by Sierra Hill
We leave shortly after confirming plans for Sunday. Although I have a car, which is shared between me and Kady when we’re at home, Van says he’ll drive. He’s parked at the far end of the parking lot in one of the few visitor spots in front of Cade’s building. As we near his car, he walks in front of me to the passenger side and opens the door.
My heart beats in the rhythm of an African drum cadence. Ba dum. Ba dum. Ba dum…bum bum bum.
Hiding my eyes from his watchful stare, I slide into the seat. “Oh, thanks.”
He moves quickly around the hood of the car and into his own driver’s side seat, starting the engine as the music blares through the speakers.
We both jerk in our seats over the loud intrusion and my hand automatically reaches toward the volume button to turn it down. Our hands collide, as he reaches in at the same time. My head is usually filled with a million things at any given time, day or night, but in this instant, I couldn’t even have told you my name. Everything shuts down as our fingers touch, the spark of electricity that explodes between us is enough to render me speechless.
I pull my hand back with a mumbled apology, squirming in my seat. It’s then that I notice my shorts-jumper has crept up my legs, exposing more than what might be considered an acceptable amount of flesh. I brave a glance over at Van, who I find is staring at my hand that’s gripping the edge of the material. I have to lift my butt slightly to readjust my outfit and I see his eyes track my movement, the dark gray irises roving over me. He licks his lips as they part slightly. As if he wants to say something.
Then they snap closed and his eyes fly back to the front, where his hands grip the steering wheel tightly.
He barely says a word to me on the drive over to the theater, just a few Yes and No answers to questions I’ve asked him. All of a sudden, tension fills the car and I feel I’ve done something wrong. His mood changed from conservative to downright cold. I might need that jacket on sooner rather than later.
Maybe this was a mistake asking him to come along with me. I could’ve just as easily gone by myself. I’ve done that before.
He seems angry with me for some reason and I’m not sure why. I think back to our exchange prior to leaving and nothing comes to mind. Or maybe it has something to do with Cade and the awkwardness between us.
Hopefully the movie will give Van some time to decompress or something. He seems really tense and stressed suddenly, which is very unlike him. His natural demeanor, at least from what I’ve seen, is normally calm and chill. As we get out of the car and head into the movie theater, I say a quiet prayer that whatever is eating at him won’t last long and we can go back to the way things were, when we were laughing and talking freely.
This Van - the stoic, grim and closed off guy - seems a far cry from the one I’ve gotten to know over the last week. Based on his expression at the moment, he seems almost tormented by something. Part of me wants to let him off the hook and tell him to take me home. But the other part wants to make him feel the same way he’s made me feel.
Like I matter.
4
Van
This is torture.
Pure fucking torture.
We’re an hour into the movie, barely halfway through it, and I’m finally realizing what a bad idea this was to come with Kylah.
My nerves are shot and I’m hanging by a thread, trying to control myself around her. If someone asked me at this very moment what movie we are watching or who’s starring in it, there’s no way I could tell them. I have no clue because I haven’t paid an ounce of attention to it over the last hour. All my focus has been on watching Kylah out of the corner of my eye.
Every little thing she does – the way she moves, her gasps of breath when something big happens on screen, and her laughter over witty lines – has me aching to touch her. And not in a friendly way. I want so badly to reach for her hand, the one that’s been toying with the flimsy material covering her thighs. She’s probably completely unaware that her fingers move constantly, fluttering along the soft, smooth skin of her legs.
Ugh. It’s killing me.
And so is my guilt.
She was staring at me earlier with wary eyes. I know she noticed my demeanor had changed. That happened the minute I walked into the apartment and found Carver practically sitting on her lap. My jealousy spiked to a raging-green level over seeing him lean in to whisper in her ear. I wanted to be the one who got that gasped reaction from her sweet mouth, not him.
God, what is wrong with me? I have absolutely no claims over Kylah. I’ve barely known her a week and we’re just friends, goddammit. I have a fucking girlfriend.
None of that seems to matter to my body, whose chemical reaction is like an exploding atom bomb. The minute I noticed what she was wearing when I picked her up, my body lit up with desire. Kylah is usually dressed casual in shorts and a vintage T-shirt. One day she wore a red print tee that said, Have a Coke and a Smile. Another was a Return of the Jedi shirt. And yet another, it was an old, worn Wrigley’s gum T-shirt that said, Double the Fun. Which was actually pretty ironic, since she’s a twin and all. And for the fact that she’d told me her sister was the wilder of the two.
That’s what I find so refreshing about Kylah. She doesn’t take herself so seriously. She knows who she is and has a self-deprecating humor about it. Although, over the short time I’ve spent with her, I’ve put together bits and pieces about her anxieties over school and the pressure she’s under to do well. I know the feeling.
What I wasn’t expecting when I picked her up tonight was to see her dressed in this short little number she’s wearing. It’s one hundred percent sweet – and way too sexy. And unless I’m mistaken, she isn’t wearing a bra. The spaghetti-thin straps of her outfit show no signs of a bra underneath, and I can see her nipples poking out against the material. Fuck. That, along with how incredible her smooth, tan legs look decked out in the tiny jumper, had me adjusting my semi-hard chub after I shut the apartment door and walked to the car. Thankfully I walked behind her and covertly handled business.
The tension only grew worse on the drive to the theater. I was mesmerized by the sight of her legs and the creamy flesh that left little to the imagination when her jumper rode up her thighs. I had to stop myself from reaching over and running my finger along the curve of her knee, up the inside seam of her leg, skimming the exposed flesh at the edge of the material.
The torment is a thousand times worse now that I’m sitting right next to her in a dark theater, with only a puny arm rest separating us. My dick has turned into a steel rod from every casual brush of her satiny skin against my legs. I’m surprised I haven’t broken the armrests with my crushing grip.
My brain is warring with my body. I honestly don’t know what’s going on with me. I’ve never had these types of thoughts for anyone else outside of Lyndsay. There’s something about Kylah, maybe it’s her pheromone make-up or whatever, that drives me absolutely crazy with desire. My thoughts have been all over the place when I’m both near and apart from her. And those thoughts are anything but friendly.
My current fantasy, not withstanding, has me slipping my hand off this armrest and placing it gently on her leg, as my fingers casually maneuver along the sweet expanse of her thigh, inching their way underneath the edge of the material. I’d follow the linear path up her leg and slide my thumb between the V intersection of her body, finding her panty less and very, very wet.
My X-rated thoughts are interrupted as a flash of movement to my right catches my attention. I turn to find Kylah struggling to pull on the jacket she brought with over her shoulders. Sure enough, she was right. It’s like an icebox in this theater, which is great for me because I’ve been sweating bullets the last hour due to my hot train of thought.
Without blinking, I grab the jacket from her small hands and unfold it so she can slip it over her arms. In the process of sliding it up her shoulders, my knuckles skirt over that silky skin of hers and I feel the goosebumps breakout across her
back. It does something to me that I can’t begin to describe. Lust, sparking through my veins, electrifying me from the inside.
She shivers again, her hands reaching up to lift her hair away from her neck, as I quickly drop the material across her shoulders and let go. Terrific. Now I know exactly what her skin feels like. Like the petals of a rose bush.
Her fruity, mango scent lingers around me. Maybe it’s from her shampoo, or her perfume, but it is a concoction that lights me up. Has me hearing the sounds of birds singing, or some shit like that. Jesus, I’m a sap. All I know is that she smells edible and it takes every ounce of strength I have to return my focus on the screen ahead of me. Otherwise, I might just act upon my desires.
But before I do, she lightly touches my arm with her hand, bringing my attention to her face. Her smile glows against the light shining from the movie screen, as she mouths the words, “Thank you.” I nod and sit back against my seat.
Here's my problem. Not only is Kylah a temptation – with her sweet, innocence – like an auburn-haired angel – but she’s also off limits. Off limits because I’m not available to pursue anything with another girl. I’m also forbidden to do anything with Kylah because of my relationship with Cade. Even if Lyndsay and I weren’t together, there’s no way Cade would ever be okay with me dating his sister. It’s completely out of the question. So I might as well shut down these inappropriate thoughts of mine right this minute.
Kylah is off the table.
Even if I can easily picture her spread out on that table – naked and writhing underneath me as I kiss a wet path up those sexy thighs of hers.
Oh fuck. This is so not good.
I pray for the ending credits to roll. Either that, or just shoot me now. Because this pain I’m enduring is requiring Marvel Avenger-like strength.
“So what did you think?”
My head snaps toward her, the guilt probably written all over my face, wondering if she can read the dirty thoughts that have been running through my head the past two hours.
When I notice her curious stare, I realize she’s asking me about how I enjoyed the movie. That makes more sense than her potential mind-reading capabilities. We’re walking out of the theater and over to the food court in the mall, since we both decided the large popcorn she’d purchased didn’t cut it for dinner. Nothing wrong with grabbing a bite to eat with your friend, right? Absolutely not.
“Oh,” I stammer, trying to recall what the movie was even about. “It was good. Action-packed. I liked it.”
Kylah laughs, her giggle doing something to my insides. Twisting my stomach up in knots that feel like the display in the Auntie Annie’s shop we just passed.
“I really like the character Tony Stark,” she admits with a shy grin. “He’s so full of himself, but he has a right to be. The guy’s a genius and engineered this super cool weapon to help protect human kind.”
I give her a thoughtful nod, a smile cropping up at the corners of my mouth. “Sounds awfully familiar, Miss Scientist.” I playfully bump her shoulder with my arm and I’m once again startled by the current that jolts through me from the touch of her skin. I clear my throat. “Isn’t that what you and brother want to do? Find meaningful ways to save lives, either through medical science or mechanically engineered efforts?”
Kylah turns her head away from me, but not before I see the blush that’s creeped up along her neck and cheeks. When she turns her head back to me, she’s chewing on her bottom lip. To my knowledge, it’s not meant to be seductive or coy, but it’s turning me the fuck on. Her lips are nearly as plump and perfect as Scarlett Johansson’s from the Avengers.
In fact, now that I compare the two, she could easily be compared to Scarlett. Kylah has this sweet seductive quality – kind of sex kittenish. Yet she doesn’t know it or flaunt it. It’s just part of who she is. It’s a natural beauty that is sexy as fuck.
She shrugs one shoulder, lifting her bluish-green eyes to me. Her medium-length bob is styled tonight in a wavy-do, and it covers her cheeks. Without thinking it through, my hand brushes the wisps of hair away on one side, pinning it behind her ear. Those innocent eyes grow wide as the ocean and she smiles.
My heart stops. If I was walking, instead of standing at the moment, I would have tripped and fallen on my ass from the detonating power her smile has on me.
It’s then that I realize something different about her tonight.
“Hey, you’re not wearing your glasses.” Yeah, just call me Mr. Observant. Maybe if my eyes hadn’t been glued to her legs or her boobs earlier, I would have noticed sooner.
Kylah’s hands touch the sides of her temples, like she just realized the same thing. Her smile turns shy as she squints up at me, her long lashes fluttering.
“Oh, yeah. I decided to wear my contacts. I usually don’t take the time to put them in, but I didn’t want the glare that can happen when I watch a movie on the big screen.”
I consider this for a second before I respond.
“That makes sense. Well, it’s the first time I’ve actually noticed your eye color. You have really pretty eyes.”
And she does. They look like that beautiful sea green glass of the Caribbean waters. Or a mountain lake reflecting the forest green of the Evergreens around it. Tranquil. Calm.
She blushes. “Thank you.”
“Do you and your sister look identical? Can people tell you apart?”
“Most people can’t tell us apart until they get to know us. Our eye color is different. Hers are deep blue. But as we’ve gotten older, she’s changed her looks and style a lot more than I have.” She shakes her head in amusement.
“What do you mean, her style?”
She lets out a deep breath, as if she’s always trying to explain this to someone. “Kady’s a very colorful person, to say the least. Ever since we were old enough to dress ourselves – maybe three years old? She just liked to make a statement. I can’t say that I blame her. Being a part of a pair is hard and it’s difficult to separate ourselves from people always associating us together. And now that she’s on her own and away in college,” she laughs, reaching for a strand of her hair and looping it around her finger.
“When she left for school, she had long hair dyed pink on the ends. But when we Skyped last week, she’d shaved the sides of her head and the hair is now blue. I wouldn’t be surprised to find her with a Mohawk when I see her over Thanksgiving break.”
I’m a little shocked. I get that crazy-colored hair is all the rage now with both guys and girls, but I don’t get why people mess with it. I kind of like the classic looks. Like on Kylah. She could easily be described as a classic beauty. Her style is simple, yet classy.
“Wow. That is really…unique.”
“What about your family? Didn’t you say you have a brother? Do you look like him?”
I open the door to the Paradise Bakery Café, allowing her to step in front of me, and give myself a second to consider my response, while also doing a quick perusal to admire her ass.
Had Dougie, my older brother, not been born with a debilitating condition, we probably would look a lot more alike. We share the same hair color – deep chocolate – and dark gray eyes. But’s that where our similarities end.
“Um,” I clear my throat. This is the part I always hate when I have to tell someone new about my brother. Not that I mind, but it’s the reaction I get when I do. Pity. My family, and especially Dougie, is not to be pitied. He’s an amazing guy, with the biggest heart of anyone I know.
“In some ways we do. Except in one pretty obvious way.”
I take a quick glance around the room, as we move forward in line toward the counter. “My brother was born with CP.”
“CP?”
“Cerebral palsy. Well, actually, he wasn’t born with it. It became obvious around the time he turned three, just about the time I was born. He was struggling to walk and gain balance. He couldn’t grasp or hold on to toys. His speech became slurred and mumbled, until he could no longer
talk at all with the exception of really loud, high-pitched squeals.”
Kylah’s hand touches my shoulder and my eyes track to where we’re connected. Her touch is soft and warm. Reassuring. Comforting.
“Wow. That must’ve been so hard on you growing up. And your parents. I’m sure it was difficult dealing with all the complexities of adjusting to that type of disorder in their child and then bringing a new baby into the world at the same time.”
I’m floored by the capacity of empathy and understanding that Kylah has about my family situation. Most people are sympathetic to our plight. They feel sorry for me having to live in the shadow of a brother who takes all my parents’ attention and focus. Kylah, though, seems to get the truth behind the situation.
Her next words are spoken softly, but with confidence. “That’s one of the reasons I want to go into molecular biology. I’m fascinated by the human body and the diseases within them. How DNA is mutated to create human afflictions that we have no cure for and no way to stop.”
I must be looking at her with a weird expression because she suddenly stops and slaps her hand across her mouth, eyes filled with worry.
“Oh my God. I’m so sorry. Sometimes I don’t filter what I say and just blurt things out that other people don’t care about. I’m such a dork. I’m sorry.” Kylah turns her ahead, anxiously glancing around the room trying to avoid any further eye contact.
That just won’t do. I place my index finger under her chin and press lightly, returning her attention back to me. She bites down on her lip and chews nervously.
“Ky,” my voice is low as I speak directly to her. “You’re not a dork. I think that’s the coolest thing in the world that you know what you want to do with your life. I admire that about you. So don’t ever downplay your ambitions, with anyone.”
