She’s standing next to a table along the far wall, her arm slung over Mia’s shoulder. Mia is dressed much more reasonably, in a pair of ripped jeans and a t-shirt. Three other women I don’t know are with them. They’re dressed more like Kendra—dresses and heels—and they’re all laughing at something. One of the girls starts grabbing shots from the table and passing them out. Kendra stumbles when she takes hers, laughing again. They all hold up their drinks in a circle, yell something I can’t hear over the music, and down them. Kendra raises her glass above her head and hollers, then one of her friends plucks it from her hand. Kendra grabs Mia’s arm and drags her toward the dance floor, the other girls following.
I move so I don’t lose sight of her, keeping to the outer edge of the room. Looking to my right, I do a doubletake. There’s a guy standing near the wall, his hands in his pockets, watching the crowd of dancers. I think I recognize him. He turns and our eyes lock. Yep, it’s him, and I have a feeling my face looks as guilty as his.
It’s Kendra’s brother, Alex. What the hell is he doing here?
He walks over to me and pitches his voice to be heard above the music. “What are you doing here?”
I think about making something up—telling him I was out and wound up here. But I have a feeling he’s here doing the same thing I am, so he’ll see right through me. Still, what do I say? It’s one thing for Alex to be following his woman around—she’s his fiancée. Kendra’s not even my girlfriend.
“Just figured I’d make sure she’s okay,” I say. “You here with them?”
Alex shakes his head, looking a little sheepish. “No. Mia will kill me if she sees me here. Kendra too.”
I just nod. I get it.
Alex and I hang back, watching the girls dance. Mia seems to be holding herself together, although I wouldn’t call what she’s doing dancing. She’s moving, but it’s obvious the only reason she’s out there is the combination of alcohol and peer pressure. She keeps backing herself toward the edge of the dancers, like she’s going to make a break for it. The good news is, that keeps Kendra and her little group out of the crowd, where I can see them.
Kendra, on the other hand, is dancing up a storm. And she’s drunk as fuck.
She dances with her arms in the air, that fluttery cream skirt swirling around her ass. She tosses her hair. I have no idea how she’s staying upright in those heels. She stumbles a little, but it only makes her laugh. The music shifts, the lights change color, and apparently that makes drunk Kendra very happy. She shrieks and hugs her friends. One of them gets behind her and Kendra arches her back, puts her hands on the tops of her thighs, and grinds her ass into her friend’s crotch.
For fuck’s sake.
Alex pinches the bridge of his nose and shakes his head.
We aren’t the only ones noticing Kendra’s stripper moves. A tall guy in a button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up stops and watches her. He nudges the guy next to him and points, then they both head for the group of girls.
He worms his way into their circle, all smiles and slick moves. The other guy tries to break off one of Kendra’s friends from the group, but she turns away from him. He gives up pretty quickly and disappears back into the crowd.
Button-down guy gets right up in Kendra’s space, dancing behind her. She notices him and moves away a step, but she’s laughing. He grabs her hand, puts his arm around her waist, and yanks her against him.
I ball my hands into fists. This guy needs to get his fucking hands off my girl.
What the hell am I thinking? She’s not my girl.
He doesn’t let go and for a few minutes, she dances with him. She’s stumbling in her high heels, but he keeps her on her feet. Her friends watch, their concern obvious, but they don’t intervene. Kendra seems to be having fun.
I’m about ready to lose my shit. Alex glances at me, his eyebrows raised. I think he’s wondering if I’m going to do something.
The music shifts again and the guy stops Kendra, holding her tight against him. He leans his face near her ear and says something. Kendra shakes her head. He speaks again, his arms still around her, then he starts pulling her in the direction of the stairs.
I’m halfway to them before I realize what I’m doing. I stop in front of them and Kendra looks at me, blinking in surprise. Her eyes are glassy, her face flushed.
She’s so drunk, she slurs my name. “Wesson?”
I level the guy with a stare. “Let go.”
“Dude, chill,” he says, pulling Kendra against him.
I step closer, but don’t say a word.
“What, is this your girlfriend or something?” he says. “Because she’s leaving with me, bro.”
I hold this jackass’s eyes for a long moment and lift one eyebrow, like I’m bored with him.
He makes a show of looking me up and down. “What are you going to do with one arm?”
Kendra pushes against him and mumbles something I can’t hear.
The tension thickens. If this goes to blows, I’m pretty much screwed. I only have one arm. But I don’t give a fuck.
“Come on, baby,” I say to Kendra. I shouldn’t call her that, but fuck it, at this point I might as well go all in. My eyes flick back to the guy. My voice is hard, my face still. “Get your hands off my girl. Now.”
One eye twitches and he drops his arms. Kendra stumbles, but I’m there to catch her, drawing her against me with my good arm.
I’m vaguely aware of Kendra’s friends around us, the douchebag backing away. A bouncer looks on. But I don’t give a shit about any of them. I just want to get Kendra home.
She leans against me and giggles. “Weston? Am I your girl?”
“Yeah, baby,” I say. “You are tonight. Let’s get you out of here.”
“But it’s my birthday.”
“Not yet,” I say. “We’ll celebrate later.”
She laughs again and I glance up to find Alex standing with his arm around Mia.
“I’ve got her,” I say. “I’ll get her home safe.”
“Thanks,” Alex says, and Mia hands me Kendra’s purse.
I keep my arm wrapped around Kendra and lead her to the stairs. She leans against me, and I help her down each step. Miraculously, we make it to the bottom and out to the street without falling. I’m glad my car isn’t far away. I get Kendra into the passenger’s seat. She leans her head back and giggles again.
She babbles about her night on the drive home, but she’s not making much sense. I wonder if she’s going to remember this tomorrow. She’s pretty trashed; she might not.
We get to her house and I help her out of the car. She’s barefoot—she must have slipped off her shoes in my car—but I leave them there. She stumbles to the bedroom and I leave her for a second to get a glass of water and some aspirin.
When I come back, she’s twisting and contorting, trying to reach behind her back.
“Can you get my zipper?” she asks. “Can’t reach.”
Oh shit. Okay. This is fine. “Sure.”
I set the water and aspirin on her nightstand and step in behind her, putting my good hand on her arm to steady her. She leans against the bed, tilting forward slightly. Her hair is in the way, so I brush it to the side and over one shoulder. Then I pinch the zipper between my thumb and forefinger and lower it. Slowly.
My heart pounds in my chest. I’m hyper aware of how close we are. Of the skin I’m exposing as I open her dress. Her back is bare—she’s not wearing a bra. I swallow hard. The dress falls and I quickly back up to her doorway.
She turns around, her pink nipples erect. Her tits are small, but they’re perfectly shaped. And her body. Holy fuck. She’s tight and toned with the hint of a line running down her abs. She’s lean, but not boyish, with a narrow waist and a gorgeous curve to her hips.
I know I’m staring, but I can’t tear my eyes away.
“Oh my god, feels good to get out of that dress.” She lifts her arms and shakes out her hair. “I gotta pee.”
&nbs
p; She walks past me, pulling her white lace panties down as she goes. She steps out of them in the hallway and goes into the bathroom, leaving them lying on the floor.
I’m so stunned, I don’t move. The toilet flushes, making me jump, and she comes out, completely naked.
She waxes. Kendra fucking waxes her pussy.
I’m literally going to die right now.
She stumbles a little and puts her hand against the wall for balance. “Holy shit. So drunk.”
I shake my head so I break out of this trance and quit watching my naked roommate. “Come on, get some pajamas on or something.”
She laughs and walks past me into her room. “You hate my pajamas.”
“Baby, you need to get dressed.” God, Weston, stop calling her baby.
“I’m good.” She falls face down on her bed.
She’s on top of the covers, her ass right there. Fuck me. Did she pass out? Should I leave her like that? She’s going to get cold.
I groan and go over to the bed. It’s impossible to move her with one arm and not be all over her hot as fuck body. I have to lean over her and slide my arm beneath her hips to roll her over. Then I pick up her legs and swivel her so she’s facing the right direction. She’s still half awake and she sighs as I pull the covers up.
“Do you hate me?” she asks.
I pause, still leaning over her, my hand on her comforter. “No, I don’t hate you.”
She slow blinks, but when her eyes open, they focus on me. Before I can move out of the way, she reaches up and touches my face.
“Do you like me?”
I take a breath. “Yeah, Kendra, I like you. I like you a lot.”
Her hand slides down my neck and she grasps my shirt. “Come here.” She tugs, trying to pull me closer.
Oh god. I would love to kiss her. Get my mouth all over her. She’s naked, biting her lip, making my cock ache.
But she’s also sloppy drunk, and that is not how this is going to go down.
I resist, leaning away and unlatching her hand from my shirt. “Not tonight.”
“But tonight I’m your girl.” Her eyes drift closed.
“Yeah, baby, you are,” I say, backing up toward the door. “But you won’t be tomorrow.”
15
Kendra
My pounding head wakes me up. At first I can’t remember what’s real and what was a dream. Was someone really knocking on my forehead with a tiny hammer? No, that’s just the headache. And my stomach feels like it’s been ripped to shreds. I cover my eyes with my hand and groan.
God, what did I do to myself last night? I was totally fine at dinner. I had a couple of drinks, so I felt a little buzz—just enough to make me smiley. But at Monkey Club, my friend Lori started buying shots. After that, everything gets pretty blurry.
I roll over onto my side and squeeze my eyes shut. I don’t even want to know what time it is. But something feels weird. I crack an eye open and lift the sheets.
I’m naked.
Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no. Why am I naked? I can’t remember. I freeze, my back muscles clenching. Is there someone in bed with me? I didn’t have sex last night, did I? Please let me be alone. Please let me be alone.
I glance over my shoulder, but there’s no one there. The covers aren’t messed up like someone slept next to me. I breathe out a sigh of relief.
But why am I naked?
I search my memory, hating myself for getting so drunk. I remember the club. The music. Dancing. Some guy buying me a shot. More dancing with my friends. Mia trying to get us to leave. Me doing another shot at the bar. Lori buying our whole group a round. I have a feeling I drank twice as much as my friends. God, once you cross the line of no inhibitions, decision-making goes right out the window.
After that, everything is too booze soaked and hazy to make sense. Music and lights. My head swimming. How did I even get home?
I guess Mia must have made sure I got here, but I don’t remember her coming in with me. Which is weird, because if I was that smashed, it seems like she would have brought me in and made sure I got to bed. That’s something Mia would do.
But I only remember being in my room, trying to get my dress off.
Oh.
Oh, no.
Weston.
He was in my room. He took off my dress. And I was definitely not wearing a bra. Oh fuck me running, I got naked in front of him.
That’s just great. I stood in front of Seattle’s hottest boob job doctor, showing off my tiny ta-tas. He’ll probably ask me if I want him to give me an upgrade.
Fuck.
I’m so embarrassed. I cover my face with my hands and groan again. I’ll just stay here forever. I’ll never leave the room again. At least not until he moves out.
And I’m never, ever, ever drinking again. Ever.
When I uncover my face, I notice something on my nightstand. A glass of water and a bottle of aspirin.
Well, shit. That was a nice thing for him to do.
I sit up and take two aspirin, washing them down with the lukewarm water. My bladder isn’t going to cooperate with my plan to live in my bedroom for the next couple of months, so I get up and put on some clothes.
With a deep breath, I open my bedroom door.
The first thing I notice is my panties from last night on the floor in the middle of the hallway, and I want to die of humiliation all over again. The second thing I notice is the smell of bacon coming from the kitchen.
What the hell?
I make a quick stop to use the bathroom. Glancing in the mirror, I cringe. I look like a hungover panda after a one night stand. I wash my face—no makeup is much better than smudged going-out makeup—and grab a hair tie. While I walk down the hall, I put my hair up and listen to the sounds of crackling and popping. The smell of food beckons me on, calling to my raw stomach.
Is Weston cooking? He doesn’t cook. I’ve never seen him do anything in that kitchen except pour a glass of bourbon.
I come in and he’s standing at the stove with a spatula, dressed in just a t-shirt and boxer briefs. He doesn’t seem to notice me, so I sit down at the little kitchen table.
There is something about a man cooking in his underwear. Even when it’s Weston Reid.
Especially when it’s Weston Reid.
He glances over his shoulder, but keeps doing what he’s doing. I give up trying to be even a tiny bit dignified and lay my head down on the table. I feel like I got run over.
A few minutes later, and without saying a word, he sets a plate in front of me. I sit up and my mouth hangs open. It’s a breakfast sandwich with an egg, cheese, and bacon, all on a toasted English muffin. He puts a cup of coffee next to the plate.
“Might wanna close your mouth,” he says, pushing the plate closer. “I’m not going to feed it to you.”
“What is this?”
He looks at me like I’m an idiot. “What the fuck does it look like? It’s hangover food.”
“You cooked me breakfast?” I ask, staring at the sandwich.
He just shrugs and goes back to the stove.
I didn’t think I’d be able to eat, but this smells amazing. I take a bite and my eyes close. It’s salty and bacony and buttery and the cheese is all melty.
“This is delicious,” I say. “I didn’t think you knew how to cook.”
He puts his breakfast on the table—his is just some eggs and a couple of slices of bacon—and slides into the chair across from me. “Of course I can cook.”
“I don’t think you have since you’ve lived here.”
He shrugs again. “You always do. But if you want me to, I can.”
I stare at him for a second, but his brow furrows and he focuses on his meal.
After I eat about half of it, my stomach decides it’s done. I sip my coffee in silence while he finishes his breakfast. I’m not sure what to say. Do I mention that I remember he saw me naked last night? Do I pretend it didn’t happen? I guess he’s going to pretend it didn’t happen. If he wa
s going to tease me about it, he probably would have done so already.
He’s so quiet. Even for him. He finishes eating and takes our plates to the sink, still without saying a word. I’m getting a weird vibe from him. Did I do something to make him angry? I doubt he’d cook me breakfast if he was mad at me. Did I do something horribly embarrassing—other than taking my clothes off? That’s likely. He seems so tense, standing at the sink, rinsing off the dishes.
“I’m sorry about last night,” I say. “I’m sure I was acting really stupid.”
He doesn’t turn around. “Don’t worry about it.”
“Well, I am worried about it,” I say. “I was so drunk, I probably did a hundred embarrassing things. I’m just glad I got home okay.”
He glances over his shoulder. “Do you remember coming home?”
“Not really,” I say. “I remember being at the club. And I remember being home later. In between is pretty hazy. I, um…” My cheeks heat up. “I guess you got me into bed?”
“Yeah.”
“Thanks,” I say. “And for the water. And the aspirin.”
“Sure.”
I take a deep breath and lean back in my chair, holding my coffee. The food is helping and the aspirin is taking the edge off my headache. “Did Mia bring me home? It’s weird that she didn’t come in, although maybe I just don’t remember.”
He doesn’t answer.
My head clears a little and more of the night comes back to me. Someone’s hands on me, holding me too tight. His voice in my ear. I wince. I think I was dancing with some guy. But then he tried to get me to leave with him. Something about going out to his car. I remember him dragging me off the dance floor.
Holy shit. Weston.
I gasp and look up. “You were there last night.”
“What?”
“You were there, at the club.” It all floods back to me in a rush. “That guy was trying to make me leave with him and all of a sudden, you were standing there. You stared him down until he backed off and then you took me home.”
Weston grunts and starts down the hallway.
“Wait a second, don’t leave.” I stand up and follow. “Why were you there?”
Cocky Roommate Page 10
