Page 22 of Spearcrest Rose


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“I’m twenty, and old enough to know that sometimes we do things in the heat of the moment that we might later wish we hadn’t.”

I push him away and stand up. “I wouldn’t have regretted sleeping with you—but you’ll regret rejecting me!”

He looks up at me, his calm unbroken. “I’m not rejecting you, Seph.”

“So what’s the problem, then?” I narrow my eyes at him. “Why are you playing games?”

“No games,” he says. “Take a week to think about it. If you still want to have sex with me, then come back—you know where I live now. Come back and I’ll do anything you want me to do to you.”

It’s the most condescending thing I’ve ever heard in my life—as if I need to take time to decide who to sleep with. I cross my arms and speak icily. “What makes you think I won’t just find someone else to sleep with?”

“If that’s what you want. I’m not in control of your life. You are.”

If I was, then we’d be having sex right now, I want to say. But I don’t want to give him the satisfaction. If Noah wants to force me to wait a week, then that’s fine. It’ll be easier for me than it’ll be for him.

I’ll make sure of it.

Chapter 10

Catholic Guilt Slut

Thefollowingevening,Igo out into London with Kayana Kilburn and Cammie. On the way there, I give them specific instructions to take as many pictures as they can of me dancing with guys. My silk slip dress is outrageously short and outrageously thin. Underneath it, I wear a delicate pearl harness instead of a bra, and my only other accessories are long gloves of white gauze and strappy heels.

I drink champagne all night, and I accept every drink men send my way. Young men and older ones alike. I let two boys sandwich my body with theirs on the dance floor, and I let an older man with silver hair at his temples rest his hand on my waist as he watches me drink dainty sips of his gross whisky.

Kayana and Cammie watch me in delight, taking pictures of my antics. The men don't get anything from me other than flirty smiles, but the pictures suggest scandal and debauchery. I even let Kayana take a picture of Cammie tugging on my pearl harness with her teeth, her face between my breasts, while I tilt my head back and laugh.

I planned to stockpile the pictures and dish them out torturously over the week—really make Noah pay for playing with my feelings and my needs. But by the time we leave the club, I’m too drunk for careful strategy.

I lie draped across the limousine seat, my head in Kayana’s lap, holding my phone above my head. I cackle to myself as I scroll through my camera roll, sending Noah the most outrageous shots I can find.

“Who are you sending those to?” Cammie asks in a suspicious tone. “That evil giggle of yours is creeping me out.”

“Probably Evan,” Kayana smirks down at me. “Isn’t that the endgame? Rose and Evan, sitting in a tree, f-u-c-k-i-n-g?”

“Not anymore,” Cammie snickers. “She’s got a new boyfriend now.”

“No, I don’t,” I mutter half to myself.

I’m busy sending Noah a picture of me bending over in front of a young banker with blue eyes and a flushed face. In the picture, my back is arched, my ass pressed against the banker’s crotch, his knuckles white as he clutches my waist, his expression greedy. Noah should hate that. I follow the image up with a text.

Rose: Wonder if he’ll give me what you couldn’t?

Then I send him a wink-kiss emoji.

“Didn’t seem to me like she has a new boyfriend,” Kayana says. “Not the way she was acting in the club.”

“She’s trying to make him jealous,” Cammie says, narrowing her eyes at me. “I can tell.”

“I wouldn’t recommend that gamble,” Kayana says, checking her long, cinnamon-coloured nails. “I tried the same thing with my ex and he swore off love, fucked everything that moved, and now he’s engaged.”

“That engagement doesn’t count. It’s arranged,” Cammie points out. “And you fucked everything that moved first.”

Kayana waves her fingers at Cammie. “Yes—to make him jealous, obviously. Which didn’t work—obviously.”

Three dots finally appear underneath the wall of photographs I’ve flooded the screen with. I bring my phone closer to my face, biting my lip as he types. A message finally pops up.

Noah: He won’t give you what I’ll give you if you come back on Thursday.

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