Page 36 of Darcy
“I do not want to be stuck in the middle of your girl drama,” she begins, holding up her hands.
“Ems,” he pleads. “Just tell her you saw all of us leave together.”
The wardrobe mistress sighs, rolling her eyes, and for the first time I realise how young she really is. She can’t be older than twenty, if that.
“They all left together,” she echoes dutifully.
“Thanks, now go distract Slate, and remember, you heardnothing.”
She lets out a groan. “Really, Dodger?”
He grins. “I’ll let you ride in the Maserati if you can keep him and the others occupied until our safety talk.”
Her eyes narrow. “Do I get to drive?”
“Maybe. Now, get going, brat.”
Emma chuckles, shaking her head as she struts away. The easy familiarity between them might make me jealous, but I’m not reading any sexy vibes from either of them.
“I don’t sleep with other women when our arrangement is in place,” Dodger continues, folding his arms. “They touch me—fans do that—but it means nothing.”
Next time, I’m going to find a better hiding spot. I did not sign up to explain that any other woman would consider groupies pawing him a breach of relationship exclusivity. It’s not that she touched him. I’d expect a rock star to hand out hugs and hand shakes like candy. But having a girl straddling him, licking his bare chest? Yeah, that’s where I draw the line.
“I told you, what you do with your groupies is your business.”
“Then why did you bring it up when you were giving Slate all those reasons why you couldn’t stay with us?”
Why indeed? Maybe because it stung like hell to see other women touch him—even if I’ll never admit it. Of all the betrayals, his was the worst, and I don’t even know why. I should’ve expected him to be fucking groupies every night. I certainly never specified he couldn’t.
“I just don’t want you thinking I’m not committed to what we’re doing.”
What we’re doing? Is that the polite term for screwing each other’s brains out across cyberspace?
“Our ‘arrangement’ is over,” I reply evenly.
His eyes widen. “Baby girl—”
“I have no idea why you’re so insistent on clearing the air about this when you haven’t even so much as said ‘hi, I’m so glad we could finally meet,’” I finish. “We’ve been phone-fuck-buddies for years, Dodge. But you still slammed the door in my face when I finally turned up. Make that make sense.”
“I wasn’t dressed!”
Okay. I take a deep breath and push my glasses up my nose. “Ordinarily, I’d consider that a valid excuse,” I admit. “But you weren’t showing any more skin than you were when that girl was licking your tattoos.”
He waves my suggestion away. “They all do that. It means nothing.”
I turn back to my wires, looking for the damn safety checklist, which must be abandoned somewhere in the chaos. “Fine, it means nothing. You can consider your point made.”
A hand on my waist spins me around, and before I know it, he’s pressed up against me, both hands on my ribcage as he presses me into the scaffold that holds the stage up.
I have a knife strapped to my forearm beneath my hoodie, but I don’t draw it. Our eyes are locked in a silent battle of wills. The intimate connection quickly spills over, drawing other feelings out of the woodwork that I’d rather not share. Every single breath seems to push us closer together, and I become acutely aware of how little distance really separates us.
His lips inch towards mine, and for a second, I debate letting him kiss me. How many nights have I wondered what that mouth would feel like on mine? It would be so easy to give in and let him turn the anger scalding my veins into a different kind of heat.
I’m not that girl.
With a practised move, I duck and twist out of his hold.
“When I’m in a relationship, I don’t kiss other people. I would never allow them to touch me like that. Call me crazy, but I don’t think it’s unreasonable to expect the same from my partner. I never demanded exclusivity before, but if you want to continue this—us—in person, then it’s a hard line for me.” My voice is rough, and I curse myself for the tremor at the end of it. “If you can’t promise that, then I’m happier just being your friend. Besides”—I snort lightly—“you’re all wrong for me, remember?”
