She should have at least made an attempt to hide the sketches of me. I was lying in bed, trying to will away my boner that night, when my hand touched the notebook.
Page after fucking page of pictures of me. Me, leaning on the balcony smoking. Me, shirtless, my pants unbuttoned at the top. My face. My chest. My dick. Drawings of me, staring me right in the face.
I mentally chastise myself for ever being stupid enough to screw a virgin. I got caught up in the pursuit, but this goes no further. Owning her * is one thing, but she's obviously infatuated with me. I never expected that.
Kate is talking to a guy I recognize from school, a lacrosse player I think she dated before. Those fucking lacrosse players and that Brighton Bingo game piss me off. I clench my hands into fists, considering smashing his face in, when she makes eye contact with me.
She's wearing this white dress, one of the ones Ella's stylist sent. I regret giving her the dresses now that the guy she's next to is leering at her the way he is. The dress is short, barely touching the top of her thigh, and covered in this gold floral pattern that catches the light when she moves. She's wearing white sandals and gold earrings, her hair piled on top of her head, little pieces falling from the up do, across her forehead and down the sides of her face. The whole effect makes her look like a Greek goddess. She has no idea that she catches the eye of everyone around here.
Kate laughs at something he says, and touches his arm, and that’s it. It’s fucking enough. At least if she’s going to flirt with some other guy, I don't have to watch it happen right in front of me.
I storm through the backyard, weaving through the crowd of people. Ella says something to me, but I shrug her off, escaping into the house, through the kitchen.
“Is everything all right out there, Caulter?” Rose asks as I pass.
“I’m just taking a break.” I don’t pause, but she stops me, with one hand on my arm.
“The library is closed off,” she says. “It’ll be quiet, if you want someplace where you won’t be bothered.”
I cover her palm with mine. “Thanks, Rose.”
She smiled and waves me off. “No harm in taking a break,” she says. “You kids don’t need to be on display all the time. You want me to make you a sandwich? All those little appetizers don’t amount to much of anything. You’re probably starving.”
“I’m okay,” I say. I just want to get out of here.
“Scoot, then, before someone finds you,” she says. “I didn’t see anything.”
“You’re an angel.”
Rose chortles. “You’re delusional.”
“So I’ve been told.”
Closing the library door, I shut everything out. Kate should be flirting with someone else, I tell myself. It’s better this way. The thing between us was just supposed to be sex. Nothing more. She isn't supposed to be drawing page after page of pictures of me. I’m not supposed to be thinking about her, dropping everything to rescue her at parties, turning down sex when she throws herself at me because I don’t want to hurt her.
It’s like I don’t even know who I fucking am anymore.
I’m sure as hell not whatever Kate thinks I am. I’m not a good guy.
There’s a liquor cabinet in the library, and I pour myself two fingers of bourbon. Sinking into the reading nook, I try to ignore the party below, but find myself looking out over the lawn anyway.
I wonder if that disgusting lacrosse player is dancing with her, sliding his hands over her ass, whispering into her ear the things he wants to do to her. The thought makes me want to kill him.
Instead, I swallow the rest of the liquor in one gulp, letting the warmth settle down my throat into my belly, and lay back with my head against the wall and my eyes closed.
When the door opens, I look up.
A redhead closes the door behind her, saunters across the room, and unzips the back of her black dress, letting it fall to a pool around her feet. A natural redhead, by the looks of things.
Well, hell. Generally the only thing better than a redhead is twins. She looks at me expectantly, her hands on her hips, clad only in black heels. "Well?" she asks.
I don't move. "Well, what?"
"I expected a better reaction than that. Well, I heard you were a dick." She stands there motionless, proudly displaying her nakedness like some kind of peacock. Not that she shouldn't. Her body is flawless. Except for the tits. I can't help but think about Katherine's perfect pair. These are...less than.
"That's what they say."
"So, what?" she asks. "You don't like what you see? Or you get so much * that a woman walking in and dropping her dress on the floor is old news?"
Her voice repulses me. I can't stand it. I rise, picking up the dress that lies in a crumpled heap on the floor, and hand it to her. "I'm not interested."
But she reaches for the collar of my shirt and presses her body against me. "Come on," she says. "Caulter Sterling not interested? I've heard you're always up for a good -- "