Jahleel (15 page)

Singing was the one thing that could calm my wild thoughts and jumbled emotions right now, and I needed to be calm and relaxed so I could leave this house with some dignity, even if it was feigned.

So I sang and sang over and over again, holding the long, endless trebles, pouring out all my frustration, hurt and pain. By the time I was through it the fifth time, I was feeling much better.

Strength regained, I turned on the tap and splashed some water onto my face and rang Thomas.

“Thomas,” I said, when he answered the phone, “Come get me. I’m at—”

“I’m parked only a block away, Miss Day.”

A block away? Then I remembered the tracker in Ferbie’s phone which I still had with me. Of course Thomas would track it once he realized I’d left without protection. “Okay, I’m coming.”

By the time I was outside, Jahleel’s sports-bike was gone. He’d left without making sure I had a ride home. Or maybe he forgot about me altogether.

Unzipping my belt-purse, I took out a Davidoff, lit it up, and inhaled a deep drag just as Thomas pulled up to the curb.

The tranquillity the nicotine produced was instant.

Krissy was in a heated quarrel with a drop-dead-gorgeous man I recognized as Trevillo Nelson, a rotten real estate mogul. Her man, I assumed, because parked beside them was a brand new red Audi TT wrapped with a bow. Birthday gift, it seemed.

Hmm, this must be what ticked off Jahleel while I was in the bathroom and why he left.

A revengeful smirk danced on my lips as I revelled in the knowledge that someone was causing Jahleel hurt as much as he caused mine’s and others. Where there’s smoke, there’s always fire, no matter how small the flame.

I sucked in another drag of my cigarette, feeling a fuck of a lot lighter and freer by the second.

This is the last time
, I told myself as I sauntered off and slid into the back of my waiting vehicle.

I. Was. Done.

Chapter Nine

A
nother failed attempt at self-induced pleasure, I removed my useless hand from my knickers, pressed both palms to my face and stifled a scream in them.

In abject defeat, I kept replaying the scene of the best sex I ever had—with a rock star I dated before I dated the tiny dick actor.

Best sex ever on his tour bus, and also our last sex together as I broke up with him right after we climaxed.

Tex, an undeniably hot and irresistible rock god. His cock, tongue and nose were pierced. He wore eyeliner and was inked from neck to wrist.

He was the one man who I thought, and hoped, could win me over and eradicate all obsessions of Jahleel—because he was
so
great in bed, and I thought of nothing or no one else when he was inside me.

But that bubble was fleeting, as all of a sudden, all the things I loved about him, that drew me to him—the tats, the eyeliner, the piercings—became repulsive to me, and my Jahleel-craving returned hard. So I broke up with him.

He loved me madly, and I thoughtlessly broke his heart. For a while, he turned into the male version of Taylor Swift: every other song he put out was about me. Either raging how much he hated me, how much of an abusive bitch I was or crooning how much he loved and missed me.

Blah.

Sexually repressed, I blew a long-winded breath, feeling like I was losing my goddamn mind. I needed a man. I couldn’t continue like this. A woman, same as a man, needed to release herself from time to time, and sadly, self-pleasuring and B.O.B’s didn’t work for me.

Jahleel, of course, was out of the question. And even if he was in the question, he wasn’t available, as he was hung up on his sis.

A week had passed since he callously left me at his house. A week since I swore off him. And a week since I spared not even a minute of my thoughts on him—patting myself on the back for that one.

Work helped to keep my mind busy and occupied, and when I wasn’t working, my brain was too tired to think, so it rested in sleep. Thus, thoughts of Jahleel A-hole Kingston were non-existent. Of that I was glad. I called that progress.

Nevertheless, I was still sexless, miserable and frustrated.

There
was
someone who could possibly rectify this sexual frustration, but I didn’t have his digits, and I couldn’t even ask Ferbie for it because he wasn’t on speaking terms with me.

When I’d returned from Jahleel’s that day, Ferbie was sulking for whatever reason. He then stopped speaking to me altogether; I later found out through Amanda that Jahleel stopped linking with Ferbie, period.

I made it even worse when I told him we were moving back to L.A. Yelling that I was selfish and unfair, he stormed out of the house and I hadn’t seen him since.

I knew, however, that he was currently checked into
Palace Hotel,
because I had trackers on him, and I managed both his and Timberly’s credit cards, as they stemmed from one of mine. Plus Ben was keeping a tail on him, so I knew he was alright.

Reaching for my cellphone from the nightstand, I hit up Lion on
WhatsApp.

Saskia:
You got JK’s mate’s cell #?

Lion T’mar:
Yeah…?

Saskia:
Send me

Lion T’mar:
Y?

Saskia:
Wadda u care? You’re in Dubai! Just send me.

Lion T’mar:
K. But don’t do anything STUPID!

Saskia
: Am 25. Am allowed 2do STUPID stuff.

Fuck fame!

Lion sent Chad’s digits without further reprimand and I programmed it into my phone, my thumb hovering over the call option as I contemplated what I would say to get him in bed with me before the night’s end.

A light knocking sounded on my bedroom door, and I looked up with raised brows. No one came to my floor. Not even Amanda. It was the one request of privacy I insisted everyone in the house respected. Intercoms were wired throughout the house, in case of urgencies or emergencies. So there was no need for anyone to ever come knocking on my bedroom door.

Before I could move to find out who was so presumptuous, the knob turned, and the door swung open.

My heart skyrocketed, blasting a crashing hole through the ceiling.

Jahleel.

He strolled into my bedroom as though it was the most normal thing on earth. As if he slept here, in my room, every night and was only returning home.

“What the fuck?!”

“Shhh,” he shushed me, pressing his forefinger to his lips.

“Don’t shush me!” I snapped, jack-knifing up in bed. “You’re in my bloody
bedroom
!”

Like a lion strutting proudly in the jungle, he crossed the wide span of space towards me, dressed in all-black: jeans, plain tee, biker jacket and Timberlands, dog-tag dangling on his chest. His facial hair had grown some, but instead of making him look bummy, he looked extra yummy.

Hell and damnation. I was doing so well,
so well
, for the past week. Now this sonuvabitch just had to walk through my goddamn bedroom door!

“You continue to shout, your guards will hear and throw me out on my ass.” Pausing for effect—because he was so
fucking
good at this—he dipped his chin and asked, “You
want
them to throw me out, Sassy?”

This guy deserved an award solely for being him, for existing. “H-How?”

“I admit,” he held up his palms in surrender, “I use Ferbz to my advantage sometimes.”

“He’s come back home?” I asked hopefully.

Jahleel nodded. “Did some moves, splits, back-flips, moonwalks, the whole works, while Ferbz hummed the
Mission Impossible
tune. Easily slipped past your men in the pool room. We bad.”

Wondering if he was being serious or facetious, I stared at him open-mouthed, but when his lips twitched at the corners, I knew he was messing with me.

“Don’t make me laugh. I don’t like you very much,” I angrily responded, sliding back down under the covers as I remembered what I was up to before he came in. My knickers were still wet.

“I know,” he admitted humbly.

Coming up to the bed, he sat down on the edge and leaned back on the headboard beside me.

He was being so casual as if he did this a million times. Not even looking around the bedroom, as though he’d seen it all before. No, he was looking down at me.

“I came to apologize for the other day. I shouldn’t have left you there like that. But a ton of shit was going on in my head, and I probably would’ve taken it out on you, so I left instead.”

“Really?” I shrieked incredulously. “You break into my house to
apologize
? You couldn’t just, uh, ring me? Text, even?”

Flashing that heart-stopping crooked grin of his, he slid down from his sitting position and stretched out beside me on his side. He extended his arm and rested his head on it as he fixed his eyes on mine. “Okay, you got me. That’s not the only reason.”

Jahleel Kingston was lying next to me,
in my bed
. Insouciant, like he belonged. A week ago, I hated him. Five minutes ago, I was about to call his best friend over to shag me. And even though I had convinced myself I was doing it because I needed sex, I knew, deep down, I only wanted to spite him.

But now here he was, with those unreal gold eyes, that amazing hair framing his face, and those tempting lips I still wanted to feel on mine. Here he was, reminding me
he
was who I longed for,
he
was who I wanted,
he
was who I belonged to.

“What else, then?”

“Well,” he dragged out. “For the past five days I’ve been in the Big Apple working with Ray Phillips. For the past five days I’ve been moody, a supreme dick to my team. For the past five days I’ve been craving something, something I can’t quite put my finger on.

“For the past five days, I kept hearing an acoustic version of Christina Aguilera’s
Ain’t No Other Man
playing over and over in my head. For the past five days, I’ve been thinking about nothing, nothing at all…” he trailed off as his gaze lowered to my lips, which were now parted and hustling for breath, then he brought his gaze back to mine and breathed out, “…but you.”

My breath came in sharp exhales as I fought to pretend I was unaffected, but it was barely working. He heard me singing in Krissy’s bathroom? I wasn’t even singing loud, so he had to have been standing outside the door, listening.

“Breathe, Sassy,” he soothed, a faint smile on his lips. “Breathe.”

Busted.

Taking a deep, calming breath, I asked, “So, what are you saying?”

“I’m not sayin’ anything,” he replied faster than I could think. Right. He didn’t want me to get the wrong idea. “Just wanted to see you for a second…to figure out if you’re what I’ve been craving.”

Turning over on my side, I tucked my clasped hands under my cheek. “Am I?”

“Not sure.”

“I want to be…”

Emitting a long, deep sigh, he remained quiet for a long while, watching me. “Maybe…I can give you some of me.”

“Some?”

“Not the way you want, though.”

“You mean, like commitment?”

“Definitely not that,” he demurred with a firm shake of his head “But I mean, I can be…friendly with you, I guess? Just not intimate.”

“What would be the bloody point of that?”

“To feed my own selfishness?” he whispered warily. “I like your company, Sassy. And I
love
havin’ you on my bike.”

“But you don’t wanna shag me?”

“No.”

Flipping over onto my back, I tossed my hands up in exasperation. “Un-fucking-believable!”

“Don’t think I’m not attracted to you, Sassy,” he put in. “I am. You got no fuckin’ idea how badly I’m attracted. But if I go further, I’ll hurt you. I know me.
I will
.”

“You sleep with
everyone
without giving a flying fuck that you’ll hurt them, no?” I shouted. “Just say it. Just say you’re not attracted to me and stop lying to make me feel better.”