as I set my stuff down. “You know I don’t date, Ivy. You’ve met my brother. Do you want my date killed?”

“Relax. He’s not going to get killed. And even if he does, I don’t really care because I’m just trying to fuck his friend.”

I laugh. “That’s fucking horrible.”

She shrugs. “Yeah, well, we’re far from saints. Put something cute on. His friend saw a photo of you and thinks you’re really hot. Shocker. Who wouldn’t think that with those bountiful tits of yours.”

I roll my eyes. “I don’t need that kind of flattery from you, bitch. She who has the curves for days and tits twice my size.” It’s why she’s so popular with the guys.

She smirks and waggles her brows. “Want me to hook up a threesome situation? Or maybe we can swing.”

“I love you, but not that much.” I laugh as I walk into my room. I check my phone for a reply from Ford, but there’s nothing.

I mean, it’s stupid, really. I know it is. I shouldn’t have any kind of loyalty to Ford because it’s just sex.

“Come on, it’s not like you’re seeing anyone anyway. Who knows, it might be super fun,” Ivy says as she barges into my room and begins flicking through my clothes. She pulls out a short skirt and a top that shows my midriff.

I yawn, exhausted from my night of no sleep.

“That new job already working you to the bone, huh?” she asks as she rummages through my jackets. “Well, fuck me. Take your pick of color, girl.” She laughs. “I still can’t believe you drunk ordered all of these.”

Next time I see Ford, I vow I’ll ask about them, but until then, I know if I don’t go with Ivy, it’ll only raise suspicions. And I really can’t have her snooping into me and Ford, because I’ll never hear the end of it.

Ford and I aren’t even exclusive, and considering how fucking beautiful he is, he’d still be getting propositioned all the time if we were. An irrational pang of jealousy unfurls in my stomach, and I adamantly refuse to go down that route. Ford and I can’t be anything more to each other than what we already are.

Neither of us made any promises, and for all I know, he’s out there fucking other women without my knowledge. So why should I stop dating just because I can’t stop thinking of him?

“Fine, but it has to be a small restaurant, one where no one knows my brother,” I tell her.

“Well, that’s going to be hard since nearly everyone knows your brother.” She laughs. I bite my lip and really hope I don’t like this guy because my brother may just kill him.

“Ivy tells me you haven’t been in a serious relationship before,” my date, Ryan, says from across the table. I inwardly sigh. There’s an energy about this guy I don’t like, and I’m too fucking tired to pretend to be nice. I’m already long forgotten in Ivy’s peripheral as she sits two tables beside me, excitedly chatting to a guy I’ve never seen before. We were meant to be next to each other, but there was an issue with tables, and now I don’t have her next to me.

Ryan’s attractive. I mean, if you passed him on the street, you’d probably take a second look. But he’s not my type. Not that I’ve thought too much about my type before, but it’s certainly not the turtleneck-sweater-wearing type. I think my brother would actually laugh at him instead of killing him, and the sheer embarrassment would be enough of a shot to his ego.

“No, have you?” I reply because so far he’s only spoken about himself, and we haven’t even been here for that long.

He seems bewildered by my dry response. “Wow. You really don’t know who I am, do you?”

Immediate revulsion curdles in my stomach with that single statement.

“Nope.” I turn to Ivy, but she and her date are making out over the table. Fuck me, that escalated quickly. I look back to Ryan. “Should I?”

“You don’t go on social media much, I take it?” he asks.

“No, sorry.” Which is a lie. Social media? Who the fuck is this guy? I reach for my cocktail and then take a sip.

I’m on social media as much as the next person, but I only care to upload photos of my travels and time with my girlfriends. Stalking pinprick assholes like this is not at the top of the list.

“Maybe you should.” He winks.

“Yeah, maybe one day.” I take another sip.

This guy is boring and dead in the head. How much longer am I expected to sit here?

Is it too early to leave? I glance at my watch. I’ve only been sitting here for thirty minutes, and I already know this man is some type of model, loves social media, and thinks he’s God’s gift.

I’m trying not to throw up in my mouth.

“Here, let me show you my most viral video.” He opens his phone and clicks a few things before he slides it across the table so I can see a video of him. It’s him on a motorcycle, holding a book, shirtless. I want to gag. He’s clearly thirst trapping—at least that’s what I think it’s called—and sure, women love a good-looking guy to look at. But meeting him in person must sure as hell be a letdown. I wonder if all these women in these comments know that each time they comment something about how sexy he is, his head gets bigger and bigger. I bet he doesn’t even know how to ride the fucking bike.

“Good, right?” He nods, answering himself.

“If you say so,” I drawl, and a yawn escapes.

His gaze shoots up from his phone, where he was scrolling for another video to show me, and his nose scrunches.

“You don’t like it?”

“Like what, exactly?” I take another sip of my drink. This might be the fastest way to get me drunk on a date.

How the fuck did I get stuck on a date with a man who needs so much validation? Ivy fucking owes me for this.

I’m not your fucking therapist. If you have issues, hire someone, fuckface.

I smile at him.

He frowns back.

“You’re very peculiar,” he says, and I shrug in response. “That wasn’t a compliment.”

“Luckily for the both of us, I don’t need validation from strangers.”

And let’s be real because if someone really hurt my feelings, I’m sure once my family found out, they would be dead anyway.

“I could end your social life,” he threatens, clearly pissed that I didn’t buy into whatever it is he’s selling.

“I could end your life, so let’s not throw words out we don’t want to play with.” I lift my drink and salute him.

He’s gobsmacked, his jaw dropping open. Ivy stops at the end of our table then, her pink lipstick smeared and her date smoothing over his hair at the bar as he orders them another drink.

“How’s it going over here?” she asks.

“Ready to go?” I ask with a beaming smile.

Dickhead stands, his chair screeching, as he mumbles under his breath and stomps to the bar. A woman approaches him and asks for a photo. He turns back to me with a look that says see, people know me . But I just laugh. I can’t help it. How can I make this shit up?

His expression darkens, and then he looks away and fake smiles for the photo.

“Let me excuse myself,” Ivy says.

“I can walk myself home.” It’s only ten minutes away, at most.

“Hos before bros,” she singsongs as she saunters over to her date. I watch as she flirtatiously leans into him. He looks her up and down, basically devouring her with his gaze. I stare into my cocktail as I play with the glass, thinking about a certain man who looks at me far more violently than that.

I glance out the bay window of the restaurant, and my eyebrows dip. I’m certain that’s Ford’s car sitting at the curb. I leave the drink behind and head out of the restaurant with my bag. By the time I’m outside, the car is gone.

Maybe it was a similar car to Ford’s?

I go to check my messages to see if Ford’s replied, but that’s when Ivy comes bouncing over. “Oh, that was fun!” She stretches her arms, and we begin our walk to the apartment.

I side-eye her. “Was it? For whom? You set me up with someone who was a total waste of my time and potentially space in society.”

She laughs, then cringes as she sees my expression. “Yeah, sorry about that. I just wanted to fuck his friend, and you’ve used me as a decoy more than once in our friendship.” True. I’ve used her to distract my brother when I’m up to no good, so I can’t really be mad.

“How did you even find them?” I ask.

“A dating app. But he asked me to bring a friend for his friend. Guess he won’t ask that again.” She laughs.

“Yeah, probably not,” I agree. “Well, tell me how your date went.”

She begins to tell me snippets about him. Ivy doesn’t take men seriously, or maybe it’s that no one can hold her attention for longer than a few days. I imagine this guy will be spat out by the end of the week unless he actually knows how to please her.

A flush of heat rises up the back of my neck as memories of my night with Ford flood my mind. I wonder what Ivy would say if she knew.

When we return to the apartment, I see him. Or, more specifically, his car.

I bite my bottom lip. Having to sneak around means one becomes really good at car sex. And Ford and I are basically pros at this point. I tilt my phone away from Ivy as I text him.

Me: Is stalking on your resume now?

I shoot another glance in his direction. He looks down at his phone, and the screen lights up his gorgeous face.

Ford: If it was, I would tell you that your date is already dead. But lucky for you, I think he never wants to see you again.

I try not to laugh. I should be concerned that he knows how bad of a date it was, but a thrill jolts through me instead.

I clear my throat as Ivy and I reach the apartment complex entrance. “Hey, I’ll be up in a second. Mom’s trying to call me, and I just realized I need to grab some tampons from the corner store.”

“Oh, you can take one of mine.”

“It’s fine. I might get a snack as well. I need chocolate to recover from the awful taste that guy left in my mouth.”

She laughs again and shrugs. “Sorry, girl. But I appreciate your time sacrifice.”

I pretend to call my mother as I walk down the sidewalk. The corner store is literally one block up, but the moment she’s inside, I pocket my phone and race across the street. A low hum of anticipation stirs in my stomach.

His window rolls down, and he looks more sinful than he has any right to be. And he also looks like a stalker. “Are you in the habit of following me now?”

“You think it’s funny?” he asks, and I can’t help but bite my bottom lip. I’m not sure about his response, but maybe he does seem a little jealous.

“So you’re not here to have car sex?” I ask, confused. “Then why are you here?”

His hands grip the steering wheel, and that’s when I realize that Ford is internally struggling with himself. I notice when the switch happens. I don’t know what triggers it or what he’s thinking, but I feel the shift in energy around him.

“Go inside before Ivy becomes suspicious.”

“Wait. Why are you here? You’re not here because my brother told you to watch over me, right?” I fold my arms over my chest, now kind of pissed about the situation. If he isn’t here for sex, then why is he here?

“No.” He starts the car. “Go upstairs, Billie.”

Why can he not look me in the eye now?

What the actual fuck is running through this guy’s head? We’re just fucking, but he watches me when I’m out on dates?

“I need my tattoo finished,” I demand. It’s the only reason I can think of that he might see me again because whatever this weird tension is, I’m not having any part of it.

“Not right now,” he says calmly as he turns his head toward me, his expression emotionless. I fucking hate it when he looks at me like that. Not now. Not when others aren’t around us, and we have nothing to hide. Because Ford has shown me more of himself, and right now, I can tell he’s pushing me out.

“Okay. Well, I’ll go find someone else to do it, then,” I throw back, then walk away.

“If you let another man tattoo your ass, I’ll send you his hands as a present!” he yells out after me. I flip him off over my shoulder, intentionally swaying my hips as I walk across the street.

Fuck him. He’s so hot and cold.

I won’t be told what I can and can’t do.

There’s also a caveat in everything. He didn’t say no to a woman tattooing me…