The Punk and the Plaything (When Rivals Play Book 3) Page 10

  “I thought you said you didn’t call me,” he shot back as he stood.

  Discreetly, I checked his surroundings while he was distracted, wondering if it was his bed he was rising from and if he’d slept alone.

  “Nothing to say?” he asked as he entered another room. I could see him much better once he flicked on a light. I saw a shower in the background and realized too late that he was in the bathroom. Jamie’s eyes were closed so he couldn’t see my reaction as he relieved himself.

  When he was done, he shook himself, flushed the toilet, and propped the phone before washing his hands.

  “Are you going to say something?” he asked as he splashed water on his face. He looked hungover, which meant he’d definitely been partying last night. Envy speared through me as I wondered what it would be like to have that freedom.

  “Would there be a point?”

  “Not if more lies come spilling out of that pretty mouth.”

  A flush crept up my skin, warming my neck and cheeks, but luckily, Jamie was to occupied drying his face to see. By the time he’d tossed the towel away, I’d returned to normal. Mostly.

  His gaze fell on the phone, and he licked his lips before looking away and grabbing something off camera. A few seconds later, I watched him lather his lower face with shaving cream.

  “You know, you could save time and just pluck those baby hairs,” I teased, forgetting myself and what we’d become.

  He paused, and I didn’t miss the surprise in Jamie’s eyes or the way his lips twitched. “Is that what you did to your mustache this morning? You missed a spot.”

  My jaw fell before I covered my mouth, glaring at him over my hands. He didn’t miss a beat as he lifted the razor and started shaving away the shadow covering his jaw and chin. I was mesmerized more than I should have been watching him go through his morning routine. It felt intimate, and I couldn’t help wishing I could be there with him doing the honor.

  Suddenly, I was thankful he was preoccupied. I was afraid of what he would see if he looked at me at that moment. It would only take a glance for Jamie to know everything I was feeling.

  Of course, he had to go and ruin the moment.

  “So spit it out,” he demanded when he finished shaving and tossed the razor aside. “Thank me for the dress.”

  “I didn’t call to thank you. I called to tell you that I’ll be returning it to you… in ashes.”

  I wanted to punch the screen when he smirked. And then he spoke, choosing each word with care. “No, you won’t, Bette.”

  This should be good. “And why not?”

  “Because I’ll tell your father that your fiancé is cheating on you with his stepsister.”

  It was all I could do not to shoot up from the bed. I had to settle for gripping my sheets instead and being grateful that he couldn’t see. “He won’t believe you.”

  Perking an eyebrow, he held my gaze. “Even if I have proof?”

  I didn’t even want to think about what kind of proof he had. Or how he got it in the first place. “Why would you do something like that? Ever would be pissed.”

  “Ever is in love with Four, and he’s just dying for the world to know it.” Finally, he looked at his phone screen, and our gazes locked. “I’m curious, though, why you aren’t upset. I just told you the guy you’re going to marry is in love with someone else.”

  “That’s your opinion.”

  “It’s a fact, but I’ll play. Even if he isn’t in love with her, he’s fucking her, and that’s not just speculation. I’ve heard them. Caught them in the act a couple of times, too. Of course, they don’t know about the second time.” He winked before his luscious lips spread, and I almost returned his grin. Realizing I was supposed to play the part of a scorned fiancée, I looked away, feigning anger and denial. “I can tell you what position they did it in if you like.”

  “That won’t be necessary.”

  “It was doggy style,” he blurted anyway because he was Jameson freaking Buchanan. He wiped the last of the lather away with a hand towel before gazing down at the screen again. “So, how do you want to do this?”

  “Do… what?”

  “Get him back for cheating on you. Get even.”

  “Let me guess… I should sleep with you?” He blinked a few times before shaking his head as if recovering from a blow. “Something wrong?”

  “It’s déjà-fucking-vu. Why does everyone assume my answer to everything is sex?”

  “I don’t know,” I said while gazing at my nails so that he couldn’t see what the truth did to me. “Maybe because you’ve slept with half the town?”

  He didn’t blink. “That’s on you.”

  I stared at him in disbelief before finally finding my voice. “You’re blaming me? You’re actually blaming me for you being a whore?”

  “Yeah, and I’ll fuck every girl in this goddamn town, including the ugly ones, if it will get your attention.”

  “Jamie… you can’t—that’s ridiculous.” I was breathless when I should have been anything but flattered. I wasn’t… not really, but what was I supposed to say to that?

  Jamie shrugged as he poked at a pimple on his chin, and I believed him. He really didn’t give a damn.

  “Stop that,” I snapped, earning his frown.

  “No can do, kitten. I’ve got needs, too.”

  Rolling my eyes, I said, “I mean the pimple. Stop messing with it, or it will scar.”

  “I’m already scarred, Bee, and the ones you left behind are never going away.” He held my gaze as he popped the pimple, and I cringed. I watched as he brushed his teeth, and even after he was done, neither of us spoke. I had a feeling we were both afraid because we always seemed to end up at each other’s throats when we talked. The silence wasn’t awkward, however. I was content to chew on my bottom lip as I watched him move around his room. Eventually, he picked up a hardwood guitar, sat down at his desk, propped the phone up, and began lazily strumming the guitar. I wondered if Jamie’s father ever got the chance to finish teaching him before he died. Jameson definitely knew a thing or two but he was no Jimi Hendrix.

  “You still write?” he casually asked after the silence had stretched too long. I felt like I’d been punched in the stomach.

  “Write?”

  “I didn’t take you for a parrot,” he said as he shoved a cigarette between his pretty lips. “You know what the fuck I mean.”

  I rolled my eyes when he started to light up. “Do you really need to do that now?” I 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 used my dead father as a tool for revenge. My mother lectured me for an hour straight, but I didn’t hear a word of it. The entire time I was plotting my revenge. Using my father’s illness and making my mother cry just to get back at me was out of the fucking question. It wasn’t until my mother finally stopped to let the twins speak to me that the red haze faded. Adan and Adara were only seven and barely remembered our father. I tried my best to fill the void he’d left behind—even with an ocean between us.

  “So, what’s your boyfriend’s name, Dara?”

  “I don’t have a boyfriend,” she answered with the cutest giggle. “Boys are gross!”

  “Right fucking answer.”

  “Muuuuuum!” Adan screamed in the background. “Jamie said ‘fucking’ again!”

  “Thanks, you little shit.”

  “Muuuuuum!” Dara screamed this time. “Jamie called Adan a ‘shit’!”

  I should have known those two would gang up on me. It was their twin thing and what helped me sleep at night since I’d practically left them to fend for themselves. Sure, they had my mom, and she was as fierce as any lioness, but I was their big brother. I should be there protecting them, but I was here, preparing to take over the family.

  Everyone thought my reason for being sent back to the States was so that Uncle Thomas could straighten me out, but that had only been a small part of a very fucked-up story.

  I teased the twins for a few minutes more and spent twice that time trying to stop their crying when it was time to say goodbye. My mom ended up taking the phone from them and then issuing a very clear warning to cease smoking. I didn’t doubt she’d fly over three thousand miles to box my ears until I bled if I didn’t.

  I quickly threw on clothes after hanging up and was out the door to pay Miss Chatty Patty an overdue visit. I’d left her alone this past week, but clearly, that was a mistake. Barbette was feeling neglected and in desperate need of my undivided attention.

  I didn’t see Elliot’s car in the drive or the garage when I peeked through the window and knew the lapdog Barbette called ‘Mother’ was likely to be with him. I’d worry about the servants, but it seemed the Montgomerys no longer employed any. The first time I’d broken in here, I assumed Elliot Montgomery had fired them in a fit of rage, but it’s been months, and this place was a ghost town. I started for the stairs, intending to catch Bee by surprise when the sound of glass shattering stopped me in my tracks. I rushed toward the kitchen—where the noise had come from—without stopping to think who it might be and that I didn’t belong in here.

  The moment I reached the kitchen, I stopped short at the sight of Bee sweeping up what looked like a tiny porcelain teacup. She wore a smirk you wouldn’t expect to find on someone who’d just broken expensive china. However, it wasn’t only her expression that left me reeling but also her appearance. Bee looked completely different from when we video chatted an hour ago. Her hair was pulled high in a messy bun, the makeup was gone, and she wore what might have been described as rags compared to her usual attire, but to normal people, it was simply a T-shirt and shorts. The biggest question mark, however, had to be the apron tied around her waist and the rubber gloves.

  Was Barbette doing… chores?

  Before I could make sense of things, her head shot up, and her blue eyes widened at seeing me standing there. I’d been as quiet as a mouse and as still as a statue. The moment some of her shock cleared, she dropped the broom as if it were a gun, and I’d just caught her murdering someone.

  “What are you doing?” I snapped.

  Someone had better give me some answers right fucking now.

  Huffing, she stormed across the kitchen until she was standing toe to toe with me. “I’ll ask the questions. What are you doing here?”

  “I came to choke the life out of you, and instead, I find you doing chores.” Crossing my arms, I pinned her with my glare. “Explain.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Jameson.” She tried to walk away, but I gripped her arm, keeping her in place. “Fine,” she spat when she realized I wasn’t letting her go until she answered me. “I was having coffee, and I broke a cup.”

  “So you changed clothes to clean it up?”

  “Hey, that rhymed!” She flashed me a goofy grin, and I squeezed her arm in return.

  “Nice try. If you were having coffee, why does it smell like lemons and bleach in here?”

  “Not everyone is comfortable with the smell of dirty socks and used condoms, Jameson. Now let me go!”

  I almost laughed at her assumption, but then she tried to free herself and ended up with her breasts pressed against my chest when I pulled her closer. I leaned down and enjoyed the pure panic flashing in her eyes until I began sniffing her rubber gloves. Poison Ivy actually thought I was stupid enough to kiss her.

  “What do you know… lemon. You were cleaning. Why?” She looked away, and when I finally let her arm go, she began smoothing out her apron. “Stop stalling and answer me.”

  Her gaze narrowed to slits at my tone, so I leaned against the wall and got comfortable.

  This should be good.

  “If I tell you, I’ll have to kill you, and then I’ll have to get out the bleach again to clean up all the blood.”

  Sighing, I stood up
straight. “Well then, it’s a good thing I’m here. Bleach won’t hide blood from a forensic expert. Where’s the body?”

  Not missing a beat, she nodded toward the double doors I’d snuck through so many times. “Buried out back.”

  “Please tell me it’s your dad.”

  Her smile was contagious, and before long, we were grinning at each other like idiots. It didn’t last, but for the first time since returning to Blackwood Keep, I didn’t lose hope. Moments like these were happening more and more often. If only I could find a way to make them last.

  Frustrated, I shook off those fanciful thoughts. I wasn’t interested in falling for Barbette Montgomery ever again, but if I could make her fall for me… oh, what sweet revenge.

  “Sadly, he’s still breathing and off somewhere terrorizing the villagers. He’ll be back soon, so you should leave.”

  I started to respond when something she said stopped me.

  Sadly?

  Barbette and Elliott had never been poster models for an ideal father-daughter relationship, but to my knowledge, she hadn’t hated him. And not nearly enough to actually want him dead. Knowing I wouldn’t get any answers today, I filed the thought away for safekeeping.

  Barbette had already turned away, so I couldn’t see her face when I spoke. “Speaking of dead fathers, I’d like to know why you think it’s okay to use mine for revenge.”

  She spun around, her beautiful face twisted with confusion. “What are you talking about?”

  “You made my mother cry, Barbette”—slowly, I placed one foot in front of the other until I was close enough to wrap my hand around her lovely neck—“so I came to make you cry.”

  “I only told her you were smoking, and your disgusting habit was getting worse. She was angry, but she seemed fine.”

  “People are not always what they seem, Barbette. You taught me that. You taught me so many things.”

  Her nostrils flared, but she wisely steered clear of my claim. “What does your smoking have to do with your father’s death?”