Playing By the Rules
SS by Amanda

If looks could kill, you’d be in jail right now.


You know what she’s doing. You know she’s giving you exactly what you asked for. But never in a million years did you truly expect her to take those words seriously. When you said let’s still see other people, you didn’t actually mean for HER to see other people. And you certainly didn’t mean for HER to see HIM .

God, you feel like you’re about to explode. Like every nerve in your body is on edge. You’re not sure how much more of this you can take. Watching her. Watching him. Watching her with him. It’s driving you insane and you have no idea what to do, short of jerking her away from him and carrying her far, far away from this place and that man.

But you can’t. Not after you whispered those fateful words to her just days ago. You still remember the look in her eyes when you said it. Like every ounce of hope she possessed for your relationship had been squashed with one sentence. At this moment, you’re not even sure why the hell you said it but you know you’d give anything to take it back.

You feel your jaw tighten as you watch him put his hand on her knee and squeeze it gently. She throws her head back slightly, laughing, and you suddenly feel like a prizefighter ready to pounce on your competition. But you’re in the middle of a crowded club with a caravan of paparazzi waiting outside. And they would love nothing more than to get an exclusive on your jealous rage.

He leans into her and whispers something in her ear and you clench your fists so tight that you think you might break your own fingers. But your fingers are your last concern. Now now. Not with her sitting across the room with her legs rubbing up against his. You shake your head. Damn you and your big mouth.

You know he wants her. How the hell couldn’t he? Not wearing that outfit and flashing those flirty looks. He’d have to be an idiot not to want her to end up in his bed tonight. But right now, you’re the idiot. The one that pined for her for months, only to get her back and tell her you want to continue to see other people.

Be careful what you wish for, you think and you begin to wish this wasn’t really happening right in front of you. If your other wish was granted why not this one. But she’s still sitting there with him right beside her, his fingers now tracing a path up her arm. Fuck him and fuck you too. This may be the worst night of your life.

And it only gets worse as he stands up and takes her hand. They begin to walk and she glances back at you, smiling softly. You now know this is a game you’re gonna lose. That you’ve maybe even already lost. And you feel like an ass because you virtually handed her to him on a silver platter.

They’re gone and you’re alone. Surrounded by hundreds of people, but completely alone. You stare at the empty booth for eternity until you finally force yourself to look at the publicist you’ve drug along. She nods her head knowingly and follows you out the door, amidst the flashes of light bulbs.

You take her home without uttering a word and begin to drive back to your place . . . . . but a barrage of images and thoughts keep you from doing so. It’s driving you literally insane to think of what Mr. I did it all for the nookie is doing right now with your girl.
And the thoughts alone are enough to make you want to break his neck.

Before you know it, you’re at the bottom of the long, familiar driveway that leads to her house. You curse yourself for even being there but you know that you’ll never be able to sleep tonight without seeing her. Even if it means having to deal with him as well.

So you take a deep breath and start toward the house. You expect to see his Mercedes parked out front and almost think you do when you see a vehicle just outside the front door. But it’s not his, it’s hers and you’re further surprised when you see her sitting on the front steps.

She stands up when you jump out of the car and smirks just before you reach her. “What took you so long?” You answer by forcefully pulling her against you and ravaging her mouth with yours. Her tongue darts into your mouth and you fight the urge to take her right there on the steps for anyone to see. You don’t care anymore as long as it’s your waist her legs are wrapped around.

And soon it is. As you put your hand below her ass and lift her up onto you. She giggles slightly as you begin to move to the door and you force yourself to remember that she hasn’t been staying alone. “Where’s Laura Lynne,” you ask as you bust through the door and she breaks from your neck long enough to shake her head and tell you that she’s not home. You quickly rip her pants and thong off and then move to your own jeans and underwear. This isn’t gonna be beautiful or romantic, but it’s sure as hell gonna prove a point.

So you enter her. Repeatedly. Every thrust erasing images from the club. You no longer see his hand on her leg. His fingers traveling up her arm. The only flirtatious looks you see are for you. And she is no longer leaving with her hand in his.

Her head arches back against the stairs and you hear her moans echoing through the house, interlacing with the occasional scream of your name. Your name. Not his. You want to make sure she doesn’t ever remember his name. You want to make sure it’s only your name that ever leaves her lips in a moment of ecstasy. Because you don’t think you can ever live through a night like tonight again.

So your hips move against hers. Over and over again. Until the sweat is pouring from your face and you’ve dispensed every ounce of energy you have. And as she yells out your name one final time, you fall onto her, wrapping your arms around her body tightly.

Your staggered breathing is all that can be heard for a few minutes. Until she begins to laugh softly . . . . . triumphantly. And you realize that what just happened is exactly what she wanted. She beat you at your own game. She proved to you that though you may be able to dish it out, you sure as hell can’t take it.

She pushes you off of her and stands up and you watch silently as she grabs her pants and underwear and starts up the stairs. You search for your voice. “Where are you going?”

It’s only then that she looks at you. “To bed. I’m meeting Fred in the studio early in the morning.”

You cringe at his name and force yourself up, stumbling over the pants around your ankles. She laughs when you look up at her. You raise your hand out, ready to reason with her but all that comes out is rambling. “Fred.” Deep breath. “Brit.” Another deep breath. “Come on.”

But your pleading only seems to amuse her. And she plants her hands on her hips and cocks her head to the side. Soon, her ironic laugh sears through you. And finally, the words you know she’s been waiting to say. “Well Justin . . . . . why don’t you just cry me a river.”

You freeze at the words and watch dumfounded as she walks further up the stairs. You know you deserved that. After all, it was your condition. So you force yourself up, stumbling slightly over the pants that are now around your ankles. You fix yourself up as much as you can and then look back up at her at the top of the staircase. You take a deep breath and force out the only thing you can. “I made a mistake.” And you watch as she smirks and nods her head. “It’s not your first.”

And so you turn to leave. Defeated at your own game. Wishing you could turn back time and take back your words. You don’t want to see other people. You want her and her alone. But now, you’re forced with the thoughts of her and Fred. And her and whoever. And it’s your own damn fault that you are walking out of here like this.

So you reach for the door and open it, only to have her voice stop you dead in your tracks. “Justin.” You turn and look up at her. “I didn’t say you had to leave.”

And as she smiles, you realize that she’s put you back in the ballgame. But this time, you’ll be playing by her rules.

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