The Whys of Us

16

Rhysand can get incredibly jealous. He knows this.

Veronica liked it. She liked it so much she flirted around with other men when they were together just to rile him up—and it worked. Rhysand gets rougher in bed when he's jealous, and Veronica liked it. She liked it when he was mean—no, meaner.

Sanford is not Veronica. Rhysand knows that Sanford used to have a crush on that Connor kid (fuck him), but he wasn't about to demand her to stay home when she wanted to go out with him and their other classmates. So, with reluctance, he let her be. And turns out he had nothing to worry about.

But. This is different. This Jonas kid is in two of Sanford's classes, and with his girlfriend still in university, he can't exactly do anything about it.

And Rhysand knows this Jonas kid has been driving Sanford home from PhysEd, and he'd bitten his tongue and resisted the urge to drive over and pick her up instead. He knows this fucking Jonas kid is her friend—just her friend, who's been helping her with water polo (that's another thing he tries not to think about: Sanford in a one-piece swimsuit, and all the horny fucking college boys ogling her), so Rhysand kept his mouth shut about them going out for dessert. They're friends.

She's still in university. She deserves friends her age. Friends who are in school, too.

Logically, he knows this. But when she doesn't reply in over two hours, even just to give him updates—it pissed him off. He's still pissed off.

Rhysand exhales the smoke out, lets the cigarette dangle between his fingers with his elbow propped onto the window ledge. He drives with one hand on the wheel and presses harder on the gas. He wants to see this Jonas kid.

But when he pulls up to Sanford's location, she's alone inside, looking out the glass. When she sees the Jeep, her eyes widen a bit, then she's standing up and grabbing her bag.

Rhysand inhales from his cigarette again and lets his eyes rake over her body as she walks out of the shop—the thick and long strands of her hair shine against the moonlight as they fall over her shoulders. It's pulled back against her forehead in a purple headband that matches the cardigan draped over her white turtleneck. The top is so fitted Rhysand can see every curve in her body—his chest flares with a new thought—she's been looking like this the entire time she's been with that Jonas kid, he has no doubt he also appreciated the sight. It doesn't get better when Rhysand's eyes sink lower—his fingers twitch at the short, plaid skirt she's wearing. It barely reaches her knees.

Sanford opens the door on her own. It makes Rhysand feel a little guilty. She immediately faces him and takes a deep breath. "Rhys, I'm sorry. I really lost track of time. I wasn't doing it on purpose."

She sounds so desperate for him to believe her that it almost breaks Rhysand's composure. He turns his head out the window and blows out his smoke.

He's trying to think of something to say without sounding possessive. He doesn't want to scare her off with his intensity when it comes to being jealous. Sanford isn't Veronica—he can't just punish her.

Rhysand doesn't notice how long he's been silent until Sanford whines, "Rhys."

Fuck. He hates it when she whines.

No. No, he loves it. She sounds like she's waiting for him to wreck her or something, even though that's not her intention. "Where is he?" he finally says, glancing at her.

Her trusting eyes are big and gorgeous and pleading, red and inviting lips parted. "He went home. Rhys, don't be mad," she says, looking up at him through her lashes.

"Does he know you have a boyfriend?" It's a genuinely curious question. But it's the kind of question Rhysand also asks before the punishment.

No. No punishing. This is Sanford. Sweet, innocent, inexperienced Sanford. They haven't even done the vanilla thing yet—hell, they haven't even done anything close to it.