Kelsie Rae

jealousy and hurt twisting my insides into knots as it flashes across my face.
“You’re not allowed to like my dress,” I spit through clenched teeth.
His voice drops low and husky as he checks the hallway behind me, stepping closer. So close, I have to tilt my head up to hold his gaze.
“Then, you’re not allowed to be jealous,” he growls.
“I’m not jealous.”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
I jerk my arm away from him again, and this time, he lets me. But as I march toward Mia’s room, trying to get a handle on my emotions, I still feel his gaze branding my ass.
And I hate him for making me oh so aware of every tiny

look. Every tiny movement. Every simple syllable and touch and smirk and…everything when it comes to Colt Thorne.
And I shouldn’t. I shouldn’t be aware of him. I shouldn’t be thinking of him. I shouldn’t be wondering what’s going through his head or if he looks at Mia the same way he looks at me.
“Mia,” I call without bothering to knock when I reach her bedroom door.
She looks absolutely gorgeous in a pair of skinny jeans, a fitted white crop top, and a black leather jacket with her hair pulled high on top of her head and tiny tendrils framing her face.
She freaking matches him.
Hot, thick jealousy surges through my veins.
“Yeah?” Mia answers, putting

apartment right on time with a bottle of wine in one hand and a bouquet of roses in the other. But he didn’t mention my dress. And I hate how I noticed. We eat dinner, an awkwardness tainting every look and every comment until I’m pretty sure ants are crawling over my skin. But I don’t know how to fix it. How to make my insecurities––my jealousy––disappear. Especially when they’re so damn unwarranted. I’m not an idiot. I know I shouldn’t be thinking about a certain roommate when my boyfriend is sitting across the table from me, but I can’t help it.
“You okay?” Logan prods.
I set my fork down and force a smile. “Fine.”
“Babe, I know you.”
“Just stressed. How was your

apartment right on time with a bottle of wine in one hand and a bouquet of roses in the other. But he didn’t mention my dress. And I hate how I noticed. We eat dinner, an awkwardness tainting every look and every comment until I’m pretty sure ants are crawling over my skin. But I don’t know how to fix it. How to make my insecurities––my jealousy––disappear. Especially when they’re so damn unwarranted. I’m not an idiot. I know I shouldn’t be thinking about a certain roommate when my boyfriend is sitting across the table from me, but I can’t help it.
“You okay?” Logan prods.
I set my fork down and force a smile. “Fine.”
“Babe, I know you.”
“Just stressed. How was your psych class? I heard the test was brutal.”
“You know me. Aced it, as always. Didn’t even need to study.”
Of course, he did.
I roll my eyes, pushing a few strands of spaghetti around my plate, and mutter, “And the genius is humble too.”
“Ouch.” His hand goes to his chest, but his smirk stays in place. “Someone’s feisty tonight. You sure you’re all right?”
“Fine.”
“How was tutoring the other day?”
I gulp. “Fine.”
“That’s good,” he offers.
“Yeah.”
He leans forward and puts his hand on mine, rubbing his thumb back and forth along my

apartment right on time with a bottle of wine in one hand and a bouquet of roses in the other. But he didn’t mention my dress. And I hate how I noticed. We eat dinner, an awkwardness tainting every look and every comment until I’m pretty sure ants are crawling over my skin. But I don’t know how to fix it. How to make my insecurities––my jealousy––disappear. Especially when they’re so damn unwarranted. I’m not an idiot. I know I shouldn’t be thinking about a certain roommate when my boyfriend is sitting across the table from me, but I can’t help it.
“You okay?” Logan prods.
I set my fork down and force a smile. “Fine.”
“Babe, I know you.”
“Just stressed. How was your psych class? I heard the test was brutal.”
“You know me. Aced it, as always. Didn’t even need to study.”
Of course, he did.
I roll my eyes, pushing a few strands of spaghetti around my plate, and mutter, “And the genius is humble too.”
“Ouch.” His hand goes to his chest, but his smirk stays in place. “Someone’s feisty tonight. You sure you’re all right?”
“Fine.”
“How was tutoring the other day?”
I gulp. “Fine.”
“That’s good,” he offers.
“Yeah.”
He leans forward and puts his hand on mine, rubbing his thumb back and forth along my skin. I stare at his touch for a few seconds. Finally, he says, “I’m sorry I overreacted about Colt. You were right. I should’ve trusted you more. I know you wouldn’t do anything with him. And I know he wouldn’t cross the line with you, either.”
“Thanks.”
“And thanks for the food,” he adds, patting his stomach. “You know how to treat a guy right.”
I scoff. “Glad I could indulge you.”
“What’s wrong?” he demands, surprised by my outburst.
I know he’s trying. I know he wants to make things better. I know I’m overreacting about nothing. I know I’m the one with a stick up my ass tonight. But I can’t help it.
Why hasn’t he commented

louder than ever

Fucking hell.
I can hear her. And she isn’t quiet. The bed frame slams against the wall between my room and Logan’s, eviscerating any chance of sleep as Ash chants expletives over and over again. Never would’ve pegged her for having a dirty mouth, but I

it on reflex, exposing a glimpse of her chest before she curls the cloth around her again.
Her big blue eyes stare back at me.
“The sheets are tempting,” I rasp. “But I think I still prefer you in my T-shirt.”
I close the bedroom door behind me, leaving her in stunned silence, and pull out my dick to rub another one out while replaying our conversation and a dozen other scenarios where we wind up on the same side of the door instead of opposites

on my dress? Why do I feel like he’s here, and he’s present, yet my mind can’t seem to focus on anything other than a certain someone who’s on a date with my best friend.
What is wrong with me?
“Babe,” Logan prods.
I sniff and shake my head. “Nothing’s wrong.”
“You’re lying.”
“I’m not lying.”
“Then talk to me, Ashlyn. You’re acting pissed at me––”
“I’m not pissed.”
“You’re lying,” he repeats. “Did something happen at the tutoring session?”
“What? No. Nothing happened!”
“Don’t give me that.”
“I’m not giving you anything, Logan,” I argue. “I had a long

day. And then––” His phone dings with a notification. It’s at least the tenth one since he walked into the room. My annoyance spikes.
“You wanna get it?” I ask, waving my hand toward his stupid cell.
He shakes his head and keeps the phone face down in front of him on the kitchen table.
“Want me to?” I press.
With a quiet scoff, he tucks the phone into his front pocket without bothering to see who the message is from. “It’s work.”
“Oh, really?”
“Yeah.”
“And why would work be texting you?” I demand.
“Because Kendall missed her shift tonight, and they wanted me to cover for her, but I told