There it is, in between her selfish hands—my letter. It's a thick manila envelope with a fancy stamped return address. Something that size has to be good news.
I snatch it from her hands. "Nice to see you again." I turn and march down the stairs without waiting for a response. No way I'm letting these two assholes share in my moment.
My car is parked down the street. I hug the letter to my chest. No one else is getting at this. It's mine.
Drew is leaning against my car with a wide-eyed expression. He raises a brow. "And what is that?"
"It's nothing."
"You raced over here to get nothing?" He shakes his head. "You're such a bad liar."
I run my fingertips over the edges of the envelope. A breath escapes my lungs. "You'll see in a minute."
I find the edge of the letter. Okay, here goes nothing. I tear it open at the top. There's a thick stack of papers. Some kind of pamphlet. That must be a good sign.
I let the manila envelope slide to the ground. Drew stoops to pick it up. He stares at the return address for a minute then his eyes dart back to me.
Dear Ms. Kendrick,
We are pleased to offer you a spot in the UCLA Master of Education Program. Please find registration information and deadlines enclosed.
My jaw drops. Drops. I got in.
The ground is spinning. I reach for something to steady myself. Drew. My arm falls on his shoulders. I ignore my balance and squeeze him. He brings his hand to my lower back and holds me against him.
Only to keep me upright.
That's all it means.
I read the letter again.
Dear Ms. Kendrick,
We are pleased to offer you a spot in the UCLA Master of Education Program.
An easiness spreads through my body. My chest and throat and stomach are light and free and airy.
Drew's fingertips dig into my shirt. It pulls back my attention. I take a calm breath but everything is spinning.
He turns my wrist, the right, so he can read the letter. His face lights up with excitement.
"You're going to school for a teaching credential?" he asks.
My lips refuse to open. My mouth is sticky. I pull myself upright. It helps a little.
I shake my head. "Not necessarily."
"When did you apply for this?"
"October."
"You never told me."
"It was a lark." I shrug like it slipped my mind. That's not even close to the truth. I made sure no one knew about this. Not Meg. Not Drew. Certainly not my mother.
Drew shakes his head. "Bullshit." He drags his hand up my back and rests it between my shoulder blades.
I clear my throat. "It's not a big deal."
"You're holding on to me like you're about to jump off a cliff." He pulls my hand off his shoulder and squeezes it. "You're beaming."
"I am not."
"Yeah-huh."
I meet his gaze. "What kind of argument is that?"
"I don't need to argue something this obvious." He brushes a stray hair behind my ear. His eyes bore into mine. "Honestly, Kara. I haven't seen you this happy since... since ever."
I shake my head. "It's really not a big deal. It was a lark. There's no way I can actually become a teacher. My mom has a job lined up for me at her company after I graduate."
"Is that what you want?"
"She's expecting me to take it."
Drew slides his hand to my hips. He stares at me with a penetrating gaze. "Fuck her."
"Drew!"
"Seriously. Unless you want to work at her company."
"I might. Once I get the hang of finance." My voice wavers. It's so soft I can barely hear it. There's no way Drew is buying this. I'm not even buying it. "It's possible."
His fingertips graze my chin. "Look me in the eyes."
I do.
"No bullshit." He holds my gaze. "Do you want to work in finance or do you want to be a teacher?"
"I don't know."
"I said no bullshit. I'll have to punish you if you bullshit me again."
My mind flashes with a truly, truly beautiful image. Drew, naked, sinking his teeth into my neck until I beg for mercy.
I shake my head in an attempt to get my concentration back, but it's not working. Drew naked. Drew naked. Drew naked.
"Kendrick, get your mind out of the gutter and look at me."
My cheeks flush. "You started it."
He brings his hand to my chin and adjusts me so I'm staring into his eyes. "Truth or dare."
My nostrils flare. Fine. I'll entertain this. "Dare."
"I dare you to call your mom and tell her what she can do with her job."
I step back, breaking from his touch. His hands go back to his sides. Suddenly, I'm cold. It's seventy degrees and sunny and I'm cold.
"That's not the spirit of the game," I say.
Drew drops into his serious voice. "Do you want to move back to San Francisco to work at your mom's company?"
"It's a great opportunity."
"Yes or no."
"You can't say 'yes or no' in that voice, like that gives you some right to my feelings. I have to take that job. She needs me. She doesn't have anyone else and work is the only place she isn't miserable."
"So what?"
"She's my mom."
His voice is soft. "Kara."
"I know my name." I take another step back, my gaze on the sidewalk. There's a jagged crack going straight through the middle of it. "It will make her happy and I'll make twice as much money."
"Since when do you care about money?"
I shrug. "Everyone needs money."
Drew steps toward me. He brings his hand to my cheek with a delicate touch. "Will it make you happy?"
I look into his eyes for a second. It's too much. I have to look away.
"You applied to grad school for a reason," he says.
"It was no big deal."
"Bullshit." He drops his hand to his sides.
Everything is spinning again. It's so much harder to stay upright without him touching me. I lean against the car to keep my balance.
"You take any tests?" He asks.
"The CBEST is easy."
"You write an essay?"
"Three."
"Did you have an interview?"
"Yes."
"Did you volunteer at a school to get a feel for teaching?"
"That was for my tutoring job."
He grabs my forearm, his voice stern. "Look me in the eyes, Kara."
I do. His eyes are this gorgeous clear brown. Bright and dark all at once. This is my best friend. His gaze shouldn't feel so intense. It shouldn't feel like he's picking me apart. But it does.
"Truth or dare," he says.
"We were over this."
"And you bullshitted me." He leans closer. "I'm giving you another chance."
"Then give me a drink because I'm not answering."
He rubs my forearm with his thumb. "Do you want to work at your mom's company?"
That heaviness floods my body. It's all wrong. My shoulders tense. A crick develops in my neck.
"Do you want to work at her company?"
"No." I let out a deep exhale. "I don't."
And, suddenly, all that heaviness and tension is gone. I don't want to work with my mom. I don't want to do business. I've never admitted it before, not out loud, not even to myself.
I want to go to grad school.
I want to teach English.
My breath is steady. No tension in my chest. Nothing too heavy or too light. I'm okay. I admitted I don't want to work with my mom and it didn't destroy me.
I'm okay.
But that doesn't make it possible.
I bring my gaze back to Drew. His expression is softer. Sweet even. He plays with my ponytail.
"I'm proud of you." he says.
"I can't do this," I say. "She pays for my school. My rent. She puts money in my account every month. It's all contingent on me following her plan."
"You think that you know better than I do."
He shakes his head. "You deny yourself the things you want."
"When have I ever done that?"
He cocks a brow. It's like he's daring me to think about it. I'm not stupid. I see this is still about sex, but Drew doesn't have a clue what he's talking about.
That's not how it is.
"I did the same thing," he says. "Went to Stanford to please my parents, even though the only thing I ever wanted was my hands on a guitar. Didn't do any good. When I dropped out to focus on the band, they cut contact. My dad got over it eventually. Mom didn't."
"You want to talk about it?'
"No. Fuck them if they won't support what I want." He runs his fingertips along my neck. "Fuck anyone who denies you what you want."
I lean back against the car. My shirt must be filthy by now, but it doesn't concern me.
Drew's fingertips brush against my left wrist. Just above my silver watch. I pull my hand to my chest and hold it there. He looks at me funny, but he doesn't call me on it.
"This is an amazing accomplishment," he says. "Whatever you decide to do."
"Thank you."
"We're going to celebrate."
I turn to face him. "How?"
He smiles. "I'm making you dinner."
"You cook?"
He shakes his head, tsk tsk. "I'm an excellent cook."
"Right."
"You're going to eat those words, Kendrick." He slides his hand into the pocket of my denim skirt and pulls out my keys. "Of course you'll be so full from my delicious cooking that you'll have no room for the words."
I nod, uh-huh, but truth be told, I'm still stuck on the feeling of Drew's hand in my pocket.
CHAPTER TWELVE
We are in and out of the grocery store in a breeze. Drew knows exactly what he wants and exactly where to get it. When he tries to pay, I shove $40 in the pocket of his jeans. He doesn't object. Maybe he likes my hands in his pants.
A girl can dream.
At home, Drew chops and dices, lost in his cooking the same way he gets lost in the guitar.
I measure flour, sugar, and cocoa powder. A few minutes and this cake will be ready for the oven. "Could you set the preheat to three-fifty?"
He murmurs some kind of affirmative, but he doesn't turn toward me. I focus on stirring, my fingers wrapped around the wooden spoon. The batter is thick and rich and it smells like some wonderful mix of vanilla and chocolate. I dip a finger and bring a taste to my mouth.
"Mmmm." I groan much louder than I mean to.
Drew turns almost instantly. "Shit. I was worried Meg and Miles were hiding upstairs."
My cheeks flush. "Only me."
"That good?"
I offer him the spoon of batter. Instead of grabbing the spoon, he licks it.
His tongue slides over his lips. He grabs the spoon and licks it again.
"Hey!"
I try to grab it back, but he holds it over my head. Damn, Drew is so much taller than I am. There's no way I'll manage to grab it by jumping.
I push myself up, ass on the counter. I hold onto the cabinet to steady myself and slide to my knees. I reach for the spoon but Drew takes a step back. It's still out of reach. He smirks and shakes his head like he knows he's defeating me.
Oh, that's how he's going to play it? I slide off the counter and plant my feet on the ground. I scoop a glob and take two steps toward him.
I fling the batter on his nose.
His eyes close as he winces. "You're asking for it now." He charges, slides his hand in the batter, and flings it on my face.
Oh, fuck, that's cold and sticky all at once.
Drew looks at me as if to call a truce. But the words truce do not flow from his lips. Nice try.
I flick a scoop in his direction. He ducks but it lands on his neck and his otherwise perfectly clean white t-shirt.
He shakes his head. His eyes narrow. He reaches around me and dips his hand in the bowl.
He moves closer. Until his crotch is pressed against mine. He shifts, pinning me to the counter. My lungs empty. My interest in our food fight evaporates. He feels damn good against me.
Drew smiles as he hovers his batter-covered fingers over my nose. He draws a line down my face, chin, neck, chest. It stops at the neckline of my t-shirt.
That flutter builds between my legs. His fingers are inches from my breasts.
I take a deep breath, willing my body to calm down. It doesn't work.
"Truce," I offer.
He draws another line down my face. His lips curl into a smile. "Truce."
"Asshole."
He laughs. "Here." He wets a towel in the sink and tosses it to me.
I wipe my face, chest, and neck and toss the towel to Drew. He doesn't quite manage to get clean.
"Come here," I say.
He slides one hand around my hip and presses me into the counter.
Somehow, I stay focused on my task. I rub my thumb over his cheek to wipe off the batter.
His eyes find mine. They're not playful anymore. They're wide with desire.
He takes my wrist and brings my thumb to his mouth.
His tongue presses against the fleshy pad. It's strange how sensitive my skin is. How good his mouth feels.
Desire shoots through me, but I maintain a hint of sense. We're not in too deep. Not yet.
Drew releases me. I run my thumb over his lower lip. It's soft. Kissable.
His stare is intense. I pull my hand back to my side and stare back. We're about to cross some line that can't be uncrossed.
It's a terrible idea but I can't talk myself out of it.
Drew drags his fingertips across my chest. He picks up a smidge of batter and brings it to my mouth. I part my lips to make way for his finger. His skin is hard and calloused.
I take it deeper. Suck harder. My head fills with all sorts of ideas.
It's not enough. I need more. I need all of him.
He traces the outline of my lips and slides his hand into my hair. His eyelids flutter together as he brings his lips to mine.
Eyes closed, I lean into his kiss. It sends me straight into a frenzy. I have to grab onto his shoulders to stay upright.
Drew's lips are against mine. Drew is kissing me. It's not for show. It's not a dare. It's because he wants me.
He sucks on my lower lip. He digs his hands into my hair, holding my mouth against his. All I can do is react. Press my fingers into his skin. Part my lips to make way for his tongue. Shift my hips against his.
I don't breathe until he releases the kiss.
His eyes find mine. He runs his thumb against my cheek. "Kara."
I swallow hard. Talking just might ruin this. So I close my eyes and I slide my hands into Drew's hair and I kiss him.
His lips are soft and they taste like chocolate and sugar. He doesn't hesitate. He kisses back, hands on my hips, tongue in my mouth.
Every part of my body is awake and alive and every part of it wants Drew. I arch my back to press my chest into his.
No waiting. He grabs my t-shirt and pulls it over my head. He drags his fingertips down my arm and shoulders and traces the outline of my bra.
That flutter spreads through my stomach and chest and thighs until every part of me is buzzing with electricity.
Drew is touching me.
Drew is kissing me.
Drew is mine. For the next few minutes at least.
He unhooks my bra. I moan into his mouth. Drew is going to take off my bra. Drew is going to see me topless.
It's like I'm a desperate high school student again. The only thing I want is Drew feeling me up. Every second he's not touching me is horrible agony.
He breaks our kiss. His fingers hook around my bra straps. He drags the left strap down until my breast spills out. My sex clenches. I swallow hard.
Then the right.
His eyes go wide. Pupils dilate. "Fuck." He lets o
ut a breathy sigh. "You have no idea how badly I've wanted to see you like this."
He cups my breast and I'm warm all over. Hell, I'm on fire.
My eyes flutter closed. I arch my back to push my chest into his hands. "How badly?"
Drew rubs his thumb over my nipple. "I go out of my fucking mind thinking about you." His voice gets low and heavy. He rubs me harder. "But you're so much better than I imagined."
Heat spreads through me. "You haven't..."
One hand goes to my hips and holds them in place. He presses his crotch against mine, so I can feel his erection straining against his jeans. Drew is hard because of me. I swear I must be dreaming.
I pinch my forearm and pull my eyes open. He's staring at me with this look on his face that says he's desperate to touch me.
Not dreaming.
So much better than dreaming.
"I have. Since forever," he growls. "You dress like you're trying to kill me."
I bring my lips back to his and speak in between kisses. "You flirt like you're trying to kill me."
"I am." He rubs me harder.
I hook my arm around his neck. "How long have you wanted me?"
"Since I can remember." He kisses a trail down my neck and chest.
"Why didn't you try anything?"
"Didn't want to fuck this up."
His mouth closes over my nipple and he sucks hard, the way he sucked on my thumb. Heat spreads through me. Pleasure builds between my legs. I can barely think anything except Drew. He's wanted me since he can remember.
He wants me.
He's hard because of me.
My untouchable rock star best friend is hard because of me.
He moves to my other nipple. One of his hands goes to the inside of my knee and traces a line up, up, up.
I press my legs together and shift away from him. God, I want Drew's hands on me, but it's not worth the risk of ruining this completely.
His hands go my hips and he kisses his way back up my chest and neck. His lips meet mine and his tongue plunges into my mouth.
I let out a low moan and grab the counter to stay upright. I reach for his shirt and pull it over his head. He lifts his arms to help me. And then his hands are on my hips. They trail down the outside of my thighs. He plays with the hem of my skirt, getting closer and closer to my inner thighs.
It feels so good. I'm warm everywhere and I'm so desperate for his touch, but I can't let him see those scars.
Strum Your Heart Out (Sinful Serenade #2) Page 8
