Home > Messy Strokes (Wrecked Roommates #3)(9)

Messy Strokes (Wrecked Roommates #3)(9)
Author: Kelsie Rae

So I did.

And for the first time, I hated it.

Because she was mine.

But only when Sonny wasn’t around.

And now, even after we have a fucking kid together, she still can’t leave him alone. She’s still talking to him. Chatting about her day. While I’m left on the sidelines with a damn pizza downstairs.

This is bullshit.

Sensing my presence from the doorway, Em looks over her shoulder and holds my gaze through the cracked door. Those same thick lashes frame her eyes as her pouty, red lips part.

“Hey, Gibbs? I gotta go.” Reaching for a giraffe blanket, she tosses it over Peanut’s face and her soft, round breast.

“Good talking to you too,” she returns. “Tell Dove to call me when she gets out of the shower.” She hangs up and gives me a tight smile. “Hey. You’re home early.”

“There a problem with me coming home early?” I push the door open the rest of the way and lean against the doorjamb. As if I have all the time in the world. As if my blood isn’t already boiling. As if I have no problem with Em still talking to my best friend even though I do.

“No,” she returns. “I’m…surprised. Don’t you usually work late on Thursdays? You used to.”

“Shocked you remember,” I note. “Tell me. Did you used to hook up with Gibson while I was working late?”

“What?”

“Answer the question.”

She shakes her head. “No!”

“You sure about that?”

“Of course, I’m sure. We agreed to no single hookups––”

“Didn’t stop you from sucking my dick when he wasn’t around,” I push.

Her gaze narrows, and she looks down at the squirming blanket. “Can you…turn around for a second?”

“Excuse me?”

“She’s not used to having a blanket over her head.”

“I’ve seen your tits.”

She grits her teeth and glares back at me. “Are you serious right now?”

No, I’m not serious.

I’m pissed. I’m jealous. And I hate feeling fucking jealous.

Without a word, I turn on my heel and give her my back, waiting for her to do whatever she needs while my brain screams at me to get the hell out of here. To run. To escape her and whatever sick power she still holds over me. But I can’t run anymore since we have a kid together.

We have a fucking kid together.

The rustle of blankets and the quiet squeaks from the baby make my skin prickle with awareness and fans the flames of jealousy raging inside of me.

What if she was Gibson’s kid? What if the paternity test wound up differently? What if I had to see them together for the rest of my life?

“You can turn back around,” she tells me after a few more seconds.

Scrubbing my hand over my face, I do and lean my shoulder against the doorjamb again.

“So?” I push.

“So, what?”

“So, I wanna know if you hooked up with Gibson behind my back.”

She rolls her eyes. “This is ridiculous, you know.”

“Answer the question.”

With Peanut propped on her shoulder, she pats her back and returns, “No. I didn’t let Gibson touch me unless you were around. Happy now?”

“Hardly. Why are you still talking to him?”

Her brows furrow. “What?”

“I wanna know why you’re still talking to Sonny.”

“Are you jealous?” she asks.

A dark laugh rumbles through me. “Of what? A used-up bitch like you?”

As if I’ve slapped her, she jerks back and opens her mouth, but I cut her off. “Pizza’s on the counter. I’m going out.”

My feet pound against the stairs as I take them two at a time before ripping open the front door with way more force than necessary.

I gotta get out of here.

I have no clue what I’m doing. I shouldn’t have listened to Reese. I shouldn’t have bought a damn pizza or thought for one freaking second I could’ve been civil with Em or Maddie or whoever the hell she is. I shouldn’t have let myself believe we could put our past behind us. There’s too much baggage. She didn’t even do anything wrong today, and I still lost my shit. She has a right to talk to him. I don’t own her.

You don’t own her, I remind myself.

She’s not mine. She was never mine.

But seeing her struggle with Peanut like I did earlier today? It didn’t bring me satisfaction. If anything, it tapped into my protective instincts. To take care of her. To make her happy. To make her feel safe. And none of it can’t happen.

Not with her.

Peanut, sure.

But not her.

Not when she managed to tear down my walls and screw me over. I won’t go through that shit again.

It’s easier when she hates me. When she doesn’t look at me like I hung the moon. When she doesn’t let herself be vulnerable with me. When she keeps her guard up.

And I need to make sure those walls stay in place.

Even if it kills me.

 

 

7

 

 

Maddie

 

 

“God, yes. Oh. Oh. Oh! Yes. Right there. Right there!”

The banging against the wall grows louder with each rhythmic thump as I press the pillow over my head.

This can’t be happening.

The acid swirls in my stomach, my heart matching the thumping’s cadence.

I think I’m going to be sick.

Racing to the bathroom, I fling open the door and collapse onto my knees, shoving my hair behind my shoulders as my body heaves. The porcelain is cold against my hands while drops of moisture cling to my lashes.

No. No, no, no, no.

“Yes!” the stranger screams. It’s followed by a low, familiar groan. One I know intimately because I used to be the girl who brought it to the surface.

Peanut starts crying, probably just as scarred as I am from hearing her father having sex through a very thin wall. Forcing myself to my feet, I flush the toilet and wash my hands, Peanut’s wailing growing louder and louder every second.

As I pull open the bathroom door, Milo’s squeaks open too.

“You gonna get that?” he demands as soon as our gazes meet.

“That? As in our child?” I seethe, praying he doesn’t notice my red-rimmed eyes.

“You have a child?” his conquest interrupts, her perky breasts and flat stomach on full display as she sidles up beside Milo. The bitch doesn’t even bother to cover herself. Which makes the entire situation worse. So much worse. Because she’s gorgeous. Flawless. Beautiful in a way I’ll never be. Not anymore. Not after carrying Peanut. Nope. I have stretch marks, a soft stomach, and breasts made for feeding my baby girl instead of turning a man on. In fact, I’m pretty sure I’ve never been more embarrassed or insecure in my entire life as the realization hits.

This is why I’ll never have Milo again. Because the only thing he ever wanted from me was my body, and now, it’s nothing like it was. He’ll never want me again. Not when he can have girls who look like her.

A lump lodges in my throat as I stand frozen in shock, my gaze darting from Milo to his girlfriend and back again.

I want to disappear. I need to.

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