Unloved: Chapter 33

Winning a hockey game is the equivalent of a high, which is one reason I’ve never bothered with anything harder than booze—that and the continuous threat of random drug screenings.

But winning a game with Ro sitting right near the glass, shimmering prettily underneath the arena lights, is somehow . Now, I’m antsy to see her, leg shaking and body jittery as I check the sliding door over and over for Sadie and Ro.

Which doesn’t take long. They step onto the back patio as Rhys and I jump up a little too excitedly.

“I like the jacket, Sadie,” I say as they scoot through the mingling crowd into our half circle of friends—mostly our entire first and second line, sans Toren Kane.

“Thanks,” she says a bit offhandedly as she keeps her piercing gray eyes trained on my captain. “Ro made it.”

Sadie passes me by, and Ro stops at my side with a shy little smile.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” She blushes. “And this one.” She does a little twirl, showing off the unique, vintage patchwork-style denim. “And I have a surprise for you.”

“Because I won?” I ask, slinging an arm over her shoulders and squishing her into my side.

“Sure.” She smirks before turning her wrist over in my hand, showing me the sleeve where she’s embroidered a 27.

My heart is thundering. I want to kiss her, but I know I can’t. Instead, I hold her hand to my chest over my heart like she’ll feel it beating and how I feel for her. The immeasurable level of admiration for her gentle, glimmering heart that she wears on her sleeve so that always knows how much they’re seen and loved and cared for.

“Freddy,” Holden calls, heading toward the beer pong table. “Ready?”

I nod before tucking a straightened piece of her hair back.

“You look beautiful.” It slips out before I quickly cover it with a nod to the table. “Wanna play with us?”

The first round of beer pong is fine. Perfect, even.

Ro and I easily win against Holden and a drunk Paloma Blake, and I hug her around the waist in celebration, lifting her slightly off the ground.

“Fuck off,” Holden huffs, but his eyes dance as he shakes his head at me and slumps back into the empty chair behind him, where some of our friends have been watching the not-so-fierce competition.

“Ro?”

The deep male voice saying Ro’s name like has my attention before it has hers.

She spins, her soft mouth curving into a wide, genuine smile as her gaze locks on the tall, familiar guy behind her. With dark brown skin and tight curls atop his head with a sharp fade, he’s a handsome guy, unfortunately.

“Walker,” she says. “Hey, how are you?”

He smiles and steps between us. “I’m great. Actually, we won our game yesterday. Did you go?”

She shakes her head, while my mind races trying to remember exactly where I know this douche bag from.

Walker Taylor—wide receiver for the Waterfell football team. Super senior.

“Damn,” he says, hand lifting to his chest like his heart is hurting. I find my own hand reaching in the same motion, my chest feeling a little tight. “You promised last semester—”

“I know.” Ro groans a little and nods. “I’m sorry about that. Things got busy, but I’ve been more adventurous this semester.”

His eyebrows skyrocket and I close my eyes, cursing beneath my breath at her unintended innuendo. Ro rarely ever to be flirty like that, but if this guy isn’t taking every little word as a trail of crumbs to follow.

“Yeah? Enough to play a round of beer pong with your old student?”

She was his fucking ?

Suddenly, I am rubbing the center of my chest, an ache permeating my body.

Paloma knocks into the table again, giggling even as beer sloshes all over both her and me, and my gaze flicks away from the flirty vignette across from us.

Holden stands quickly, putting his hands on Paloma’s waist and coaxing her into the seat he’s vacated, which she easily goes to. She’s beyond drunk, and something about it feels… wrong. If I had any ability to focus on something other than Rosalie Shariff, I’d try to figure her out or find one of her friends.

Actually, I’ve never seen Paloma with friends. Not any real ones, at least, and no one I could name. She’s always alone.

Thankfully when I look back at her, Bennett is already there, kneeling by her side and whispering something quickly to her, at which she shakes her head and closes her eyes. His jaw clenches tight, but he doesn’t move. I relax a little knowing I don’t have to watch her so closely anymore—I trust any of my team to take care of her, but Bennett above most everyone else.

“Freddy?”

I spin, realizing only then that Ro has called my name a few times, but she’s stepping away from our side of the table, Walker at her back, one of his hands hovering over her waist. I want to know if she can feel it, if she knows it’s there or he’s waiting for the right opportunity.

“Yeah, princess?” I smirk, pushing the smoke and drawl into my voice that I know will turn her cheeks a pretty shade of rose gold.

Walker shifts his stance at my words, finally making the final push to put his hand on the curve of her waist. My jaw aches from the strength of my back teeth bearing down.

“Do you want to play again?”

I smile at her, a real one this time, and nod. “Sure.”

When I agreed to a second round of beer pong, I definitely didn’t intend to link myself with an overly competitive Holden, who tried to insist we chug an entire beer for every point.

And I definitely, didn’t want Walker Taylor—the football hotshot with a last name for a first name, and a first name for a last name—all over my goddamn tutor.

“Get it together,” Holden snaps, slapping my back so hard I almost lose the Ping-Pong ball in my hand. It’s annoying, but it manages to break my hazardous focus, and less than appropriate thoughts about slicing off Walker Taylor’s hands every time he uses them to “adjust” Ro’s stance. His fingers keep grazing circles on the bare skin of her arm, now exposed since she’s discarded her jacket.

I sink the ball easily, gaining my tutor girl’s attention with a bright-eyed smile as she takes a long, deliberate sip of her drink and moves the cup away.

When Holden sinks his, he calls for the balls back, and Walker rolls them to us across the sticky table covered in Sharpie signatures and faded phone numbers. I take the green ball and dunk it into one of the cups of water, looking up to take my shot when Walker decides to rest his chin on Ro’s semibare shoulder and whisper something into her ear that makes her flush.

The ball leaves my fingers, missing every cup and the table entirely, bouncing onto the floor by Walker’s feet.

I wish I’d hit him in the fucking mouth.

“Damn it,” Holden mutters, stepping up and hitting the rim of a cup before it falls out. “I think I’m done for the night.” His hand pats my back a little harder as he turns away from us. “Anyone seen Paloma?”

I don’t answer, don’t look around to help—because I feel a little bit like I’m burning up from the inside. Watching Ro flirt and smile make me happy… If I still thought of her as a friend, it would. But something feels wrong.

And I can’t shake the desperation to be the one on the receiving end of her smiles. Just like I’ll never be able to pluck the memory of her telling me how easy it would be to love someone like me from my brain.

I think it would be simpler to live the rest of my life without those words ringing in my ear, without knowing how easily she defends me, uplifts me…

Living without her at all now seems like some difficult thing. But so does living her, because my admiration and respect for her are becoming a deep well with an end I’ll never find.

“Ro?” I ask before the football boy can find his way to her lips. “Can you help me with something really quick?”

If I was anticipating a snappy reply, I’d be let down by her immediate concern and quick apology to Walker before she steps away from him to follow me into the house through the back door.

“Everything okay, Matty?”

. A possessive feeling rolls through me, but not over her—of over .

I down the rest of the room-temperature beer in my hand and set it on a table, grabbing her hand as I take us toward the stairs. A few small groups are clustered by the entrance, front door open to let slightly cooler air flow into the overheated, darkened house.

When I spot the couple on the middle of the staircase, I start to snap at them that they’re in “off-limits” territory before I realize it’s my roommate.

Bennett is with a girl sitting two steps down from him, her arms wrapped around his massive thigh and calf, blond hair pouring over his jean-clad knee where his hand gently combs through the strands, careful and slow. He isn’t looking at her, surveying the party as he usually might. But—

Steps faltering, I do a quick double-take as we pass them and realize it’s Paloma, face serene and eyes closed as she lies in Reiner’s lap while the stoic goalie carefully guards over her.

He barely flicks his eyes up to meet mine, but his face is a stone mask before he nods to Ro on my heels and gives me a stern, disapproving frown.

my I shake my head and continue up past them, my pulse thrumming in my ears. Ro never falters in following me into the shadowed, unlit hallway between our rooms. Rhys’s door is closed, music spilling out from where I’m sure he and his new girlfriend are having a fantastic time celebrating the win.

I almost laugh at the realization that everyone who in this house isn’t currently attending the party, but Ro grabs my arm.

“Freddy, are you—”

I turn and corner her, hand over her head pressed into the wall as I settle my body nearly against hers.

Her eyes go wide and dark, pupils dilating in the shadowy light. “Is Tyler here?”

The question makes my stomach sink, flaring with a little leftover jealousy and heat from downstairs that hasn’t let go of me fully.

“Why in the hell would I invite your dumbass abusive ex-boyfriend to this party?” I grit out. “No. Tyler’s not here.”

“But… you’re.” She vaguely gestures to where I’m partially leaned against her, pushing her into the little hallway alcove leading to my bedroom. “You—”

I should focus on the fact that Ro believes every ounce of my affection for her has been of Tyler. But I can’t.

“Were you gonna go home with Taylor Walker?” I blurt out, running my hand through my hair before licking my upper lip. I feel it tingle when I catch her watching the movement. My reflexive response is to watch her mouth right back.

“I think it’s the other way around.”

“Ro.” I shake my head, waiting for her eyes to meet mine. “Were you going to sleep with him?”

“No,” she replies, quickly but assuredly.

I nod. “Kiss him?”

“Maybe… yeah.” Her cheeks are flushed, making her tawny skin glow. The heat from the packed house mixed with the alcohol we’ve been drinking is making her straightened hair start to frizz, little waves forming around her face.

I nod again. “Okay, I can work with that.”

“What do you mean?”

My heart is in my throat, butterflies hammering my stomach—which has never happened before. I’m usually bleeding confidence at this point with a partner;

is my comfort zone.

“Did you want to kiss him because you like him?”

, I swear to myself.

She shakes her head.

“You just want to kiss someone?”

She nods.

The music seems louder, The Neighbourhood’s “Scary Love” is thrumming against the walls in a way that leaves me questioning if it’s from Rhys’s room or downstairs.

“If you wanna kiss someone, I’m right here.” It comes out breathy, but I’m smiling as my hand works its way up her side to rest against the right side of her neck. I lean in, skimming my nose along her cheek. “And I’m way fucking better at it than him. I promise, princess.”

Her tongue, cherry red from whatever fruity hunch punch drink she was sipping during our games, flicks out to lick at her plush lips. She bites down over the same spot—and I lose my slipping grip on my self-control.

I kiss her.

Despite the hard grip of my hands on her, despite the fierceness of my feelings for her and my racing heart, I’m as gentle with her as I can manage as I press my lips to hers.

I pull away, just barely, so our lips still bump and brush with the breath we’re sharing, my forehead pressed to hers.

“We’re friends,” she says, a little dazed. Her voice is shaky and breathy, gentle in the shared space. “Friends don’t—”

“Friends can do this sometimes.”

“T-they can?” Her hands timidly reach for me, until one grasps my forearm, the other sneaking up my bicep to the ball of my shoulder. I refrain from asking her to squeeze it—to press her pretty patterned manicure into my skin enough to leave a mark beneath the fabric of my shirt.

“Absolutely,” I say, pressing another kiss to her heated neck. “I’m so good at this, Ro. Please, let me show you.” Another press of my mouth. “Just a kiss.”

I wait only a beat, but it’s enough for her to nod before pushing up on her tiptoes to reach my mouth enthusiastically. It’s all the permission I need to wrap her up and haul her nearly into me, desperate for her warmth and the swirling coconut floral scent of her hair.

She’s beautiful like this, her hair soft and smooth, but part of me aches for the tangles of her curls to thread my fingers through like I’ve dreamed about for weeks.

Ro’s breath stutters as she pulls away this time before slamming a little too hard into me, teeth clinking as I stumble before catching her. I could carry her, but she’s so perfectly tall her legs tangle with mine as we stumble back against my bedroom door. My hand fumbles to open it before we both stumble in with laughs forcing our lips apart.

Her gaze drops a little self-consciously, hands smoothing the fabric of her silk top. I’m distracted by her teeth chewing relentlessly on her swollen bottom lip.

We both stand quietly, a beat too long, until matching flushes work their way up our necks, climbing through the skin of our cheeks. I want to touch her again, but—for the first time since I was fourteen—I don’t know how.

“Can I kiss you again?” she asks, and a smile bursts across my face. I want to close my eyes and bask in the feeling that her question gives me, but I nod instead, opening my arms for her to come to me.

She does, suddenly unshy as her lips press to mine again, hands grasping at my shoulders as I fall back into the door to steady us both.

My thigh presses higher, hitching her to her toes as she gasps into my mouth, tearing away like that pressure is distracting enough that she can’t focus on the kiss anymore. Her hips move a little experimentally at first, before her head falls back and my arms wind around her waist to keep her steady as she rocks.

I tug at her, just slightly. She easily tumbles forward, little puffs of air from her parted lips making the skin of my neck tingle.

“There you go, princess,” I mumble before my tongue traces the sharp hinge of her jaw, up to her ear. I press a kiss to her cheek and smile, whispering, “C’mon, Rosalie. Tell me if it feels good.”

She whimpers and pants, scrambling higher on my thigh as she rides it faster now, her fingers digging harder into my shoulders like she’s—

“Matt,” she begs before convulsing rapidly against me, bucking with abandon.

“That’s it, baby. Take what you need.”

Her moans are so loud I swallow them with my mouth as she rides out the orgasm, slowly coming to a stop.

Her head drops into the crook of my shoulder. I feel a little high, hands smoothing up and down her spine—so I the way she tenses.

Ro’s whole body turns to stone, and suddenly she’s pulling herself off my thigh, with her chin tucked down. Eyes to the floor like she’s… like she’s ashamed.

Silence roars in my ears, stomach plummeting as I try to slap on a gentle smile and angle her chin upward.

“Hey, are you okay?”

My voice sounds a bit like I’ve been gargling sand.

“Ro?”

She nods and tilts her head up, eyes watching me like prey caught in a predator’s stare. Which only makes my anxiety spin out a little, because minutes before she was soft against me, overwhelmingly willing in my arms. Now she’s all stiffness and hesitation.

“Sorry.” She gathers her hair into a ponytail, twisting it up before letting it spill down her back as she shrugs. “I don’t know what came over me. I—I’m not…” Her eyes shutter before she blinks up at me.

“I think I’m just drunk,” she whispers, like it isn’t a knife against my throat.

“I’m not drunk,” I sputter. “Are you drunk?”

I’m certain she isn’t, having not stepped away from her side all night. And yet something like relief flutters through my stomach when she shakes her head.

“This is so embarrassing.” Her hands lift to cover her reddened face again. “Can we please just pretend that didn’t happen?”

If it clear embarrassment for this happening with , for being with like this, I would let it go at her request. But something about this seems wrong.

.

Even as I try not to jump to conclusions, I know her enough to nearly feel the presence of Tyler Donaldson in the room with us—and it makes me a little sick with rage.

“Rosalie,” I say, tone calm but louder than my whispered words before. “Nothing about what just happened is embarrassing to me. It was incredible—

are incredible. Why are you embarrassed?”