Taking Turns (Turning #1)(78)

“Why are you being an *?”

“Why won’t you just admit you’re the jealous type, but you’re here for the kink, Chella? You like it dirty. You like it dark. And you are willing to overlook the fact that Bric and Quin were both f*cking another woman in front of you, because you got to watch and get f*cked by me at the same time.”

Silence.

“Admit it, Chella. Or things are gonna get real complicated.”

“Why would you do that? We had fun last night, right? Why f*ck it up with this new game?”

“Why won’t you admit you’re a dirty little slut who likes the dark side?”

“Fine,” I say, looking up at him. “Fine. I like it. And you’re right. I’m the jealous type under certain circumstances, but that girl last weekend wasn’t even in the top million things on my mind at that moment.”

“Who was on your mind, Chella?” Smith asks, still smirking down at me.

I let out a long breath. “You,” I say. “You were. That’s it. Just you.”

His smirk falls into a smile and then he leans down and kisses me again. Short, sweet, and filled with promises. “That’s all I wanted to hear, Miss Walcott. I’m all for the self-delusional lies, Chella. But it’s nice to get the truth every now and then.”

He turns away and calls out, “See you tonight,” as he leaves.

I’m still looking at the empty doorway where he disappeared when Bric comes out of the bathroom. “What the f*ck happened to Smith?”

He just turned into my obsession.

That’s what happened.





Bric walks me up to my apartment on his way to work. He kisses me goodbye too, and I have to wonder about the jealousy thing. How do they not get insanely jealous of each other?

I wonder about this while I shower and get dressed for work. I’m still thinking about it when I take the elevator down and ask the valet to bring my car. I’d like to drive today. I’m tired of the chauffeur.

They must’ve had this kind of arrangement so many times, they’ve already made the mistakes and now they’ve got it all figured out. Maybe they do get jealous but they’re good at handling it?

I don’t think either of them are jealous of Quin. Because he’s not even interested in me. He feels like a friend-with-benefits kind of thing. He’s totally in love with Rochelle. Still. I know this with all my heart.

My car comes and I get in and start the short drive over to the 16th Street Mall.

Besides. I don’t think Bric was really into Rochelle. And Smith didn’t like her at all. So what’s to be jealous about?

Maybe they set it up that way on purpose? Quin said one of them usually leads and that person takes the Number One spot. It feels right. It feels like Smith and I are negotiating our way out of this arrangement. In fact, it has always felt that way. Since the very beginning. He’s been very insistent. Moving into my house? What the hell is up with that? And he did take me down to the Club last weekend. And f*ck me. Totally within the rules, and yet… not. Not at all. I hardly think Bric and Quin would call that little move valid, since I wasn’t supposed to be downstairs at all in the first place. And they didn’t know I was there.

No. That was a total rule-breaker.

I pull into the garage, make my way over to my reserved space, and ease my car in.

I sit there for a moment, still trying to figure Smith out, and then decide I have no clue what that guy is about. Not one bit.

I turn my car off and get out, leaning back to grab my purse from the passenger seat. When I slam the door and turn around I come face to face with Jordan Wells, standing on the other side of the car next to mine.

“Hey,” he says, his voice low as he nervously looks around the parking garage.

I am so taken aback at being here with him, I… can’t talk.

“Sorry,” he says. “I don’t mean to unsettle you, Chella. It’s just… do you remember me?”

“Remember you?” I ask, finding my voice. “From…”

“From when we were kids?”

“Kids?” I repeat, sounding like an idiot.

“And the Club, of course. I was the one…” He looks around the garage again. “I was the one with Quin and Bric last weekend. You were up in the observation room, right? With Smith? I know you had a mask on, but… we’ve all seen you with him.”

“What are you talking about?” I ask, deciding to feign ignorance.

“Chella.” He laughs. “It’s OK. I’m not going to tell anyone, I swear. I was on that f*cking waiting list for five years before they let me in. I’m not about to get myself kicked out now. I just wanted to know if you remembered me? Because I remember you. From when we were kids.”

I search my memory for any recollection of this man. Where the f*ck does he know me from? Which of the many, many f*cked up times in my life did he witness?

“You came to my eighth birthday. And then I was at your ninth birthday party, remember?” he says.

I breathe out a long sigh of relief. Nine. Nine is OK. Nine, I repeat over and over in my head.

I have no clue who he is, nor do I remember him from any party other than the ones I’ve seen him at recently. “Sorry,” I say, shrugging. “I don’t remember. But don’t take it personally. I block out most of my childhood.”