Trust me to pick the one girl who is never going to pick me.
Not when she has a choice between me and my best friend.
Ky and I have always been drawn to the same type of girl, and it’s caused more arguments than I care to think about over the years. I know I was drunk when Addison pounced, but deep down, I have wondered if there wasn’t some subconscious part of me reveling in the fact that she was choosing me over him, even if I had zero interest in her. The irony is that she was one girl we hadn’t come to fisticuffs over. Until that happened. Irony is a bitch on steroids.
Dammit. I rub my face. I definitely put the shitty in shitty friend.
It’s well after midnight when the quiet hum of Ky’s bike approaching the house tickles my eardrums. I pad in my bare feet to the kitchen to wait for him.
We need to thrash this out.
“Unless you want a fist in the face, I suggest you get the fuck out of here” are the first words out of his mouth. He slams his helmet down on the counter, turning his back on me as he strides to the fridge.
“We need to talk.”
He pulls the OJ out of the fridge, pops the lid, and chugs straight from the carton. “I have nothing nice to say to you.”
I push off the counter and lean against the side of the fridge. “I know you’re pissed, but we have to discuss this. We’re both living in this house with her, and we can’t let this fester.”
He throws the empty carton into the sink, turning to glare at me. “Living arrangements can always change.”
I shrug. He can threaten all he likes. I know him. He won’t kick me out.
Maybe I’ll save him the trouble. Perhaps that’s the solution. I can ring Aunt Cora and ask to stay with her. Sure, the commute to school will be a bitch, but I’ll manage. “If you want me to leave, just say the word, and I’ll be gone.”
“Don’t push me, man, I’m still way too wired.” His shoulder bumps mine as he stalks away, flinging his leather jacket over a chair as he storms into the living room.
I trail behind him, determined to get this over and done with now. “Why?” I ask, dropping onto the couch across from him. “You are with Addison. Why do you care?”
A muscle pops in his jaw. “I never said I didn’t care about her. She’s my… she’s my cousin.”
I bark out a laugh. “You are fucking pathetic, dude. Do you stand in front of the mirror trying to convince yourself of that shit?” And here I thought I was the delusional one.
“Shut the fuck up.” His foot taps furiously up and down, and he’s primed to explode.
Maybe the fact I’m still goading him indicates I’m feeling exactly the same. “You have no claim on Faye, on who she dates, who she kisses, so why do you have an issue with her kissing me?” I lean back, locking my hands around my head. “Or is that it? She can kiss anyone as long as it isn’t me? Is this some prolonged form of punishment because I fucked Addison while she was your girl?”
He glares at me, his fists clenching at his sides. And I’m a masochist ’cause I keep pushing him. “’Cause I gotta tell you, man, you definitely drew the short straw. Faye is worth a million of Addison, and if you don’t want her, I sure as hell do.” Steam practically billows out of his ears, and I push it all the way. “I want her. I want Faye so fucking much. Over me, under me, in every way I can get her.”
I’m a Class-A jerk masquerading as a good guy. I could’ve just asked him to hit me. I didn’t need to disrespect Faye to do it, but sometimes Ky needs to be pushed to extremes to open himself up.
He totally flips, jumping up and swinging at me with his fists. The first punch is extremely satisfying. So is the second and third one. My head lolls back, and the stinging pain along my jawline distracts from the emptiness in my chest. The fourth punch less so, but I let him have at it.
Unexpectedly, he stops, rearing back and dropping to his butt on the floor.
I rub my sore jaw as my gaze narrows on him, noting the drooped shoulders and the pain flaring across his eyes. He can’t hide it any longer, and it’s exactly as I suspected. “Just tell me, man. Tell me what Addison is threatening to force you to toe the line.”
He looks down at his feet, shaking his head, and I know that’s all the affirmation I’m going to get. “At least tell Faye. You’re hurting her.”
He climbs slowly to his feet, plopping back down on the other couch. “I can’t. It’s for the best.”
I sit up, leaning my elbows on my knees. “No offense, dude, but you make the worst decisions where Addison is concerned.”
“And you think I don’t know that?!” he yells, looking me directly in the face.
The full extent of his misery is revealed, and a huge surge of guilt waylays me. My gut told me he was being blackmailed into this, but I was happy to push that aside to win the girl. “I’m a shitty friend,” I admit.
“You are,” he readily agrees. “But I’m an equally shitty one.”
“Always turning it into a competition,” I joke.
He rolls his eyes, and silence settles in the room.
“I’m sorry I hit you,” Ky says a couple of minutes later.
“I probably deserved it,” I reply. No probably about it.
“No, you didn’t.” He pauses momentarily. “And you’re right. I have no claim over her. Faye’s free to kiss whomever she likes.”
He’s as bad at lying to himself as I am.
“I swore I’d never do that to you again.” And I did.
“You haven’t done anything wrong, man. If I’m not with her, I’d rather it be you. I know I can I trust you to look after her, to treat her right.”
He knows I’d treat her like a princess. I only wish I had the chance. “It doesn’t matter, anyway. She doesn’t want me.” There’s a finality to my tone I hope he detects, because after today, I know there isn’t a snowball’s chance of a relationship with Faye. Particularly when Ky has all but admitted he’s pushed her away to protect her. He only does that for those he loves.
“That wasn’t the way it looked to me,” Ky says, failing to hide his jealousy.
“She’s in love with you.” It kills me to say it, but it’s the truth.
“She can’t be!” he snaps out of frustration. “Hasn’t she listened to a word I’ve said? She needs to move on, and you’re the guy to move on with. Do you want me to talk some sense into her?”
Before I can respond, a burst of bright light fills the room, and Faye is charging across the floor with her nostrils flaring. Fuck! How much of that did she hear? My eyes widen in surprise as she plows into Ky, pushing him forcefully in the chest. “I do not need anyone to talk sense into me, least of all you!” She’s shrieking like a hyena, and I’ve never seen her so enraged. “How dare you presume to know what I want or what I need. You have no right!”
“Faye.” I stand up, hands raised in appeal. She lunges at me, pushing me back down on the couch. It’s hot as hell, and I work hard to contain my grin. “And you’re no better!” she seethes. “You think you can get his permission and I’ll fall into your arms?”
That sobers me up. I don’t want her thinking that either of us would ever treat her with such disrespect. “No! It wasn’t like that.”
“I heard enough to know that he was trying to pawn me off on you.” She points in Ky’s direction, and her eyes narrow when she notices the dark look he’s leveled her with. “Wipe that smug look off your face, Ky, or I’ll do it for you.” She scowls at him, but it’s like a fish baiting a shark. Ky can’t stop his grin, and that only infuriates her more. “Do you have a death wish?” she hisses.
He stands up, moving leisurely toward her. “Baby, you know I find it hot when you’re mad.”
An uneasy feeling creeps up my spine. If this is some form of arguing-slash-making-up, I don’t want to stick around to witness it. Faye shoves him, and he loses his balance
when he tries to grab her. They both stumble to the floor, and she ends up straddling him in a way that cranks my envy to the max. A sour taste floods my mouth. Ky is devouring her with a lusty gaze, like he wants to strip her naked and take her right here on the floor. She prods his chest, anger mingling with raw need on her face, and I don’t have to force myself to look away. The emptiness in my chest is gone. Replaced by a sharp, stabbing pain that makes me feel way too much.
“You don’t get to flirt with me, to call me baby, or hot, or anything!” She scrambles to her feet. “Save it for your girlfriend!”
She takes a step back, and I hate to see the frown creasing her brow. “I want nothing to do with either of you. Understood?”
Ky pulls himself upright.
Hell, no. I can’t deal with that. I stand up, moving toward her. “Faye, I’m sorry. Come on.”
She sways a little on her feet, and we both incline toward her. “Leave me alone, Brad. Both of you. Stay away from me.”
Ky and I exchange glances as she stomps to the kitchen, returning a couple of seconds later with a bottle of water in each hand. She ignores us completely as she bolts past us like a fireball.
“Aw, fuck it!” Ky protests, dropping onto the couch with a loud sigh. “Now she’s pissed at both of us.”
“I don’t blame her. We’re assholes.”
Ky sits upright, shaking his head. “No. You’re not. You make this right with her. I can’t, but you can.” His eyes drill into mine. “She needs more protection. I don’t trust Addison not to hurt her.”
“I won’t let anything happen to her.” I get to my feet. “I promise. I’ll protect her. We’ll protect her.”
Ky nods, and for the first time in ages, we are on the same page.
This is from Chapter 13 of Losing Kyler where Faye and Brad visit Kaden at Harvard. This scene is narrated by Kaden and it shows what happens before he opens the door to his cousin.
“Mr. Kennedy? Did you hear anything I just said?” Professor Garcia taps her pen impatiently off the top of the desk in my bedroom, her whiskey-colored eyes narrowing as she assesses me under long, thick lashes.
“Huh?” I say rather unintelligibly, finally tearing my gaze from her delicate hands.
“This is a waste of my time.” She gathers her books and papers. “I only take on one or two students a year to personally tutor. I’m not inclined to give up my free time for someone who clearly has zero interest and who is ill-prepared to put in the required degree of effort.” She stuffs her things in her expensive black leather briefcase and stands up.
That snaps me out of my funk. “I’m sorry. Please don’t leave. I am very grateful for this opportunity, and I am prepared to work. I promise.”
Her eyes bore into mine as she purses her pouty lips in contemplation. “You’ve barely listened to a word I’ve said these last twenty minutes, and you can’t stop yawning. Either I’m boring you to tears or you pulled an all-nighter.” I open my mouth to offer some kind of excuse—because there’s no way in hell I’m telling her I’m exhausted from last night’s sexcapade with Tiffani—but she holds up a hand, immediately stopping me. “I don’t want to know.”
My gaze languishes on her beautiful hand, and I’m distracted all over again. I don’t know if she’s aware, but she gestures with her hands a lot while she’s explaining, and I think I’ve developed a brand new hand fetish. Her long fingers are slender and elegant, her tawny skin perfect and without blemish. Her nails are kept short but professionally manicured. Her nails are painted in a pale pink color that seems too whimsical for the confident, intelligent woman standing over me, and I’m getting the sense there’s a lot more to Professor Garcia than meets the eye.
What I wouldn’t give to have a chance to peel back some of those layers.
While she’s been articulating the finer points of empirical and mathematical reasoning, I’ve been imagining how her hands would feel roaming all over my body and how supple and silky smooth her skin would feel under my fingertips. If I got her in bed, I wonder how much she’d arch that sexy body writhing underneath me. My pants grow tight, and I squirm self-consciously in my seat. I’m half-expecting campus police to show up and arrest me for my illicit fantasies. And honestly, with the thoughts I’ve been having about this woman lately, they should lock me up.
She sighs, shaking her head. “Are you always this distracted?”
No. Only with you. I don’t say it. Obvs. Crushing on your prof is a big no-no, no matter how beautiful she is. Half the campus has a massive hard-on for her. Only last night, Duke admitted to rubbing one off after her class yesterday, so I’m certainly not alone in my lusting. Professor Garcia is the hottest professor on campus by a mile. She’s certainly the youngest. Apparently, she was a bit of a child prodigy. Graduated high school at an impressively young age. Received her degree in strategy within three years and went on to complete an MBA straight afterward. She landed her position here two years ago, and she’s been the talk of the campus ever since—she’s inspired more wet dreams than I’ve had hot dinners.
The irony of this situation isn’t lost on me. I’m only in need of tutoring because I zone out whenever I’m in her class, focusing on every part of her except for the words flowing out of her sexy mouth. Nothing of substance registers in my brain, and that’s how I’ve fallen behind. Graduating top of my class is my primary goal— nothing less will be acceptable to Mom. She has big plans for me when I graduate. A frown forms naturally with my current line of thinking. For so long, all I aspired to was a management position in the family business, but lately, I’ve been questioning everything. Especially that.
Prof Garcia narrows her eyes as she stares at me expectantly. Frustration seeps out of her pores. Too lost in my head, I’d kinda forgotten she was still waiting for an answer. I’m no doubt testing her patience to the limit. “No, of course not. No one could accuse you of being boring. I, ah, didn’t sleep well last night.”
A vivid recollection of Tiffani’s soft red curls and fake tits swims in front of my vision as details of last night resurrect with the worst timing known to mankind. I swore after our most recent hook-up it would be the last, but Tiffani doesn’t take kindly to the word “no.” She always waits until I’m buzzed and horny to approach me, knowing I’m too vulnerable to reject her advances.
It’s pathetic to admit I’m ruled by my dick, but it’s starting to ring true.
Tiffani represents everything I don’t want for myself, but lust clouds my better judgment every damn time. And I’m not being fair to her either. She’s still holding out hope that I’ll concede to dating when I know that’s never going to come to fruition.
“Get your head out of your ass, Mr. Kennedy,” the professor hisses, surprising the hell out of me with her unapologetic tone. I damn near choke on a laugh. “Or we’re done here before we’ve even begun.”
It sounds like the starting line to a cheesy song, but I nod my head vigorously, not wanting to mess up this opportunity for a whole heap of reasons.
“Fine. I’ll give you one more chance,” she relents, hugging a stack of files to her magnificent tits. The platinum band on the fourth finger of her left hand glistens and sparkles under the overhead light, and it’s a timely reminder that she’s off limits in more ways than one. Rumor has it she got married at eighteen to some old dude, but I don’t know if there’s any shred of truth to it. She opens her mouth to say something when we’re interrupted by a firm knock on the door.
Her brows nudge up. “You’re expecting company in the middle of a planned study session?”
“No!” I rush to reassure her before she changes her mind and cancels the whole thing. “I’m not expecting anyone. They must have the wrong room.” I push out of my chair, stretching to my full height. I tower over her petite frame, and that makes me feel all alpha-protector-like. “I’ll get rid of them.”
She waves her hand
dismissively in the air. “It’s fine. I was leaving anyway.” She flips the lock on her briefcase and strides across the hardwood floor toward the door.
I catch up, whipping the door open first. There’s no one there, so I poke my head out, scanning left and right. My brow creases in concern when I spot my cousin and Brad. “Faye?” I call out.
She spins on her heel, a sheepish look on her pretty face. “Surprise!” she says in her cute Irish accent.
“What are you doing here?”
“I need to speak to Keven about something, but if this is a bad time…” She smiles over my shoulder, and I need to shut this down. Right. Now.
“No. It’s fine. Professor Garcia was just leaving.” I step sideways to allow her to exit.
“Same time next Saturday, Mr. Kennedy,” she says primly. Her thick, dark hair sways seductively over her shoulders, and it takes enormous willpower not to track the movement. Out of the corner of my eye, I spy Brad smirking.
“Thank you. I’ll see you then,” I mumble without looking at her, gesturing my guests into the room.
Faye wanders around the room, checking out the place while Brad stays beside me. He cocks his head to the side, still smirking. “Scored some private lessons?”
“She’s one of my professors, asshat! And she’s married.” I slam the front door shut with more force than necessary.
“She’s clearly very dedicated to turn up so early on a Saturday,” he says, determined to milk this. He flops onto one of the couches, stretching out like he owns the place.
“Make yourself at home, Brad,” I snap, “and drop the insinuation. I don’t appreciate it.” Because it’s far too close to the bone. It’s one thing to lust after someone you can’t have from a distance and quite another to resist the craving up close and personal. I know I need her help if I’m to improve my grade, but I don’t know how the hell I’m going to control myself in her presence.
The Irish Getaway: A Kennedy Boys Optional Short Novel (The Kennedy Boys) Page 15
