He stops outside his bedroom door, his back still to me.
“I’m just… well… thank you for that,” I say, my tongue tripping over the words. I’m so confused. “But I don’t get what you were doing there. Did you follow me?”
He puts his hand on the door frame, like he needs to brace himself. “Yeah, I did.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know,” he snaps. He turns around. “But it’s a fucking good thing I did. You were so drunk you almost let some jackass take you outside.”
“Yeah, I know, that was bad,” I say. “I’m sure my friends weren’t going to let that go down, though.”
“Your friends weren’t doing jack shit,” he says. “Just letting him fucking manhandle you.”
“Well, I’m glad you—”
“Don’t,” he says. “I shouldn’t have even been there. You want to be some asshole’s quick fuck next to a dumpster? Knock yourself out next time. I don’t give a shit.”
He walks into his room and shuts the door behind him.
I stand in the hallway, blinking at his door. What the hell? Asshole Weston rears his head again. Fabulous. I was just trying to figure out what happened.
“Asshole.”
I go back to my room and step over my dress, then crawl under the covers. Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath. Why is he so hot and cold? He takes such good care of me, but then he’s angry about it? What did I do? I wish last night wasn’t so fuzzy.
I think back, trying to remember more details. I was in bed, Weston tucking me in. What did I say to him? Tonight I’m your girl? Why would I say that? I think I tried to kiss him and he had to push me away. That brings a renewed flood of embarrassment. Maybe that’s why he’s mad.
And there’s something else. How did he answer? Yeah, baby, you are. He was calling me baby. He said it at the club. And again when he was getting me to bed. Why was he calling me that? It’s kind of sweet, but Weston isn’t a nickname guy. I’m not his baby, or his girl. But I remember him saying both.
I don’t think I’ve ever met a more confusing, infuriating, aggravating… yet intriguing and captivating man. Just when I think I have him figured out, he cooks me breakfast. And then stomps away, angry for reasons I don’t understand.
With another deep breath, I roll over. He can be a dick all he wants. I’m taking a nap.
16
Weston
The club thing seems to blow over. Kendra doesn’t ask about it again, which is good, because I don’t fucking want to talk about it. I don’t want to explain to her why I went down there. What it did to me when I saw some guy with his hands on her.
All these goddamn feelings are screwing with my head.
Monday at work I get a call from my contractor, updating me on the progress on my house. It’s like I’d forgotten I even have a home—that I really live somewhere else. Things are finally moving forward and he gives me a projected finish date. I thank him and put it on my calendar. I’ll have to arrange to have everything brought out of storage, and move what I have at Kendra’s.
It’s good that I’ll move out soon. Maybe when we’re not living under the same roof, I’ll be able to get over whatever it is that’s messing me up lately.
Kendra’s distant all week. Doesn’t talk to me much when I’m home. Probably because I snapped at her on Sunday. I shouldn’t have been such a dick to her. She didn’t do anything wrong. She got drunk. So what? And what did I expect her to do when she figured out I followed her? Not ask me about it? I should have just said I was worried about her and left it at that. Accepted her thank-you like a decent person, instead of throwing a tantrum like a fucking two-year-old.
Friday I don’t have any patients after noon, so I head home early. I keep flexing my right arm, trying to keep it from getting stiff again. I’ve had my cast off for a few days, which is such a relief. But the time it was immobilized took its toll. It feels weak.
Kendra isn’t home when I get there, but she gets back about ten minutes later while I’m staring into the fridge, trying to decide what to eat.
She has a big garment bag slung over her shoulder. She gives me a weak smile and shuffles to her room without saying anything.
“Hey,” I say, following her out of the kitchen. She’s been quiet lately, but this is different. Something is off; she looks upset. “You okay?”
“Eh,” she says and goes into her room.
I stop in her doorway while she hangs the bag over her closet door. “What’s going on?”
“Oh, nothing. Just picked up my bridesmaid dress for Alex and Mia’s wedding.” She sighs. “It’s… no, it’s nice. It’s fine.”
“Fine?” I arch an eyebrow at her. “What’s wrong with it?”
She laughs. “There’s nothing wrong with it.” She unzips the bag, revealing pale lavender fabric. “I think Mia’s sister probably picked them, but they’re pretty. I’m just kind of over bridesmaid dresses in general.”
“Why?”
She opens her closet and points to a line of garment bags shoved to one side. “This lavender thing makes nine. One more bridesmaid gig and I’ll be in the double digits.”
Holy shit. Nine weddings? I don’t think I have nine numbers in my contacts; at least not nine numbers I recognize.
“God, number ten will probably be Caleb again,” she continues. “He’ll get remarried before I ever—” She stops, pressing her lips together. “Never mind. I sound like I’m whining. I’m really excited for Alex and Mia. They’re amazing together. I’ve never seen my brother so happy.”
“Alex is a good guy.”
“Yeah, he is.”
She closes the closet door with a sigh.
“You sure you’re okay?” I ask.
She sinks onto the edge of her bed. “I had lunch with my mother. She’s… I don’t know.”
That’s strange. I always thought the Lawsons had a nice little white-picket-fence thing going on. “You don’t get along or something?”
She shrugs. “I don’t see her very often.”
I lean against her doorframe. “Why not?”
“She walked out on us when we were kids.”
I pause for a second, not sure what to say. I’m not usually the guy people confide in. “Really?”
“Yeah,” she says. “She left and we didn’t see her for months. Then she and my dad came to some sort of arrangement, but we still didn’t spend a lot of time with her. I don’t think she wanted a family.”
“That must have been hard.”
She nods. “Now I see her a few times a year. She took me to lunch for my birthday, but mostly she just criticized my life choices. Sometimes I wonder why she bothers with us at all. I guess she’s not as hard on my brothers, but still. If she didn’t want us, it would have been better if she’d just stayed away. Her half-hearted attempts at being a mother make her abandonment sting all over again.”
It’s weird how much I want to hug Kendra right now, but I stay where I am. “Shit, that’s brutal. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” she says. “It doesn’t usually bother me that much. But there have been times I could have used a mother, you know?”
“Yeah, I do know. My mom died when I was eleven.” Oh my god, why did I just say that?
“Oh… Weston, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
I look away. I never talk about my mother. Why am I doing it now? But I find myself continuing. “She had breast cancer. No one even told me she was sick until it was really bad.”
“That must have been awful,” she says. “I guess I should be grateful my mom is alive, at least.”
“No, that’s not why…” Fuck, I’m terrible at this. “I don’t mean I had it worse than you. I just mean, I get it. I understand what it’s like to not have a mother. At least mine isn’t just too shitty to be there for me. It’s not her fault she’s gone.”
“Still sucks, though.”
“Yeah. It does. You know, I always figured you guys had a perfect family.”<
br />
“No, not really,” she says. “My dad’s a good guy, though. He did his best.”
“You have me beat there,” I say, my tone wry. “My father’s a prick.”
“Is he?”
I nod. “Always was. He was cheating on my mom, even when she got sick. He never treated her very well, but once she got cancer, she pretty much stopped existing. He hired nurses to take care of her, but he was never around. He ignored me until I got to high school. And then he just wanted to make sure I kept my shit together so I could go to med school.”
“Oh my god,” she says. “I guess now I know why you never talk about your family.”
“Yeah.”
She’s quiet for a minute, then meets my eyes. “Thanks.”
“For what?”
She just smiles and gets up, squeezing my arm as she walks by. “I need to go to the store. Wanna come?”
“Sure.”
I walk beside Kendra down the aisle of a grocery store while she pushes a cart. We don’t talk much. I love that about her. She likes to talk sometimes, but she doesn’t have to fill every silence with a bunch of inane bullshit. We both grab things off the shelves, placing them in the cart, moving slowly through the store.
She glances at me and smiles. It’s nice feeling like we’re back to normal. Things were so strained between us all week. I don’t want to admit how much that bothered me.
Maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing to bring up my mother when she was talking about hers. I can’t remember the last time I told anyone about her. Usually I avoid the subject; I don’t want people’s pity. But Kendra didn’t react with pity; she simply understood. Sometimes life deals you a shitty hand, and we’ve both been there.
It felt like we connected. Is that what it’s like to bond with another person?
I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with Kendra’s mother, though. Kendra is… well, she’s kind of amazing. It pisses me off that her mom blows her off like that. And she criticizes her? Sounds like my father. What could she have to criticize? Kendra’s independent and smart. She’s one of the most selfless people I’ve ever met. She drops everything to help Caleb with his daughter. She took care of me for weeks when I certainly hadn’t done anything to deserve it. It’s her mom’s loss. But the fact that it hurts Kendra bothers me.
“Oh, coffee,” she says. “Don’t let me forget.”
“That would be an emergency situation for you,” I say, nudging her with my elbow.
“It would,” she says. “Do you need anything else?”
“I don’t think so.”
“How’s your arm doing?” she asks.
I extend it and twist my wrist around. “Not bad. Stiff, but it’s great to be out of that cast.”
She reaches over and squeezes my left bicep. “Are your arms lopsided now?”
I glare at her. “Fuck off.”
She laughs and pauses in front of the pasta sauce before choosing a jar. “You like this one, right?”
“I have no idea.”
“Yeah, it’s this kind.” She puts it in the cart.
How does she even know that?
We double back to the coffee aisle and she grabs what she needs.
“Oh, you know what? I should get the ingredients to make lasagna again. You loved it last time.”
She starts down the aisle, but I stop and stare at her. I did love her lasagna.
She remembers.
But that’s the thing, she remembers everything about me. A hundred details that most people wouldn’t think are important. How I take my coffee. Foods I like. Movies I’ve never seen that she wants to watch together. The last book I read and whether or not there’s a sequel.
No one has ever given a shit about me the way she does. Maybe my mom did before she got sick, but no one since then. Certainly not my father. I don’t have any other close family. I’ve never had a lot of friends. I’m too much of a dick to people. They don’t stick around. The women I’m with are always temporary. The ones I’ve seen more than once are only interested because I’m good-looking and have money. They don’t care about me beyond what I can do for them.
Kendra does. She cares.
My chest squeezes and it has nothing to do with my ribs. Lasagna? Fucking lasagna is what breaks me?
She stops and turns around, her eyebrows lifted. “You okay?”
I cross the distance to her and slide my hand to the back of her neck. Her eyes widen as I lean in close, but she doesn’t pull away.
My lips press against hers. At first it’s me kissing her, but then her mouth softens, her face tilts. She melts into my kiss, wrapping her arms around my waist.
Nothing could have prepared me for what it would feel like to kiss her; she’s overwhelming. I’m immersed in her—in her taste, her scent. In the way her soft lips feel silky against mine. My mouth moves against hers, slow and tender. I get a taste of her tongue and take the kiss deeper. Wind my fingers through her hair.
Our tongues dance in a slow caress. I can’t get enough. She feels so good and I don’t give a fuck that we’re standing in the aisle at a grocery store. I could kiss her forever.
Eventually, I have to stop. I slowly pull back. Our lips part, and my eyes open.
Her arms drop, and she gasps. “Oh.”
17
Kendra
Dazed, I step back, staring at Weston. He just kissed me. Right here, in the grocery store. And it wasn’t a little kiss. Not a hello kiss, or a thank-you kiss, or a silly little we’re-just-roommates-and-I’m-messing-around kiss.
That was a real kiss. And oh my god, it was good.
His eyes are glued to mine and there’s something in his expression I’ve never seen before. He’s vulnerable.
I should say something else, but my mind is blank. All that’s there is the feel of his mouth on mine, my lips still tingling, my heart racing.
“Wow.” It comes out breathy, barely a word at all.
His mouth moves in the hint of a smile and his piercing gray eyes sparkle. “We should probably go.”
I nod and he takes the cart, pushing it toward the front of the store. We stand in line and I’m like a zombie, staring at nothing. It’s good one of us is still functional, but it certainly isn’t me. He unloads the cart, nods to the cashier, pulls out his wallet.
What just happened? Why did he do that? I was talking about what, lasagna? I didn’t think Italian food would get a guy hot for me, though they do say the way to a guy’s heart is through his stomach. But this isn’t just a guy. This is Weston. Angry, cocky, asshole Weston. Fun, sexy, captivating Weston.
He just kissed me. And I kissed him back. Holy shit, did I ever kiss him back.
We load the groceries into his car and drive home in silence. I’m buzzing with anticipation, wondering what happens now. Is he going to say anything? Explain himself? Are we going to move on and pretend it didn’t happen? There’s no way that’s going to work. Whatever that was, it broke something open between us and there’s no going back now.
Is he going to do it again?
We get home and bring the bags inside. I set mine on the counter and feel Weston come up behind me. I freeze. He’s so close—almost touching. His hand brushes down my arm, sending sparks dancing across my skin. I look over my shoulder and he touches my chin, the slight pressure of his fingers enough to turn me around. He watches me while my heart beats the seconds, his eyes intense.
Without a word, he leans down and takes my mouth in a hard kiss. Hauls me close, pressing me against him. He sucks on my lower lip, sliding his tongue across it, and my body comes alive. Desire surges through me, hot and so tempting.
His hand moves up my back and he fists it through my hair. I wrap my arms around his waist, my palms splaying across his back. His mouth demands more and I give it to him—let him in as deep as he wants to go. He answers with a low growl in the back of his throat, his hand tightening in my hair.
He is kissing the fuck out of me and I’m powerless to stop him.
The urgency between us heightens, like a rope being pulled tight. His hand cups my cheek and he alternates between deep and shallow. Kissing my lips, his so warm and soft and delicious. Then delving in with his tongue, throwing me off balance, kissing away my breath.
His hands slide down to my jeans and he fumbles with the button. Reality comes crashing back and I pull away, breaking the kiss. I let go of him and try to move back, but I’m pressed up against the counter.
The shock of separating seems to leave us both reeling. We’re breathing hard, still standing so close we’re touching. Weston’s jaw brushes against my temple, his chest rising and falling against me. After a long moment, he steps back.
This is insane. What are we doing? What am I doing? I can’t let this happen.
“I’m sorry,” I breathe.
He doesn’t answer, just stares at me, his brow furrowed, his gray eyes like a storm cloud.
“I just…” I falter, trying to say something. Trying to keep this from going nuclear right here in my kitchen. “I don’t think we should… This is… God, Weston, I don’t know what to say.”
“You don’t want me to kiss you,” he says, his voice strangely quiet.
“No, I…” I close my eyes for a second. Why is this so hard? This is a bad idea. Weston is a bad idea. I know this.
Then why do I have to fight to hold myself back from him?
“We’re good, Weston,” I say. “We’re good the way we are. This would mess everything up.”
“Looks like I already did that,” he says.
“No, you didn’t. I just… I didn’t expect this,” I say. “I don’t really know how to feel about it.”
“Because you don’t know how you feel about me.”
“No, because I don’t know how you feel about me,” I say. “You’re not exactly good at communicating your feelings.”
He looks away.
“Weston, I don’t know what you want from me,” I say. “I don’t think you know what you want from me.”
Cocky Roommate Page 11
