by Marie James
“You need to make up your mind what you want,” she says gently as if she’s breaking terrible news to me. “Messing with the other girls in the house while waiting for her to turn eighteen isn’t going to fly. It’s wrong, and you know that as much as I do.”
“I don’t even know if she’s interested in me like that.” This is a different situation for me.
Most of my interactions with women go like my run-in with Snapper did in the hall last night. Feelings aren’t involved unless you count the tingle deep in my sack before I blow. That has always been the totality of ‘feelings’ I’ve had for any one woman before in my life.
Not one single time in my life have I gone to bed with a woman wondering what tomorrow would be like if we woke up late and had brunch someplace. I’m not saying that I treat women poorly, because I don’t. They all know I’m not looking for anything more than a good time. I’m very upfront about it; I always have been. That doesn’t mean that, on occasion, I misread one, and she gets a little huffy in the morning when I don’t hand over my phone number or promise to see her again. I hate that it happens, but at the end of the day, she shouldn’t have lied.
And then there’s Khloe.
I don’t even know her, but it’s the idea that I want to get to know her better that’s throwing me for a loop. Do I want to fuck her? No doubt about that. I feel the twitch of my cock in my jeans just sitting here thinking about it. Nothing new about that. The difference is I can actually see myself sitting down with Khloe for a meal after the deed is done. Well, breakfast in bed anyways. Let’s not go too crazy here.
“You’re not even listening to me,” I hear Em say and feel her swat at my arm.
I laugh because there’s no telling what the hell she just said while I was stuck in my own damn head.
She sighs. “She’s interested, Kid.” She smiles sweetly. “Well, she was interested, but then Snap showed up in your shirt.”
“Fuck,” I grumble.
“Yeah, fuck,” she mimics and turns the gardening show back on.
I stand from the couch, lean over and kiss Em on the head, then head to Khloe’s room. My luck would be she won’t talk to me for the next month. Problem solved.
Chapter 11
I lean into the soft touch against my cheek before I realize that I’m supposed to be alone in this room. Simultaneously I open my eyes and attempt to shuffle back on the bed. My heart is thundering in my chest, and my breathing is ragged.
Kid is sitting on the edge of my bed looking at me with confusion and pity. A sudden urge to explain hits me. But how do I tell him about the foster home from five years ago? How do I explain how the foster dad would sneak into my room after his wife left for work? I wasn’t there long enough for it to go any further than deviant touching, but the damage had been done none the less.
It’s the pity in his eyes, and the assumptions he’s probably making that keep me from opening up. He probably wouldn’t care anyways. I’m here because he sympathizes with my situation and nothing more. When I look at him, I see the redhead in his shirt. I may not be that experienced, but I know why a woman would be wearing a man’s shirt. She clearly picked it up in the morning after taking it off of him the night before.
“Sorry,” I mutter in apology for my freak out.
“Don’t apologize,” he says softly, his hands now resting in his lap. “I should’ve knocked louder.”
“Your house,” I say before I can stop myself. How many times have I heard that? ‘My house, my rules.’ I’m pretty sure the foster parents from each and every home I’ve ever been in have said it a million times. That’s almost as popular as the whole ‘Well, your caseworker isn’t here, is she?’
“Your room,” he says sternly. “This is yours, Khloe. I shouldn’t have invaded your space without permission.”
I watch him scrub his hands over his face. The tentative touch to his beard seems like a new action for him, as if it’s not been there very long. I’ve always been attracted to men with beards. Daddy issues I suppose. Most men, or boys I should say, that had them in school were patching and disgusting. Kid’s beard is a work of art.
Brazenly, I reach over and run my own hand down it. He stills at the action, and I’m unsure if it’s because I’ve overstepped or he is surprised that I wanted to touch his face too.
“It’s new,” he says after a long moment.
“It suits you,” I say honestly.
I pull my hand away before the situation gets more awkward than it already is. My fingertips continue to tingle from the scratch of the hairs against them.
“You weren’t at breakfast.”
“I went for a ride last night,” he says. “It lasted longer than I’d planned.”
I nod. I want to ask him about the t-shirt, but I know it’s not my place. His hand on my cheek means nothing. It’s a tender way to wake someone up, less jarring than yelling from across the room or shaking their shoulder.
“Did you skip lunch?”
I grin sheepishly. “I laid down right after breakfast. I guess I was more tired than I realized. What time is it now?”
“Late afternoon,” he says after a big yawn.
“You look tired,” I observe. He rubs his eyes and yawns a second time. “You should get some sleep.”
He smiles weakly at me. “I was hoping you’d want to hang out.”
“You’re exhausted. I’m not getting on the back of your bike when you’re this tired. I may be suicidal, but roadkill is not the way I want to go out.”
He frowns at my off-colored remark. “That’s not funny.”
“I know,” I say with a smile. “It seems like a painful way to go.”
He scoots close and cups my face in both hands. I look up at him and watch his eyes dart back and forth between mine. He’s trying to get a better read on me, and it feels like he’s delving into my soul.
“What can I do? What do I need to say to make you realize hurting yourself is not the answer?” I can feel his warm breath against my skin.
“Kiss me,” I say softly.
His eyes widen, but they continue to watch my face. My teenage heart pounds against my rib cage as he slowly leans in. My eyes flutter closed just as I feel him brush his lips faintly against mine. One second he’s there, and the next he’s pulling away.
Without releasing my face he backs away slightly. “Sealed with a kiss, Khloe. No more self-harm. You just made that promise.”
I nod my head in agreement, unable to form words right now. The soft peck is not exactly what I had in mind, but somehow it was perfect at the moment.
I miss the rough feel of his hands on my cheeks the second he pulls away.
“I was thinking we could just hang out in here,” he offers. “I could grab snacks and we could just binge on sweets, carbs, and soda. Maybe watch a movie or something.”
“You should get some sleep,” I say again. I doubt he took a nap after he dropped me off in the room yesterday, so that means he’s been up since before he came to the hospital yesterday morning.
“I’d rather watch a movie with you.”
Who am I to deny him?
“That sounds great. You grab the snacks; I’ll pick the movie?” I offer.
He grins and stands from the bed. “No sappy chick shit, though,” he says before leaving the room.
I chuckle at his insistence and grab the remote from the bedside table.
I can’t seem to find anything on satellite, so I flip over to Netflix. I haven’t just hung out and binge watched a show since before Alec left for Basic Training. I feel a small twinge of guilt at doing this with Kid. I’m not replacing Alec, I remind myself. I’m just finding a way to fill the lonely hours.
I decide on Breaking Bad. I’ve never watched the show, but I figure there’s not much romance in a show about cooking meth.
I stare at Kid as he walks back into the room, arms overflowing with every kind of snack you could imagine. I climb off the bed and pull the plastic ring holding
four cans of soda from his mouth.
“Really?” I say cocking an eyebrow at him. “I sure hope you don’t expect me to eat even half of this mess.”
With more flare than necessary, he leans over the bed and opens his arms, letting the waterfall of treats flow from his arms.
“I didn’t know what you’d like,” he says as he sits on the edge of the bed and begins to unlace his boots.
Once both boots are off, he stands from the bed and lines them up perfectly in front of the dresser. He picks the side of the bed I wasn’t sleeping on earlier and sits down on top of the covers. I follow his lead, but climb under the covers, covering my lap. I’ve always felt the need to cover up if a blanket is within reach.
I swipe my hand over the huge pile of snacks and settle on a bag of nacho cheese Doritos. He picks a bag of spicy pork skins, and I cringe at his choice.
“What?” he asks with a smirk as he tugs open the bag.
“Nothing,” I say settling against the headboard. I can never understand why someone would want to chow down on strips of fried animal fat. I grab two cans of soda. I hand him one and open the other. I hate how big the bed is. I’d love nothing more than to sit closer to him, but if I got any closer, I wouldn’t be able to reach the drink I just took a sip of and placed on the bedside table.
“You don’t like pork skins?” He asks as he makes a show of chomping loudly on the disgusting things.
“Let’s just say that if it were me and a bag of that nasty stuff alone on a deserted island, I’d probably starve to death.” He laughs loudly before reaching into my bag of Doritos for a handful.
I point the remote at the screen and start the show.
“Oh good choice,” he says finally noticing what I picked. “I’ve been wanting to start this.” He yawns again and I know the second he gets comfortable he’s going to pass out.
I smile internally, knowing this handsome devil is going to sleep in my bed tonight. That thought also reminds me of the fact that he didn’t sleep alone last night either. I chastise myself for the immaturity and do my best to harden myself against my attraction to him.
Surprisingly, we made it through three episodes before he finally gave in to his exhaustion. I mute the TV. I tell myself it’s because I don’t want it to bother him, but I really just want to hear him breathe. I laugh at the thought. I’m not a creeper or anything, but his breathing is so steady and deep, it’s soothing; relaxing to me.
I quietly move the abundance of snacks to the bedside table and snuggle deeper into the blankets. I turn on my side and face him, memorizing his face. He appears much younger in slumber, and it takes everything I have not to reach out and stroke his cheek the way he did mine earlier.
I smile weakly, my body growing tired as his breathing lulls me to sleep. This is the first time I’ve ever shared a bed with a man that wasn’t Alec. I feel the pang of guilt I’m growing used to feeling when I think about him. For some reason, I’m able to talk to Kid. We seem to click, even if he isn’t interested in me for anything other than a friend. Not exactly where I want things to go, but considering my recent loss, which brought the friend count down to a big fat zero, I’m not going to balk if that’s what Kid is offering me.
I don’t consider this a betrayal of the friendship I had with Alec; if anything I can see Kid as a heavenly gift from the only man, other than my father, that loved me more than he loved himself. I won’t ruin the friendship Kid and I are building with petty jealousy. I can’t control him and whatever he has going on with the redhead. I won’t act like a petulant child who’s not getting her way. I’ll count my small blessing and cherish every second Kid wants to spend with me, even if I’ll never feel the brush of his soft lips against mine again.
Chapter 12
I squint my eyes against the sunlight filtering in my room. I’m disoriented for a brief second because the sun is not coming in at the same angle it usually does. I remember I fell asleep watching TV with Khloe about the same time I realize I have my arm around her middle.
I jolt suddenly and pull my arm away. The sudden action causes her to stir. I lie still recalling how she reacted yesterday when I woke her by touching her face, which is the same instinct I have right now. I fight it.
We’re facing each other, only inches apart. Thankfully I’m still on top of the covers. I don’t even want to think about how much of my body would be touching hers if the blankets didn’t keep us separated.
Her eyes flutter softly. “Hey,” she says quietly as if speaking loudly would break the perfection of the moment.
I smile at her. “Mornin’.” I wait for the urgency to run to hit my chest. We didn’t mess around last night, but not once in my life have I ever had the urge to stay in the bed with a woman once the sun came up. The only time I’ve stuck around even for the briefest of moments is when I woke up halfway down a chick’s throat.
I close my eyes in an attempt to ward off those thoughts, even though my rock solid dick is begging me to focus on the idea of sliding past her perfectly pink lips. Either set would work, he practically grumbles with a voice of his own.
“You feel like getting out of here today?” I don’t really have any plans for us, but I know I don’t want to leave this room without knowing I’ll get to spend more time with her today.
“Sure,” she answers brightly.
I turn over on the bed and sit on the edge, begging my cock to deflate enough so I don’t embarrass myself when leaving the room. It doesn’t, and I think the longer I sit here the harder it gets, so that’s not an option.
I stand up and stretch, giving me a reason to tug my t-shirt down in front of my jeans, a failure of an attempt to hide my erection. I stride to the dresser and grab my boots, holding them awkwardly in front of myself. Memories of high school and hiding the same problem behind my math book flood my head. I smirk at the thought, considering even then it was girls her age now that caused the problems back then.
“I’ll be back in like half an hour. I need to grab a quick shower,” I tell her before leaving the room.
I groan out loud when I pull her door closed and see Kincaid leaning against the wall, a steaming cup of coffee in his hand.
“I know Shadow relayed my message to you,” he says calmly, even though I can see his pulse thrumming in his neck. “She’s off limits until she ages out of the state’s care. I’m certain I made myself clear.”
“That’s not…”
He cuts me off. “This is only the second night she’s been here and you’re already doing the walk of shame out of her fucking room, Kid.”
There’s the anger I’d expect from Kincaid for violating a direct order.
I lower my boots from in front of my straining cock and grip it in my free hand. “Do you see this? If I fucked her last night do you think I’d walk out of that room before taking care of this?”
He chuckles; it damn near enrages me.
“We watched movies,” I explain. “I fell asleep. Fuck. I even slept on top of the covers. I know I shouldn’t have been in her room, but I was exhausted after not sleeping for over thirty-six hours. Besides, she just lost her fiancé.”
“You still want to fuck her,” he states.
I can’t help but laugh. First, Shadow and now the damn Pres.
“Every man who looks at her wants to fuck her, Kincaid.”
“Not true,” he says looking down the hall.
A huge smile spreads across his face. It’s still new, only having begun a few months ago when Emmalyn came into his life. I follow his gaze and see his woman smiling back at him from across the living room.
“Not everyone gets what you have, man.”
I envy their relationship. It’s not something I see for myself, but I can appreciate the love they have for each other. If anyone has ever doubted that true love exists, they should spend a day with these two sappy fuckers. They’d turn into believers in less than an hour.
“And that’s a damn shame,” he says pushing himself of
f of the wall. “Everyone should feel like this when they see their woman.”
I harrumph at the idea. “Would definitely solve world peace.” If every man in the world only had eyes for one woman, it would solve a litany of problems.
“Kid,” he says halting me as I start to walk past him to my own room.
“I know, Pres. Keep my dick in my pants.”
He laughs at the despair even I can hear in my voice. “Twenty-seven days,” he adds before walking toward Emmalyn.
“Might as well be an eternity,” I mutter and head for the shower.
My dick is solid steel almost every second I’m around her, yet I offer to hang out with her all day. Clearly, I’m glutton for punishment.
***
Once in my room, I notice my Star Wars t-shirt folded up neatly on the end of my bed. Just like she’s done any other time she wears an article of my clothing, Snapper has laundered and returned it. I know Khloe saw her in it, and that kills me. I used Snapper to try to get Khloe out from under my skin. It didn’t work and now things are worse now that she knows I fucked Snapper the other night. I know Snap didn’t wear that shirt out of here and to breakfast as some sort of statement. She’s not the type, but the damage has been done either way.
I toss the shirt in the trash by the nightstand on my way into the bathroom. I can’t change the past, but I can sure as hell not throw that damn shirt in her face. The second she sees me wearing it again, her mind will automatically go back to my indiscretion.
Even though I’ve never had to do so in the past, I remind myself that I need to start locking my door when I leave. The last fucking thing I need is Khloe catching one of the club girls sprawled out on my bed. Bunny, a club whore that has since been kicked out, pulled that shit with Kincaid and Emmalyn, and it nearly tore them apart, more than once in fact.
The difference between his situation and mine is Kincaid could honestly say he never fucked one of the other girls here; he’d only had a couple of blow jobs. I, on the other hand, have fucked each and every one of them on numerous occasions.
