by Nia Arthurs
Dirty talk definitely works on that woman.
So does ordinary talk.
Flirting.
Innuendos.
Have I mentioned she’s freaking adorable?
Her eyes dip down. “We should eat.”
I drag a chair out for her, but I’d rather be dragging her back to the bedroom.
Forget food. I need her now.
Kayla shares out some pasta and takes a bite.
And another one.
She stops, the fork mid-way to her mouth. “Aren’t you eating?”
“Taking a minute to enjoy the view.”
Watching a black woman blush is it’s own experience. Her light brown skin keeps no secrets.
“Sit.” Kayla smirks. “You need energy to keep up with me.”
Oh. Someone’s doing some flirting of her own.
I grin as I sit down. The food really is calling to me. Just not as strong as Kayla is. “Funny.”
“I try.”
“You’re a little rusty.”
“I hope we’re still talking about my jokes.” She arches an eyebrow.
I chuckle, but the comment needles my brain. I take a couple bites and then ask casually, “Has it been a while since you’ve done it?”
“What?”
I lean back. “Date.”
“That’s not what we’re doing.”
“I didn’t say it was.”
She dabs at the corner of her lip.
Disappointment eases through me when I see the guard rise a little in her beautiful eyes.
“My last relationship ended… tragically.”
“He died?”
“Suicide.” Her plump lips press together. “He had problems. I… thought I could help him.”
I reach over. Squeeze her hand. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” She pulls her arm away. Avoids my gaze.
I’ve pried too deep.
Time to change the mood.
“Come here.” I gesture.
Her eyes widen.
I crook my fingers. Come over.
Her brows knit together. “Why?”
“You’re too far away. I’m feeling cold and lonely.”
The eye-roll I expect is delivered, but it’s accompanied with a bemused smile. “I’m trying to eat.”
“So am I.” I dip my eyes pointedly to her legs.
The flush starts at her chest. “Ariya could walk down any minute.”
“Don’t think so.” I rise.
Three steps.
I’m in front of her.
Dark eyes meet mine. “She could get up for some water or something.”
I take her hand. Nudge her to her feet. “Could we not talk about my sister right now?” My lips gravitate to hers. She tastes like a whole damn meal. A thrum races through my body when she opens up to me. A little moan escapes her throat when I bite her lip.
Not as loud a reaction as the pasta got, but I’m working on it.
I pull back. Flick her nose with my thumb. “That’s better.”
“Shut up.”
“Are you still hungry?”
“Are you?”
“I’ve made it obvious.” I set her plate away, clearing out space on the edge of the table. Turning back, I let my eyes rove over her.
My body aches for Kayla like it does air.
I step closer. “Nice shirt.”
“I’m guessing I won’t be needing it anymore?”
I smirk. Grab her hips. Hoist her on the table. The hem of her shirt—my shirt—rides up, revealing more of her legs. Hinting at her lack of underwear.
Placing my hand on either of her soft thighs, I growl, “No, you won’t.”
Sixteen
Kayla
Big hands gather around me.
Strong, smooth fingers.
I open my eyes.
Quickly close them when the bright light bursting through the blinds attacks me.
The arms around me pull me in. Closer.
Involuntary.
Heavy breaths hit my neck.
Brendon.
He’s sleeping.
He’s stunning.
I trace the cut of his square jaw. The shape of his lips. There’s a little imprint on the bridge of his nose from wearing glasses all the time.
It’s as sexy as the dimples he flashes when he’s in tease mode.
My skin heats when I remember all the ways he’d teased me last night. His fingers curving into my thighs. His lips on my skin. Wicked groans in my ear.
I cross my legs.
Can’t think about that.
The night is over.
Done.
Drained away by the sunshine.
All Brendon and I are now is friends.
Without the benefits.
No, definitely no benefits.
I like him too much to pretend I could ever keep it physical.
We scratched an itch.
Time to move on.
Time to move. Period.
I’ve got work today and I don’t even want to imagine the state my apartment is in after the flooding and the workers stomping through it.
I try to inch away from Brendon’s hold, but he’s got a tight grip. Moving my leg, I thrust the blanket off and then wiggle as far away from him as his hold will allow.
Doesn’t work.
His body responds to my squirming, rising to the occasion.
New plan.
I ease up and squeak quieter than a mouse, “Brendon, I have to go to work.”
He doesn’t hear me.
Relief floods my body. To be honest, I don’t want to face him. I’m not an expert when it comes to casual flings. What am I supposed to say if he wakes up? Thanks for the greatest night of my life? I’ll see you at Zania’s birthday party?
This is too weird.
Should have expected it.
But I wasn’t thinking that far last night. I was only answering the hounding desire in my head to be a looser, wilder version of myself for a couple of hours.
That Kayla has a love-hate relationship with common sense.
I flinch. Prepare my courage to wake Brendon properly. Before I can, he loosens his grip and turns the other way.
I don’t know if he’s really awake and helping me out, or if he’s still sleeping, but I don’t stick around to fight out. Grabbing my clothes from the floor, I haul them on.
I need to take a shower.
Brendon cleaned me up last night, but I was so exhausted I fell asleep mid-stroke. He was that gentle.
It kind of caught me by surprise.
That tenderness.
That patience.
There was something in his eyes.
A need.
Not just for my body.
For more.
Which amplifies how awkward I feel about… everything.
As I slip my shorts on, I trace his torso with my eyes. It’s just as pale as those satin sheets. Defined muscles carve his flesh.
I want to kiss him again.
Even if our deal’s expired.
I want to stay a little longer. Just like this.
Just… staring at him without him knowing.
Memories of his body intertwining with mine fill my head. My lips still tingle from his sweet, slow caresses.
Talk about killing me softly.
Yesterday was it’s own kind of delicious torture.
But it’s a new day.
I should go.
I have things to do.
What’s the next step in hook-up etiquette?
Should I leave a note? Send a text? I have no idea.
Indecisive, I push the door open and tiptoe out.
The house is still, ghostly quiet. I don’t know how one small family could live here all alone. It would be way too overwhelming to have this much space to clean.
Although I doubt the Humes clean anything themselves.
I’d be surprised if either Brendon or Ariya knew how to handle a mop.
Shaking my head, I stride through the living room.
At least my path to the exit is clear and I don’t have to shame-walk past Ariya’s door.
Brendon whisked me away to the guest room on the ground floor—partly because it was the closest bed available and partly to lessen the chances of Ariya hearing us.
A few more steps and I’ll be out of here.
No awkward encounters to tackle.
This is easier than I thought—
“Kayla?”
I freeze mid-stride.
That little voice is coming from the couch.
And it sounds a lot like Ariya.
Her head pops into my line of sight as if summoned. She’s wearing a different colored version of the pajamas she was rocking yesterday. Her hair is twice as messy. Headphones dangle over her small shoulder.
“Um… hey.”
“Hi.” She blinks. “What are you doing here?”
“I… had a sleepover.” With your brother.
That part goes unsaid.
I hold my breath.
Guilt licks my skin like a heat wave.
“Oh.” She accepts the explanation with a nod of her head. “Want some dry cereal?”
“Dry… don’t you have milk?”
“Brendon was supposed to buy it, but then Dad took Mom and…” She bites on her bottom lip.
Dad took Mom?
What does that mean?
Brendon’s searching for his mom, so it couldn’t be that she was taken voluntarily.
Did Mr. Humes kidnap his own wife?
I heard from the news that he’s horrible with women, but this is some next level scum.
Ariya lifts her chin. “Are you leaving?”
I nod.
She screws her lips together.
I linger a little longer, sensing her loneliness. “Uh… are you going to school?”
“Mom was supposed to take me today.” Her voice trembles.
Shoot.
My plan to cheer her up backfired.
I scramble to salvage the mood. “I’m sure Brendon will take you if she can’t.”
“He will.” She sighs. “But it’s not the same. Mom was supposed to do my hair.” Ariya stares sadly at the floor. “Brendon doesn’t know how to do my hair.”
My heart tugs. “I can do it.”
“You can?” Pretty brown eyes widen.
“Sure.” I sling my duffel bag over my shoulder.
So what if Brendon wakes up and I have to face him? This kid is in need and I can’t turn my back on her.
“Do you have your comb and brush?”
“They’re upstairs.” She flashes me a bright smile and scrambles up to her room.
“Bring your products too,” I call after her.
She returns with a pretty basket filled with expensive potions, lotions and hair care products. I whistle under my breath at some of the brands, resisting the urge to pocket a few for myself.
“Here.” I tap the space between my legs with the comb. “Sit.”
Ariya positions herself there.
I run the wide-toothed comb through her relaxed tresses. The hair is long, but it’s dry and frizzy.
“Are you going to be my sister-in-law?” Ariya asks suddenly.
“What?”
“I saw you and my brother in the same bed when I was looking for him this morning. You weren’t wearing clothes.”
My cheeks burn. I’m glad her head is facing the TV and not me. “Um…”
“Did you make a baby?”
Shoot. I am not having the birds and the bees talk with this kid. “Well…”
“I want a little niece, but Brendon told me I’ll have to wait a long time.”
That snags my attention. “Why?”
“He doesn’t like dating.”
My hands tighten on the comb.
Ariya shrugs. “Everyone thinks he’s a bad guy like Dad.” She twists her neck to glance up at me. “Or they want something from him.”
“Oh.”
“But you’re not like that, right?”
“No.”
“You like him?”
The question causes sweat to bead on my forehead.
This kid could be a detective. I feel like I’m in the interrogation room.
I gently twist her head back to face the front. “What kind of style do you want?”
“Mom used to put in ponytails.”
“She did? Why don’t I do that then?”
“I don’t like ponytails.” Ariya scrunches her nose. “Mom would get angry with my hair and cry because she couldn’t do anything else. So I pretended to love it, but I hated it. It’s too poofy.”
“My mom used to get angry when she did my hair too. She yanked out knots and I’d cry and then she’d tell me to suck it up.”
“Sounds like child abuse,” Ariya says snootily.
This generation…
I pin my lips together. “I’ll try a style I used to like as a kid. That okay?”
Ariya nods and turns the television on.
The gentle rhythm of my fingers calms my chaotic thoughts. I hum as I braid her thick hair.
Ariya’s mane would be so much healthier if she went natural. I wonder if I should give Brendon Cobie’s number. Cobie runs a thriving natural hair care salon that’s been plastered all over Essence magazine.
It’ll require a few visits but…
No, I shouldn’t suggest anything.
It’s none of my business how they keep her hair.
I shouldn’t get involved in Brendon or his sister’s life anyway.
My life is complicated.
Obviously, so is his.
The sadness that tripped into his eyes when he told me he wasn’t ready for a relationship makes a lot more sense now.
With his mom missing…
Lord, I still can’t believe his own father…
It’s just sad.
Rich people drama is on a whole ‘nother level.
I don’t want to be involved.
I can’t be.
Even if my heart is kind of falling for this haughty yet fragile little girl and her doting brother with the screaming silver eyes.
Seventeen
Brendon
When I wake, Kayla’s squirming and rustling around trying to escape. My instincts scream hold her tighter, but I figure she’s in her head and stressing out over last night, so I let her go.
Peering at her through the slits of my eyes, I note her mounting panic. Her anxious energy bounces off her pretty brown shoulders like a beam.
Leaning into sympathy rather than mischief, I turn on my other side so she can have her privacy.
With half my face crushed into the pillow, I can only see the edge of the nightstand and the painting framed on the wall.
It’s one of my favorites. An abstract view of an orange orchard.
Mom painted it in five minutes and called it trash.
But then, she’s always been a little sensitive about her paintings. It was more than a hobby for her. It was almost… spiritual.
When I was younger, she would get into these trance-like artistic moods and paint her heart out. It would fascinate me. Watching those strokes move across the blank page. Bursts of color. Swirls and shapes. They didn’t make sense to the eye, but to the soul…
Man, they spoke.
Provoked.
Invigorated.
Mom hasn’t painted for a while though.
She hasn’t mentioned it either.
When I see her again…
If I see her again…
No, I can’t think like that.
Yumi’s on it.
He’ll find Mom.
I hear light footfalls.
Clothes whisk against the floor.
She’s picking up her stuff.
Another patter of her feet tugs the corner of my mouth up.
Kayla’s feet are slender.
Toes painted light pink.
The
y’d curled in pleasure so much last night I wondered if they’d stay like that forever.
A soft whisk follows.
Panties climbing up her thighs.
In my head, I imagine the fascinating journey they’d made going the other direction.
The silky smooth feel of her skin as I’d slid them down.
Her little gasp when I’d followed the path with my mouth.
More than anything, I want to turn around and watch Kayla get dressed.
Or better yet, tear those clothes off again.
Have round four… five? What is it now?
Then I’d invite her for a warm morning shower.
But I don’t.
The feelings I have for Kayla need to be shaken out of my head, spread out before me like a deck of cards, and sorted.
Running in half-cocked is a bad idea.
For both of us.
So I turn my back.
I even snore a little.
Hammer in the point that she’s home free.
I only mean to pretend, but I end up falling asleep for real.
When I wake next, there’s an incredible smell wafting through the house.
Coffee.
Mm.
I sit up. Groggily, I throw off the covers, press my feet into the tiles, and head to the kitchen.
Yup, there’s coffee waiting on the counter.
There’s also Ariya sitting primly in a chair around the island counter, watching something on her tablet while forking eggs into her mouth.
“Morning…” I say uncertainly. My finger wags in the direction of the food. “You cook now?”
She pops her headphones out. “What?”
“Who am I kidding? Of course not.” I pour myself a cup.
Damn. That’s good.
“Kayla bought some groceries and made breakfast,” Ariya says calmly. Breezily.
As if this is normal.
Expected even.
My grip tightens on the cup. “You met Kayla?”
“She did my hair.” Ariya proudly tosses her head to show off the long braids flowing down her back.
I whistle low under my breath. It’s a new style, but it suits her. “That’s nice.”
“Mom could never.”
“Hey, Mom tried her best, but she’s not…”
“What?” Ariya smirks. “Black?”
“Patient.” I send her a withering look.
“Mm-hm.” She pops the last bite of toast into her mouth and carries her dish to the sink.
While Mom and I whole-heartedly accept Ariya as our blood, the past few years at various private schools have proven that people see skin color.
