Secret Heir (Dynasty #1)(93)
Devon’s expression falters for a second, but he flashes another easy smile.
“Don’t worry about it. I knew what I was getting myself into. I kind of suspected there was more to it between you guys, even if nothing was going on at the time. I mean Raph wouldn’t just go around warning every guy in school off a girl unless he’s wanting to stake his claim.”
I feel a surprising warmth at those words, because it reminds me that whatever it is that Raph feels for me, it goes further back than I had let myself acknowledge.
Devon seems to be deciding on whether to say something, and I eye him curiously.
“Take care of yourself, Jazmine. Like I said, you’re a nice girl—too good to be Raph’s latest slam piece.”
There’s no malice in his words, just genuine, friendly concern. But the words are crude all the same, and I feel sick at the thought.
Is that what everyone in school thinks of me? Raph’s latest slam piece? I don’t usually give a crap about what other people think, but I can’t deny that the label stings. More so than the outcast label he’d slapped on me that first day I walked on campus. In fact, I’d trade this label for that one in a heartbeat.
I realize how na?ve I’ve been. As much as I try to deny it, I like Raph’s public displays of affection, the unabashed way he stops to kiss me in the middle of a crowded hallway or in the cafeteria, not caring who’s looking. I thought it was his way of showing everyone that he doesn’t care who knows about us. But all its showing people is that I’m Raph’s latest piece on the side in what is a sickeningly long line of girls. Of course, everyone here knows that Raph is still betrothed to Layla and that any other girl is just his entertainment on the side. But she’s his queen. Always has been, always will be.
I tell myself to calm down, though, because I’m jumping to conclusions here. I remind myself of those moments when Raph and I are alone and he’s looking at me as if … as if I’m the only person in the entire universe that matters. I remind myself of the way he kisses me, that tells me there’s so much more to this thing between us than just lust. If that’s all he wants from me, he wouldn’t be waiting until I’m ready to have sex, he’d have made that move already and no matter how much I try to deny it, I know deep down that I’m in so deep with him, that I would have let him. Hell, I offered it to him on a plate just a couple of days ago and still he wants to wait.
But the doubts don’t disappear entirely, because I also still remember what Raph told me before our first kiss—that none of this could ever really matter. With all that has happened since, the passion burning away my reason, the hunger blinding me to reality, I seem to have forgotten the cold hard truth, or at least shoved it aside whenever it reared its ugly head, like I’m trying to do right this very minute.
I’m saved from having to say anything because I feel Raph’s presence behind me. He fixes that icy glare on Devon, the one that he fixed on me that very first day on the beach, the one that reminds me what we were to each other back then and perhaps what we should have kept being, if either of us had any sense.
“Hey, Raph.”
“Devon,” Raph replies coolly.
Devon gets the message.
“See you, Jaz,” he says, as he begins backing away. “Take care of yourself,” he says again, referring back to what he said earlier. He doesn’t have to. The words are emblazoned in my mind.
But I don’t let any of those insecurities show in my face as I turn to Raph. I stiffen a little when he kisses me lightly. But thankfully, not enough for Raph to sense that something’s wrong.
“What did Devon want?” he asks, point blank. His possessiveness would be endearing, if it wasn’t for the fact that Devon’s earlier words are still ringing in my mind. Four words in particular—Raph’s latest slam piece.
“Nothing. He just wanted to catch up,” I reply casually.
Some part of me wants to confront him right here and now about this latest label. But another part of me is telling me that I shouldn’t care what other people think of what’s happening between us, as long as Raph and I know the truth about what we are to each other. And what is that exactly? The cruel voice in the back of my mind whispers. But I shove it aside because the middle of a school hallway is not the time and the place to be having this conversation.
“So what, you two are best friends now?” Raph, however, doesn’t seem to be so concerned about causing a scene.
It’s not the first time Raph’s acted jealous. Hell, he starts growling at Baron like a caveman whenever he finds us hanging out together in the kitchen some mornings. As much as I try to deny it, I usually like the feeling that he cares enough to get jealous. But right now, it just pisses me off. Because who the hell is he to get jealous when the list of girls that he’s been with is probably longer than Santa’s freaking Christmas list and I’ve only ever been with one guy—him. Only him. Plus, there’s the fact that he’s still betrothed. As in promised to marry someone else.
This time, I can’t keep the frown from my face, but Raph interprets it as me being pissed about his cave man ways.
He lets out a long breath.
“Sorry, Jaz. You know I can’t think straight whenever any other asshole gets within two feet of you.”
He pulls a face of exaggerated repentance, which makes me laugh, despite my mood. God, I must be demented.