“You can’t just have someone deliver a guitar!” I scramble off his lap and turn to face him. “It’s not like getting takeout...”
“Why not?” Charles frowns, pulling me right back onto his lap again. He feels so warm and solid and comforting, none of which are things I deserve.
“Guitars are all different, Charles.” I mumble against his warm, hard chest. “We have to find one that’s the right size and color and finish.”
“So we’ll do that.” Charles shrugs his broad shoulders.
“Tate will still be able to tell. And what if it’s sentimental? What if Tate doesn’t want another guitar?”
“Then we’ll get this one fixed,” Charles says triumphantly. “And while we’re at it, you should pick out a guitar of your own, too. You’ll need something to play while Tate’s is being repaired.”
My mouth falls open, and I scramble off Charles’s lap for a second time. “You want to buy me a guitar?”
“Sure.” Charles shrugs like it’s no big deal.
I don’t know how I keep forgetting how rich he is. He has a private plane. He bought me a laptop. He didn’t even bat an eye at the jewelry store. And yet, I can’t seem to wrap my mind around him being ‘buy Roonie a guitar on a whim’ rich. And I definitely can’t accept it.
“Charles, no. I’m grateful for all the stuff you got me so far, I really am. But I can’t let you keep buying me things.”
“It’s no big deal.”
“It is a big deal. I don’t need a guitar. And I’ll find a way to pay to fix Tate’s. It was my mistake, Charles,” I add when he looks like he’s about to argue. “I need to fix it myself.”
“If you insist.” Charles grabs my hand and pulls me back onto his lap. Then he places his hands on my waist and lifts me, so I’m sitting astride his thighs. I gasp.
I don’t think he means to continue our guitar-buying conversation, and the way his eyes zero in on my lips confirms it.
“I can’t say no to you, Roonie,” he groans, his breath grazing my lips.
“What?” My lips part, and Charles covers them with his.
Kissing Charles is like drowning in hot lava. It’s like being consumed by fire. It’s like being devoured by a hot, overwhelming beast.
His lips take control, caressing mine, and he puts everything he has into the kiss.
His huge hands latch onto my hips, pulling me closer, holding me, then rocking me against the thick bulge in his pants. I moan.
My entire body responds, but Charles doesn’t try to take things any further. He just keeps rocking his hips, giving me pleasure as he focuses on our kiss.
His lips consume my own as his tongue slips in and out of my mouth, over and over again. I thread my fingers through his hair, pulling him closer, silently begging him not to stop. He can’t stop. I don’t think I could bear if he did.
This is all Tate’s fault, too. It’s entirely his fault, because last time we kissed, he kept pulling away. He kept leaving me wanting more.
It makes me desperate with Charles. The thought of stopping right now, when all I want is for this hot pleasure to last forever, makes me tug harder on his hair.
I hold his head in place and kiss him with everything I’m worth. Charles groans into my mouth, the sound so sexy, so masculine, that a wave of heat courses through me. I push my breasts against his chest, my body igniting at the caress, and I suddenly want more. Need more.
I reach for the buttons of his dress shirt, undoing them much more adeptly than I had with JJ. Which reminds me that I did this exact same thing with JJ. In this apartment. And with Tate, too. I kissed all three roommates, cheated on all of them, after everything they’ve done for me.
How could I do this to them? How could I kiss all three roommates like this? It’s wrong. Oh so very wrong.
Angela may have said it’s okay to experiment with the guys, but what I’m doing is so much more. I’m falling for them, for all three princes, and I’m betraying them with every kiss.
They’re not just roommates. They’re in an a cappella group together. They have a competition coming up, and I can’t be the thing that tears them apart. I can’t be the reason their singing dreams don’t come true.
“Charles, we can’t,” I cry, scrambling off his lap.
“Why not?” Charles asks, a look of hurt flitting over his face. Hurt I put there.
So I tell him the first thing I can think of that won’t hurt him more. That won’t tell him how I betrayed him and Tate and JJ. I tell him that I need to work on the competition song.
Chapter 20
The next morning, Tate tells me a little bit about his visit with his sister before the guys head to class. Turns out she got into LUV Academy, but her parents pressured her into going to an Ivy League Pre-med school instead. Luckily, he got there just before she sent in the acceptance, and she made the right choice in the end.
I’m still thinking about how lucky Tate’s sister is to have him when I plop down on the couch and try to decide how to spend my day. I’m definitely not in the mood to apply for more jobs, and none of the places where I left my resume have called so far. They probably never will.
Hanging out with Charles yesterday was a great distraction, but this morning all I seem able to do is catalogue all my failures. Made zero progress on the competition song. Am over two grand in debt. Didn’t get into school. Couldn’t get a job. Ran away from home. Made out with all three roommates, and they’ll probably kick me out the moment they find out.
There’s only one thing I can do to make it right—even if only a little, tiny bit right—and that’s finish the competition song. Yesterday, Charles was there, distracting me, but today is a brand new day. If I can just do that one thing, maybe things will work out after all.
I grab the brand new guitar Charles had delivered yesterday—because apparently he really can order a guitar just like takeout—and strum a few tunes. I pull up the song “outline” on my laptop and stare at the word FRENCH typed in all caps. I get to my feet and pace around the living room. I sing some of my old songs for inspiration. I dance to some French music, adding hip movements the way Angela taught me. Finally, I groan and flop backwards onto the couch.
It’s no use. I really am a failure.
I cover my face with one of the throw pillows and groan into it. Loudly. Then scream for good measure. It doesn’t help.
I stay like that for a while until someone unlocks the front door. I quickly sit up and return the pillow to its rightful place as JJ walks in.
“There you are,” he says, as if there’s anywhere else I could possibly be.
“Here I am,” I sigh, wringing my hands on my lap.
“Did something happen?” JJ asks as he comes to join me on the couch.
“Nothing happened.” Which is the problem. And the way JJ’s looking at me makes me feel like I can tell him anything. “I’m really struggling with the competition song, JJ. I’ve been trying to write it all morning and for a good chunk of yesterday, too, but I’ve gotten nowhere.”
“You can’t force creativity.” JJ shrugs, not sounding the least bit worried. “I’m sure it’ll come to you.”