"No clue. But if she shows up to an interview wearing the outfit I saw her in, she's a shoo-in."
Heat rushes through my body. There's no denying it. Drew is flirting with me. It's normal. Friends flirt with friends. It's not as if it means he likes me.
I shift out of my seat and study a bookshelf like my life depends on it. There is absolutely no reason why I'd buy this ugly bookshelf. Most of my novels and half of my textbooks are digital.
Drew moves on to a different part of the store. All casual like he wasn't flirting with me.
He runs his fingers over a wood table. This one is huge, big enough to sit eight people.
Drew turns to me and motions come here. I do.
I stare at the table the way he's staring at it. It's a pleasant cherry brown. It's thick. There is something awfully inviting about it. The perfect place to sit with a textbook and a cup of tea.
His fingertips slide over the curve of my hip. "Will you do me a favor?" He turns his head to the right then to the left, like he's checking to make sure no one is watching.
"What is it?"
"Agree first."
There's a mischievous look in his eyes. Okay, fine, I'll bite.
"Sure," I say.
His grip tightens around my hip. He grabs me and lifts me onto the table. I land hard on my ass. My legs part in a desperate attempt to maintain balance. Not enough. I lean back and plant my hands behind me.
Drew keeps one hand on my hip. The other slides down my leg, under my knee. He slings my legs around him. The same position we'd be in if we were fucking on this table.
My heart goes into freight train mode. I've got no clue what he's doing, but part of me doesn't care. He's so close. His crotch is pressed up against mine. If we weren't wearing all these clothes, we'd be steps away from something so perfect.
I take a deep breath. My body needs to calm the fuck down. "What are you doing?"
He grabs me by the knees and pulls me closer. "That's fairly obvious."
I lean all the way back, so I'm flat on the table. For some crazy reason, I want to go along with this. "Should I even ask why?"
"I'm not about to get a table that's too tall or too short."
"Is this a regular problem?" I close my eyes so I won't look into his. That will send me straight into a frenzy.
He lowers my legs so they're hanging off the table. "It has been a problem before."
I push myself up and off the table. He keeps me pressed against it for a moment. His hands are at his sides. He's not even touching me and I'm ready to explode.
I shift to the side, so I'm not wedged between him and the hard edge of the table. It gives me no relief. Instead, I feel cold and empty.
I try to shake it off. I try to keep my voice even, like this whole flirting thing isn't getting to me. "And?"
"Perfect."
My eyes move to the floor again. Same hardwood. It's still beat up and waxed as hell. "You're not having sex on our dining room table."
"I'll clean up after."
"Still." I meet his gaze. "Are you even having sex?"
"Those are fighting words, Kendrick." He takes a step toward me. "Are you even having sex?"
"That's classified."
"That's a no."
"And how long has it been for you, Denton?"
The joy drops off his face. His expression steels. His gaze drifts to the window. He's somewhere else, somewhere far, far away.
I want him back. I have to say something to drag him back here. "That long?" I make it as playful as I can.
He snaps back. No joy yet, but he's not all serious. "I'll tell if you do."
"Only if you go first."
He shakes his head. "We do it on three. As many fingers as—"
"Years—"
He ignores me. "Months it's been."
I nod. I can do that. Only I don't have enough fingers. I've only been with two guys, two ex-boyfriends. And my last relationship ended a year ago.
Tension builds between my shoulder blades. He's going to get the wrong idea. To think I'm a prude or a loser.
"It's been a while," I say.
"Six months."
"More."
"A year?"
I shake my head. "Not since Jake."
"That asshole was the last person you fucked?"
I clear my throat. "And who was the last person you fucked?"
"A girl at a show."
I raise my eyebrow. "A groupie?"
"Not exactly."
"I thought you didn't sleep around on tour."
"I don't." He runs his hand through his hair. "It was a rough week. I needed something to take the edge off."
Something inside me flares. I snap without meaning to. "And so you fucked someone? Isn't that why man invented alcohol?"
"That would be much healthier."
"But..."
"We were keeping a dry tour. Because of Miles."
"No, I just mean..." I play with my hands. "That's not very fair to her."
His lips turn down. "We both got what we wanted out of it."
"So you were just staring out into space willing this poor girl's body to act as a distraction."
Drew raises his voice. "No. I was there. In that moment. Making sure she came."
That's so much worse. I can't chase away the image of Drew grabbing some other girl, throwing her on the table, and fucking her until she screamed the way Meg was screaming with Miles.
"Are you okay?" His voice is still serious.
"Just hungry." I look away so he won't see the expression forming on my face. Drew is my friend. I shouldn't care when he last had sex. It shouldn't hurt picturing him making sure some girl came.
He lifts my chin so we're eye to eye. He stares at me, through me, like he's absolutely not buying my story. "Was your ex-asshole at least a good lay?"
"Not exactly."
He stares at me like he's demanding an answer. "That why you ended things?"
"No, he broke up with me." I pull my purse into my chest. "We've talked about this before." Not in detail. We're never going to discuss it in detail.
"Did he at least try?" Drew asks.
"Why do you care if my ex-boyfriend was a good fuck?"
"'Cause I want the best for my best friend." He looks me in the eyes. "Was he at least good with his hands?"
"No," I say. "I don't know. I don't... do we have to talk about this?"
Drew is all steel and fire. He's dead set on hearing all the details so he can pick apart my intentions. God forbid I did something that wasn't in my best interests.
"Yes, we do." He grabs my hands. His voice gets warmer. "How do you not know if your ex-asshole was good with his hands?"
This time, I stare at the ceiling. It's a very plain beige color. "Because he didn't use them."
"He didn't get you off manually?"
"Oh my God. I'm so not discussing this." I reach for my phone but there's no one to call. Meg is at work. And even if she wasn't, she doesn't have a car. She can't pick me up and drive me far away and I don't trust anyone else enough to discuss this.
"Okay, fine. Just answer yes or no," he says.
"Do I have to?"
"Yes," he says. "See. It's easy."
Drew drags his fingertip under my chin and tilts me so we're eye to eye. I try not to meet his gaze, but I can't help it. He has such piercing eyes. They make me melt.
"Did your ex-boyfriend use his hands—"
"No."
"His mouth?"
"No."
"And you allowed this because?"
"That's not a yes or no question." I take a step back.
"Why did you put up with that?"
"We both preferred it that way."
He stops dead in his tracks. "You don't... you're going to have to explain this to me."
"No, I'm not. It's none of your business, actually."
He stares at me with that same penetrating gaze. "If you don't explain it, I'm going to have to spend the entire night wondering."
"So spend the entire night wondering."
I turn and make for the exit. The mall is open for another half hour or so. I can disappear somewhere there, away from these questions that are so not Drew's business.
He catches up to me quickly. He grabs my wrist and pulls me back toward him. "Can I at least ask why?"
"No."
"Okay." He pulls me back into the store. He turns around so we're face to face. He stares at me like I'm a crazy person. "Have you ever?"
I bring my gaze to the floor in the hopes it will erase the feeling of being picked apart, but it doesn't work. I can still feel his gaze penetrating me. I can still feel the wheels in his head turning. He might as well just call me a freak and get it over with.
I pull my hands back to my sides. "It's complicated."
"It's not complicated. The guys you fuck don't finger you or eat you out."
Oh God... I take a deep breath. "Yes, and that is how I want it."
"How the hell could you possibly want that?"
"None of your business."
"How the hell do you talk someone out of that?" He takes another step toward me. So he's close enough to whisper.
"I move things along."
"And if he asks?"
"Do I need to reiterate how this is so not your business?"
"I'm just curious." He grabs my wrist. "Because I don't fuck a girl unless I get to feel her come on my face first."
A salesperson stares at us like he's watching a soap opera. He's within earshot and we're practically screaming.
We're screaming about oral sex in a furniture store. Who wouldn't stare?
I motion toward the sales guy. Drew shrugs like he doesn't care if the other guy can hear. He leans closer.
He brings his mouth to my ear. "You have no idea how much I want to throw you on that table and show you what you've been missing."
Heat rushes through my body. I swallow hard. Drew wants to show me what I've been missing. He must mean that figuratively. It's not like he actually wants me to come on his face.
I grab onto the table next to me. Wow. The room is spinning. Funny, the room wasn't spinning a minute ago and now it's going as fast as a damn Tilt-A-Whirl.
"Kara."
"I should get home."
He lowers his voice. "I'll drop it."
I keep my back to him. "No. You'll ask about it until I tell you. So get it over with now."
"Anyone ever try?" he asks.
"Yes. My ex... he used his hands once. It's not that I don't like it. It's..." I press my palms flat against the table. It's impossible to breathe.
A sob wells up in my throat. No, not here. I'm not crying over this. Not over how that asshole Jake treated my scars. They're mine and no one is ever going to see them again.
Ever.
Drew presses his chest against my back. He runs his fingertips over my arms, all the way to my hands.
"I have a good reason. I swear." I pull away. I try to wipe the distraught look off my face. I try to shake off the memories that threaten to surface.
It's not working. I close my eyes but the only thing I can feel is the disgust on Jake's face. The way he looked at me like I was damaged. No longer worth his time or attention. No longer worth his desire.
My hand is shaking. I shove it into my jeans pocket but it's still shaking. Drew is here with me now. Would he still be here if he knew about the scars?
Would he still like me?
I step back. I can't let him see how this hurts. I can't let him know how deep it goes.
But, dammit, the smile isn't coming to my face. It's taking all of my energy to keep up a neutral expression.
Drew squeezes my hand. His voice is soft and even. "I'll take you home."
I nod and I follow him to the car.
***
Every minute stretches to forever. I check the clock on the dash. Four minutes. I've been in the passenger seat, carefully avoiding making a noise of any kind, for four minutes.
A yellow light turns red. Drew slams on the brake and the car jerks to a stop. If the guy can afford the rent of that obscenely large house, he can afford a car with some actual handling.
Traffic is totally clear. The only things open nearby are the movie theater and the bar across the street from it, but somehow every street parking space is taken. Meters are off after six. People are cheap enough to hike half a mile if it means they'll save the five dollar valet charge.
Drew is looking at me. My gaze is fixed on the empty road, but I can feel it. I can feel the concern. I've done such a good job not meriting concern the last few years. I can't go back to being the girl everyone worries about.
The light is still red.
Five minutes. I have been sitting in this car for five minutes. I'm pretty sure Drew has spent every one of those three hundred seconds staring at me with concern. It's not safe, really. He should have his eyes on the road.
I turn on the radio and flip through the presets. A Motown song fills the car. It's cheerful. Peppy. I try to grab onto the sensation and manufacture some kind of smile, but it doesn't work.
Drew is looking at me. The weight of his concern is so damn heavy.
Green. Thank God. Drew's attention turns to the road. I lean back in the passenger seat, slide my watch up my forearm, and trace the tiny scars on the inside of my left wrist. They're so faded, they're almost impossible to see. Nothing like the scars on my thighs. Those are deep, and red, and jagged.
The next three lights are green. Drew reaches for the radio and turns it off. The silence fills the car again. He's trying to wait me out. He's trying to make me break.
He's trying to win. As always.
We turn onto my street. The car slows to a stop a dozen or so feet from my apartment. I undo my seatbelt and reach for the door, but he stops me.
"Kara."
His fingertips graze my wrist. I pull my hand into my lap so there's no chance he'll feel the scars.
I make eye contact. Oh, those eyes. Those piercing eyes. "I really need to finish my essay."
"You know you can talk to me about anything."
"And in public, no less." I reach for the door again. "I'm really glad all the salespeople at Urban Home know my feelings about oral sex."
"I'm glad I know."
I try to shake off my mood. I try to remember the upbeat Motown song. "Yes, well you're deranged."
He studies my expression with doubt. He doesn't buy the cheer, but he doesn't push it. "Thank you."
I pull the door handle. He's still staring at me, but I'm not about to fall back into that awful role. "It's a twelve-page essay."
"One question first."
"What?"
His mood lightens. "Do you masturbate?"
I step out of the car. "Goodnight, Drew."
"Yes or no?"
I turn and walk up the steps. In my pocket, my phone buzzes. There's no way he... I pull it out. Yep, it's Drew.
Drew: Yes or no?
I turn back to him and wave goodbye.
"You didn't close the car door," he says.
"Sue me."
He smiles, reaches for the door, and slams it shut. I make my way into my apartment like I don't know he's watching.
Inside, I press my back against the wall so I can hear the car pull away. But it doesn't.
My phone buzzes again.
Drew: It's only two letters. Or three. Let's be real. It's three.
Kara: Fuck you.
Drew: Not with your silly rules about how I can't rub you until you scream.
Kara: GOOD NIGHT, DREW.
Drew: One word. That's all I ask.
Nadeen is sitting on the couch with a textbook, staring at me like I'm a freak. Good thing I don't care what she thinks.
I slide my phone into my pocket and ignore its buzzing until I'm safely in my room. Alone.
Drew: One word, Kendrick.
Fine. If he wants to know this badly, I'll tell him.
Kara: Yes.
/>
Drew: ...
Drew: Are those all the details I get?
Kara: Yes.
Drew: Trying to play me at my own game, huh?
Kara: Sure, why not? Do you masturbate?
Drew: Of course.
Kara: So why don't you go fuck yourself?
Drew: Maybe I will ;)
Kara: Enjoy it.
Drew: I always do.
I throw my phone on my bed and boot up my computer. It's just after nine. The essay is due at the start of class tomorrow. If I skip my finance lecture and pull an all-nighter, I have a solid fourteen hours. Way more than I need.
My phone buzzes against the bed.
Drew: So by "write an essay," you really mean...
Kara: GOOD NIGHT!
Drew: Feel free to picture my ass if it helps.
CHAPTER SIX
I wake up to a picture message. It's the album cover of Born in the USA. Bruce Springsteen's jean-clad ass over red and white stripes.
It's from Drew, of course.
Drew: If The Boss doesn't get you there, no one will.
***
Friday morning, I wake up early and focus all of my energy on packing. I have about six hours and there's a ton to do. I get lost in the tasks, emptying my closet and bookshelf. Everything fits into two suitcases and four cardboard boxes.
My existence in this apartment fits into the trunk of my car.
I'm so focused, I don't stop until my stomach is growling. It's well into the afternoon and I haven't eaten all day. I finish off a box of Froot Loops and toss them in the recycling bin.
One last look around my room. Nothing under the bed. Nothing in the closet. Nothing left of mine.
I grab the handle of one of the suitcases—it's a huge pink thing, perfect for moving large amounts of shit—and drag it to the door. Getting it through the door is trickier than I'd like, but I manage okay. The stairs are going to be a bit more difficult.
I roll my shoulders back. The only way out is through. I grab the handle and lift it. Shit. It's heavy.
"You need some help with that?"
It's Drew. What the hell? We're supposed to meet at the new place in an hour, and he's standing at the bottom of my staircase.
"I've got it." I drag the suitcase down the first step and set it down with a thud.
"You're going to hurt yourself."
"Good."
He runs up the stairs and grabs the suitcase right out of my hands. Then he lifts it like it's nothing and descends.
Strum Your Heart Out (Sinful Serenade #2) Page 4
