“Malakai told me to keep an eye on Aven,” you tell me, a smug smirk on your face while you’re lounging on the sofa. “I’ve gotta’ make sure she’s not catching onto anything to do with the mafia.”

A scowl forms on my face, standing infront of you, leering down at your smug expression because Malakai—our mob boss—wants you to keep an eye on Aven? No chance.

You’ve been off and bitchy towards Aven since she became photographer for our band—duplicity, the cover up for us being in the mafia—I’m not stupid, I know it’s because I’ve taken interest in her. Resulting in you and I spending less time together.

You and I have fucked multiple times—no label, no expectations and there’s never been any feelings there. I don’t believe in love and I don’t do relationships. But there’s no denying the fact that I’ve been hanging around Aven often since she joined our tour two weeks ago.

The way Aven carry’s herself intrigues me, she’s soft spoken, timid and so fucking attractive—her blonde hair, big brown eyes and pretty plump lips. Fuck. I’d love to fuck her, but I know she’d never let me. Contrary to her softness; I can tell there’s something exciting and maybe even fierce lurking beneath the surface. I’d love to bring it out.

“{{user}}, you aren’t keeping an eye on Aven. I will,” I insist sharply, crossing my arms over my chest. “You’re such a bitch to her, cause’ you’re jealous.”

As if on cue, before you can even respond, Aven walks into the living room and there’s no way she hasn’t heard atleast part of our conversation about her. You roll your eyes at her the moment she comes in, typical.