“How the fuck do I do that?” He’s talking in riddles, and it’s not like I’ve got any experience with this stuff.
I know how to get a woman into my bed, period.
Getting a woman to spend time with me outside the bedroom is a foreign concept, and I’m more than a little out of my depth. I’ve never wanted to get to know a woman until I met Presley, and it terrifies me as much as it enthralls me. I have zero clue what I’m doing. Or even why I’m doing it.
I accepted a long time ago that I wasn’t destined to find love. Not like the kind my brothers have with their girls. I doubt there’s a single girl on the planet who could put up with my shit. I come with a truckload of baggage, and it’s not attractive.
“You fucking woo her, you dumbass.” He thumps me in the upper arm. “Send her flowers or cupcakes, or walk her home from work, or write her a letter, or—”
“I’m not writing her a fucking love letter. That’s lame ass.”
Kev chuckles, slapping me on the back. “‘Much you have to learn, young padawan.’”
I groan. “Not you too.” I blame Keaton for the fact all my brothers can quote random movie lines at the drop of a hat. Keats is movie obsessed and a lover of all the big blockbusters. If it’s not Star Wars, it’s Twilight or—I stop my train of thought as a tight pain spreads across my chest, like it does anytime I think of my triplet.
“Just be yourself, dude.”
“I don’t think that’ll help. She hates who I am.”
Kev shakes his head. “I’m not talking about the perception the public has of you, that face you show the world.” He pins me with a serious expression. “Show her who you really are. Let her know the real you, and if she turns you down after that, then she’s not worthy of you.”
CHAPTER SIX
Presley
I stroll into the bar Monday evening, stopping at the counter to kiss Tommy on the cheek. “Miss me, stud?” I tease, sliding behind the bar.
“For sure, sweetheart. Ford’s pretty, but he’s not in your league.”
I bark out a laugh, waggling my fingers at my coworker, as I push through the door into the staff room. I slam to a halt as a delicate floral scent slaps me in the face. Blinking repeatedly, I stare at the massive bouquet of flowers perched on top of the small counter that runs the length of the back wall.
“They came earlier,” Ford says from behind me, and I detect the grin in his tone. “Kennedy is slick. And persistent. I’ll give him that.”
“They’re for me?” My voice betrays my disbelief. No one has ever bought me flowers before.
Ford nudges me forward. “That’s your name on the card.”
I stare in awe at the beautiful flowers, burying my nose in the soft petals. I recognize the roses and lilies, but I don’t know what the peach and cerise pink flowers are or what you call the green foliage interwoven between the more colorful blooms. They are tied in a big white bow, and the card does indeed have my name on it.
I open it up, hoping Ford hasn’t noticed how my fingers are trembling.
Go out with me? Because I’m “All Shook Up” over you.
I choke out a laugh over the lump wedged in my throat. Throwing the Elvis reference in there is kinda cheesy, but it’s oddly sweet too.
“Dude must want in your pants real bad,” Ford says, leaning over my shoulder, not even pretending he isn’t reading the message.
Turning around, I punch him in the upper arm. “Don’t rain on my parade. Whatever the reason, it’s still a thoughtful gesture.” But it’ll take a lot more than this to worm his way into my bed.
Kent shows up a couple hours later, sliding onto the stool directly beside Tommy, shooting me with a panty-melting grin that has my ovaries weakening. Wetting my suddenly dry lips, I ignore the strange fluttering in my chest as I walk toward him. “Kent.” I plaster a smile on my face. “What can I get you?”
“I’ll take a Coke and whatever he’s having.” He jerks his head sideways at Tommy.
“My usual, sweetheart,” Tommy says, never one to turn down free booze.
Tommy is the only guy in this bar that gets a free pass to call me sweetheart. With anyone else, it would be sleazy as fuck, and I’d get Bugger or Digger to throw them out on their ass. But Tommy is a true gent, and in his day, sweetheart was a genuine endearment and not a term used by douchebags to fake charm women into their bed.
I fix their drinks, sliding them in front of both men. “They’re on me.” I stare into Kent’s wide blue eyes. “Thank you for the flowers. They’re beautiful.”
He cocks his head to the side, his lips curving at the corners. “So, when are we going out?”
I bark out a short laugh, shaking my head. “You think I’d make it that easy on you?”
His grin expands. “Challenge accepted, Presley baby.”
“I’m not a challenge or some prize for you to win.”
“I know you’re not. You’re so much more than that.” He looks sincere, but I can’t tell if it’s real or part of the game.
“Don’t set the bar too high, Romeo. You’ll only be disappointed.”
“I can be very determined when I want something.” Kent waggles his brows, eyeing me over the rim of his glass with a pointed look that does funny things to my insides. “And I want you.”
Tommy chuckles. “I think he’s growing on me.”
Unfortunately, I’m afraid he’s growing on me too.
***
Footsteps pound across the floor the following morning while I’m doing inventory, and I shout over my shoulder, “We’re closed. Come back in an hour.”
“I just came to give you this,” Kent says, and I spin around, watching him approach the bar.
“How did you get in here?”
“Bugger let me in.”
I narrow my eyes because Bugger isn’t known for his charitable gestures. I prop my hip against the counter as Kent places a coffee cup and paper bag down on the scratched laminate surface. “How much did you pay him?” I inquire.
Kent smirks. “Who says I paid him? How do you know it wasn’t my legendary charm and wit that got me through that door?”
“He doesn’t have a vagina, and he’s not exactly your biggest fan.”
Kent pushes the coffee at me. “I’ve been known to charm even the grumpiest motherfuckers. Consider it a warning.” His blue eyes sparkle with confidence, and it’s hella sexy. Almost as sexy as the dark scruff covering his chin and cheeks.
In daylight, Kent is even more hazardous to my health. He’s wearing dark jeans that hug his muscular thighs and a tight white T-shirt under a grayish-blue shirt that really makes his eyes pop. Scuffed, unlaced boots adorn his feet, and he’s wearing a ball cap backward, showcasing his high cheekbones, strong nose, and chiseled jawline.
He’s truly beautiful in a strictly masculine way.
He hands me a tissue, his lips twitching. “For the drool.”
I snap out of it, straightening up. “Ugh. Thanks for the reminder.”
“I’ll bite.” He leans forward, bringing his stunning face closer to mine.
“I was almost in danger of falling for the sweet act.”
The smile falls off his lips, and he takes a step back. “It’s not an act, Presley. I’m interested in getting to know you. Why is that so hard to believe?” He shoves his hands in the back pockets of his jeans as his jaw tenses. “Enjoy your breakfast.” His expression is devoid of warmth, and the sparkle has faded from his eyes as he shakes his head before walking off.
My eyes stay glued to the door long after he has exited. He seemed genuinely hurt by my comment, and I wonder if I haven’t completely misjudged him. Taking a sip of the coffee, I groan appreciatively as familiar notes of cinnamon and nutmeg coat my tongue and swirl around my mouth. Pumpkin spice latte is one of my favorite drinks, and what are the chances Kent guessed correctly?
Opening the paper bag, I remove the bacon, egg, and cheese sandwich as my tummy rumbles in appreciation. I had to skip bre
akfast, thanks to waking up late, so this is exactly what the doctor ordered. I devour my food while opening the small envelope inside. It’s another note, and I can’t stop the cheesy smile creeping across my face.
Go out with me? Because “A Boy Like Me needs A Girl Like You.”
“Why are you grinning like you’ve just won the lottery?” Imogen asks, ducking underneath the counter and coming up alongside me.
I show her the note, quickly explaining what’s been going on because I haven’t had a chance to fill her in since the first time Kent came into the bar. “So, you have won the lottery,” she teases, wrapping an apron around her waist. “The boy lottery.” She waggles her brows, and I snicker.
“Trust me, there’s nothing boyish about Kent Kennedy. He’s all man.”
“Why are you resisting then?” she asks while she empties the dishwasher.
Tucking the note in the back pocket of my jeans, I finish my coffee and toss the cup and bag in the trash. “I don’t want to be another notch on his bedpost.”
“Makes sense,” she agrees while I finish my inventory. “But you’ve got to get back out there. It’s been two years since Lync left, and I haven’t seen you show the slightest interest in any other guy, until now.”
“You know my history, Mo. I’ve got to stop falling for the bad boys. It only ends in disaster.”
“You can’t tarnish every guy with the same brush, babe.”
“Google Kent’s name and tell me you wouldn’t feel the same way in my shoes.” Bending down, I unpack bottles of water, stacking them neatly in one of the fridges.
“You shouldn’t believe everything you read online, and you won’t know if it’s true unless you give him a chance.”
A thought occurs to me. “He didn’t pay you off too, did he?”
“What?” Her brow puckers. “What are you talking about?”
“I wouldn’t put it past him to bribe my friends into convincing me to go out with him.”
“I wish he would,” Imogen quips. “The extra money would come in handy now Kady’s at middle school.”
“If you need cash, I can—”
“Nope.” She folds her arms across her small frame, giving me one of her fierce looks. “I’m not taking any more cash from you. You have already helped me out so much, and you’re close to reaching your goal. I won’t get in the way of your dreams.” A look of nostalgia washes over her features. “I’m gonna miss you so much when you leave.”
I yank her into a quick hug. “I’m not going anywhere for a while, and it’s not like I’m moving to Mars. I’ll still be in the area. We’ll just have to find time to hang out around our busy schedules.”
“I’m proud of you, Pres. You have worked so hard for your dream, and it’s getting close now.”
“I’m proud of you too, Mo.”
She slants me with an incredulous look. “What have I done?”
“Only birthed one of my favorite little people in the entire world, and you are a fucking incredible mom. I know Rob helps out, but you’re raising Kady alone, and you’re doing an awesome job. You’re my hero.”
“You really think so?”
“I know so.” Tears stab the back of my eyes, and I’d give anything to rewrite history.
“Thanks, babe. I couldn’t do it without you. I hope you know that, and when it’s your turn, I will be right there by your side, every step of the way.”
***
Kent doesn’t show up the rest of the day, and I’m oddly disappointed. Then again, it is spring break, and I’m sure he has better things to do with his time.
Wednesday is my day off, and I stay in bed for an extra hour before making my way to the local gym for a workout. I’m walking back to my apartment when my cell pings with a new message.
Ford: You have a delivery. Want me to stop by your place later and drop it off?
Me: If it’s not too much trouble.
Ford: I’ll see you later.
I shower and spend a couple of hours working on some new sketches before I take off for my afternoon shift at the youth support center. I volunteer once a month to man the helpline, and it’s always a reminder of how lucky I am and how far I’ve come. Some of these kids are in terrible situations, and they have no one to confide in except a stranger at the end of the phone. Some days, I wonder if I should have studied psychology or sociology and gone into that line of work. Except there was no money for college when I left the foster care system, and I’m not sure I have the type of personality that could leave it all at the door after the working day has ended.
Besides, for as long as I can remember, my life has revolved around art and pursuing my dream of working in, and eventually owning, a tattoo shop. That is all I’ve wanted from the time I was thirteen when I first discovered Ink Master. I am freaking addicted to that show, and it’s been a big source of inspiration.
When I return to my place, I see Ford has already come and gone. A medium-sized rectangular box is propped against my apartment door, a hastily scribbled note on the front from my friend: Was in a hurry, couldn’t wait. See you tomorrow.
I carry the box into my apartment, depositing it on the kitchen counter as I retrieve a pair of scissors to open it. I remove the contents, and my mouth hangs open in shock.
Two sketch pads rest alongside two Caran d’Ache gift boxes. One contains their graphite line, and the second wooden box has three layers of colored pencils. This stuff is ridiculously expensive, and I cannot believe Kent spent this much money on a girl he barely knows.
It’s too much. I can’t accept it, even if my fingers are twitching to test them out.
An unfamiliar sensation spreads across my chest as I stare at Kent’s latest offering. This is nuts. Does he think I have a fucking magical pussy? Or does he truly want to know me? Is Mo right? Am I judging him unfairly? While I could say it’s easy for him to whip out his platinum card, it’s more than just the money. It’s an extremely thoughtful gift, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t tempted to give in to his request and go on one date with him.
Extracting the note from the small envelope, I read his words with growing concern for my heart.
Go out with me? Because you’re my “Mona Lisa.”
Is that even an Elvis song? Contrary to popular opinion, I’m not an Elvis fan, but Google is my friend, and Kent is on the ball. I press play on the YouTube video, listening to the legendary crooner, paying attention to the lyrics with an ever-spreading grin on my face. The notes are still corny as shit, but little by little, Romeo is chipping away at the walls around my heart, and I’m not sure how long I can continue resisting his undeniable charm.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Kent
Leaning against the wall, with one leg bent at the knee and the box resting at my feet, I watch men and women spill out through the doors of the community college, searching for the feisty brunette who has my balls in the palms of her hands.
I was disappointed Presley wasn’t at the bar last night or this morning and more than a little pissed when Ford returned the gift I gave her yesterday. I don’t understand why she won’t accept it, and it’s part of the reason why I’m here now. The other is I simply cannot evict this woman from my head. She has taken up residence there, and she shows no sign of leaving.
Coming up with new ways to “woo” her is giving me a fucking headache, because I don’t know enough about her to make the gestures really count, and I’m running out of ideas.
I might possibly go insane before she agrees to date me.
I straighten up as Presley emerges from the building, an immediate scowl appearing on my face when I spot the dude walking by her side.
With his untamed hair, shabby mismatched clothing, lanky frame, and the obvious paint splatters on his wrinkled T-shirt, he looks like the stereotypical starving artist. I instantly hate him, and the second he places his hand on her lower back, I grab the box and storm off in their direction, ready to flatten his scrawny ass to the asphalt.
> Presley’s eyes widen when she spots me approaching, and the guy frowns, turning slowly to face me.
Landing in front of her, I ignore the nerd. “There you are, baby.” I dart in, pressing a kiss to her cheek before she anticipates the move.
She narrows her eyes in suspicion. “What are you doing here, Kent?”
I flash her a cocky smile, pulling her into my side, pleased when the nerd glares at me as his hand falls off her back. “I’m escorting you to Ramshackle.”
“I’m perfectly capable of walking by myself,” she says, extracting herself from my side.
“I’ve driven all this way, so you might as well accept the ride.” I’m forcing myself to be polite instead of indulging my inner caveman and just throwing her over my shoulder and carrying her to my SUV.
Her eyes lower to the box tucked under my arm, and I don’t miss the pang of longing on her face, which spurs me on. “We need to talk about this,” I add, patting the box before extending my hand to her. “We can discuss it while we drive.”
She stares at my hand for eternity, and I feel like a tool, especially when the asshole smirks, clearly enjoying my discomfort. I’m seconds away from dropping my hand and hightailing it out of there when her fingers wrap around mine, spreading warmth up my arm. A deep sense of contentment washes over me as she laces her fingers in mine, and I know I’m grinning like a goober, but the reaction is automatic.
We’re only holding hands, but fuck it, it’s everything.
“Let’s go.” I tug her forward, eager to get her away from the geek.
“You’re seriously going with him?” he huffs, folding his arms. “Is he the reason you blew me off last week?”
Presley moves to withdraw her hand from mine, and I hold on tight. Nuh-uh. It’s the first time I’m holding hands with a woman, and she is not ditching me that easy. She flicks her gaze to me briefly before focusing on the nerd. “Kent has nothing to do with it, Jimi. We’re just friends.”
Reforming Kent: A Stand-Alone Angsty Bad Boy Romance (The Kennedy Boys Book 10) Page 5
