The Punk and the Plaything (When Rivals Play #3) - B.B. Reid Page 0,11

journal since I was twelve, and eight months ago was the first time I’d touched it in four years. I didn’t allow myself to believe that the timing was anything other than a coincidence. This spark of life I was suddenly feeling could very well be because of my impending freedom.

Inside, I held my breath as I ascended the stairs to the third floor where my bedroom was, mercifully alone. I didn’t need to question if Jamie was up there. Luckily, I had the foresight to check the hiding space where we kept the spare key. Needless to say, it was empty.

A part of me delighted in the chance to take him by surprise. Usually, it was Jamie who was always two steps ahead of me.

Reaching my bedroom, I pushed open the door just as Jamie emerged from my closet. I was sure it’d been ransacked thoroughly. For a few seconds, we stood there, staring at one another before he broke the silence.

“What are you doing here?”

His question had me cocking my head. “Shouldn’t that be my line? This is my bedroom.”

“What’s yours is always mine, Barbette. I thought you knew that by now.”

“Get out.”

“When I’m done here.” Arrogantly, he turned toward my dresser and yanked open the top drawer where I kept my panties. “Where were you?” he demanded as he took his time rifling through them.

“If that were your business, I’d have already told you.” Walking over to my bed, I deftly slid my bag under my bed before sitting on it. “Looking for something?”

I already knew the answer, and knowing what he was looking for had me kicking my purse further underneath the bed. Turning to me, our gazes connected once more, his burning while mine remained carefully shuttered.

If I let him see…

Even after I’d made him doubt my feelings for him, Jamie was relentless. I could never risk giving him even a glimpse of hope.

“Where is it?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I lied, averting my gaze.

Slowly, he crossed the room until he towered over me. With strong fingers, he lifted my chin, making my heart beat a little faster. “Yes, you do.”

I considered playing coy again, and he must have seen it in my eyes because his hand drifted down to my neck in warning. “I lost it,” I blurted before I could talk myself out of lying again.

“You lost it?”

“Why do you even care so much? You’ve got a million guitars.”

His dark eyebrows pulled together in confusion before he spoke again. “You know what I’m talking about,” he pushed through gritted teeth. “Where is it?”

Oh… that.

I thought for sure he was after something else, although the truth didn’t make me feel much better. In fact, my stomach twisted just a little more at the thought of him reading what was inside my journal.

“I don’t do that anymore.”

“Because you’re such a cold, unfeeling bitch?”

“You tell me, Jameson. You’re the one touching me.”

After a brief pause, his hand trailed from my neck, and for a moment, I thought he’d slip the buttons on my blouse free, and—Don’t you dare think about that.

“So I am.” Pulling away, he dug into his pocket and pulled the spare key out before dropping it into my lap. “I always get what I want, Bette. You should know that by now.”

Lifting my chin, I met his gaze. “Then why do you look so worried?”

Jamie stared down at me for such a long time that I began to squirm, and I wasn’t sure if it was because of my nerves or the warmth pooling between my thighs.

“Where is she?” he demanded.

“Who?”

Jamie’s gaze was unflinching as he held my eyes hostage. “You know who.”

I looked away because I did know. “She’s gone,” I whispered. The desolation in my tone echoed through my heart.

“Bullshit,” Jamie spat. “I know her better than you do.” When I didn’t respond, he took a step back and then another. “Have it your way. I know how to get her back.”

I watched, perplexed, as he walked over to the gold, ornate, floor-length mirror that sparkled diamond dust when the light hit it just right. My father had paid seven grand for it.

Confusion quickly turned to amused disbelief when Jamie began chanting Bee, my childhood nickname, three times while staring at his reflection.

“Wait a second…so in that thick skull of yours, I’m the Bloody Mary?”

“Of course not.” Jamie’s flirtatious gaze met mine through the ridiculously over-priced mirror. “You’re way hotter.”

“I’m not going to thank you for the compliment,” I