The Punk and the Plaything (When Rivals Play #3) - B.B. Reid Page 0,39

hated that he smoked. “You just woke up.”

“Usually, I beat my dick, but I was trying to be considerate, virgin.”

“You don’t know that I’m a virgin,” I shot back and immediately realized the epic mistake I made when he scoffed and looked away, nostrils flaring. He stopped playing and set the guitar down. I already missed the sound.

“Right.”

“I didn’t mean—We haven’t—”

“I don’t give a fuck who breaks you in as long as I get a turn,” he spat.

So many emotions, none of them good, roiled in my gut until I felt physically sick. “I have to go,” I rushed to say before I hung up. I barely made it to the bathroom before I hurled up my guts. I was surprised at the force of my reaction. Jamie had been crude before, but he’d never been quite so callous.

Fear that I’d lost him for good had me clutching the toilet as I emptied my stomach. It wasn’t logical. I couldn’t explain it. I looked at myself in the mirror as I brushed my teeth and didn’t recognize the girl I saw staring back at me. Barbie may have been a cold, hard shell, but she was impenetrable. She protected the girl I cherished the most. This girl that Jamie had reduced me to was weak. I’d never survive him or my father. Not like this.

Marching back into my room, I snatched my phone from the bedspread, and with an evil smile, I dialed.

BEE HAD ENDED THE CALL, but I was still staring at my phone, waiting, debating, long after the screen had turned black. I didn’t understand why I wanted to call her back. I sure as fuck wasn’t about to apologize. I’d given her sweet, and she’d thrown me away. There was only one way that call could go and deciding she’d had enough for one day, I tossed my phone on my desk and stood from the chair.

I didn’t have time for this shit. My head kept telling me to stop chasing her, but my heart and dick wouldn’t listen. It was two against three, and with every encounter, I was inclined to see their point of view. Maybe if I fucked her—just once—I could finally get over this obsession. As cold as Bee had become, I doubt I’d want seconds.

Jesus, fuck. You’re a real Casanova, Buchanan.

Shoving back into the bathroom, I was thankful I no longer had to share the space as I shed my shorts and boxers. It sucked for my cousin, though. There was no way in hell I’d get lucky enough to score some in-house pussy just to give it up willingly .

Stepping inside the glass enclosure, I took a brutally cold shower. I stayed under the spray until my fingers and toes pruned. Padding back into my room, I was wrapping a towel around my waist when my phone rang. For a moment, I was hopeful that it was Bee crawling back until I glanced at the screen and read my mother’s name. Smiling, I picked up immediately. Not answering wasn’t really an option anyway. She’d only hang up and call back until I did. Dilwen Buchanan was a spitfire, and she’d kept my father’s hands full when he was alive.

“Hello, beautiful.”

“Jameson John Buchanan, is it true?”

My balls immediately shriveled to the size of a prune at my mother’s angry tone. She was seriously pissed, and as far as I knew, I hadn’t actually done anything this time. “Is what true?”

“That you’re smoking!”

I gulped. “Mom—”

“Yes or no, Jameson?”

Hanging my head, I answered her. “Yes.”

The phone cracked in my fist when I heard her sob. Each one was a knife to the gut. I deserved the pain. I welcomed it. “How could you? After what it did to your father, how could you?”

“I’m sorry.”

“Is that all you have to say?”

“I’ll stop,” I promised as I sat on the edge of my bed. My legs no longer felt strong enough to hold me up.

“You think it will be that simple? Barbette tells me you’re going through almost a pack a day!”

My grip loosened, and I quickly caught my phone before it slipped. “Wait a second… Barbette told you?”

“Yes. I just got off the phone with her.” There was a pause, and some of my mother’s anger faded when she sensed mine. “Don’t you dare be upset with her. She’s worried about you.”

I couldn’t bring myself to tell my mother that the girl she adored, the one we’d both been sure I’d marry one day, had