Page 59 of Raff
I saw Raff before he saw me, leaning casually against the wall, his foot pressed back against it, waiting for me to reemerge.
I wasn’t prepared for the kick to the gut I felt at seeing him. Or the way something red and ugly simmered inside me as a pretty little redhead in a two-piece dress made her way up toward Raff. She was all simpering smiles and hair twirls.
The part I hated the most was that I couldn’t even blame her, couldn’t hate her.
He was gorgeous.
And he didn’t belong to anyone.
Certainly not to me.
Raff’s posture stayed casual, showing no signs of genuine interest that I could see.
Until his head swiveled and locked in on me.
He pushed off the wall and made a beeline for me, making the redhead’s lips part as she watched him.
For just a second, there was something intense about his gaze as he approached me.
But I blinked, and it was gone.
In its place was the loose, boyish charm, the playful smile as he slung an arm around my shoulders. It was not in the possessive way a part of me was still aching for, but something casual and friendly.
“I was about to send in a search party.”
With that and nothing else, he escorted me back up to the VIP section.
Where he proceeded to act like nothing at all happened. While something felt fundamentally changed about me.
I just sat there silently, accepting the drinks people kept passing to me, sinking deeper into myself with each passing moment.
Eventually, we all made our way back to the stretch, minus Dixon, but with two extra women, then drove back to the beach house.
I didn’t know what everyone else did.
I kicked off my shoes and dragged my confused and drunk ass upstairs, washed off my makeup, changed into pajamas, and crawled into bed.
Thanks to the drinks, I fell into a deep, dreamless sleep, oblivious to what was happening in the house.
Until, suddenly, a hand closed around my throat.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Raff
I only let the guys come back to party a little because I knew I needed the distraction.
Did I want to charge up those steps and finish what Lula and I started on the dance floor? Yes, yes, I did. But she was drunk. I was tipsy. And when it did happen, I didn’t want there to be any kind of question about why it happened, nothing for her to point to and say, “That’s the only reason I let myself sleep with him.”
Because this was Lula. A woman who hated to change her mind once she’d made it up. And she’d made her mind up about me a long, long time ago. It had taken this whole road trip to make her start to see how first impressions weren’t always right, that I had layers, that I might not be what she thought she wanted, but could be exactly what she needed.
So I had to let the night, and everything that happened, pass. In the bright, sober light of morning, I could reevaluate where we were, if she seemed ready for more.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” I said, shaking my head at something Velle said in the pool as I made my way back toward the house, hearing my phone ringing.
It was probably my brother.
It was still a reasonable hour for a phone call in California.
