I nod.
He watches me for a moment, like he’s checking to see if I’m setting him up with some kind of trap. Finally, he sighs, running fingers back through his hair. How he manages to get them through without getting caught in a tangle is beyond me.
“Okay.”
I smile, feeling more victorious than I should, considering I have no idea what will happen once he’s actually at the dance. “Wear something nice, it’s formal attire. And for Pete’s sake, take a shower. You smell like complete ass.”
Kip chuckles.
“We don’t need to ride together or anything,” I add. “Just meet me at the venue. I’ll text you the address.”
Skyler nods, moving toward the door as I make my way that direction. But once it’s open, I pause, holding one hand on the knob as I face him.
“Skyler loves you, you know?” I say, watching how those words wash over him. His face breaks, his fist clenching at his side like it kills him to know it. “Whatever is happening between you two, I can see that hasn’t changed.”
I watch him for a moment longer, but when he doesn’t respond, I decide my job is done for the day. I got him to agree to come to the dance, and that will set up his chance to make things right. So, I smile once more, close the door behind me, and jog back down the steps.
“All good?” Brandon asks when I slide back into the passenger seat.
I take a moment just to stare at him before I reach for my seatbelt, taking in his smooth skin, his soft, crooked smile, his relaxed posture as he grips the wheel with one hand, the other already reaching for my thigh.
Swoon.
“Yep, all good. At least, for now.”
“Do I even want to know what you’re getting yourself into now?” he asks once my belt is clicked.
“Probably not.”
Brandon just smirks, throwing the car in drive and cruising down toward the dock. With the semester coming to a close, we planned one last day on the yacht to relax before my finals kick into high gear. I’ve been looking forward to this day all week, but now that it’s here, I can’t help but feel a sinking in my stomach.
It says with me all the way to the dock, and well into our day on the yacht. I feel it niggling at me as we lounge by the pool, let it keep me from eating much when we sit down for dinner, and barely manage to fight past it to get an orgasm when Brandon takes me from behind on the top deck, my chest hanging over the railing, hair swinging.
But when we’re back in bed, curled up together and softly running our fingers over one another, I can’t ignore it anymore.
Now that the cat’s out of the bag and we’re no longer keeping our relationship a secret, I can’t help but wonder what we are. It seems like the most juvenile thing to ask, even before the words make it from my brain to my mouth, but I have to ask.
I have to know.
“Brandon,” I whisper, fingertips dancing on his bare chest.
His eyes are closed, a sleepy smile on his face as he plays with my hair. “Mmm?”
“Can I ask you something?”
“No, I’m not ready for round two yet.”
I smack his chest playfully before lightly running my fingertips over the skin again. “I’m serious.”
“So am I,” he says, still smirking.
I roll my eyes, finger stilling as I swallow down the nerves. “I was just… I was thinking, about us. About how we don’t have to hide anymore. And, well… I just, I don’t know how it works at your age, but at mine, everyone plays all these games. It’s like, you can be dating someone but not actually dating them, like not just them. It’s all this open-ended are we, or are we not nonsense and…” I pause, forcing a breath. “I’m rambling.”
Brandon finally opens his eyes, cocking one brow. “What’s your question, Ashlei?”
I frown, biting my lower lip. “Are we… are we exclusive?”
He watches me a moment, his brows tugging inward. And then, he laughs.
Laughs.
And not just a little laugh, but a full on, head thrown back against the pillow, one hand over his stomach laugh.
“I’m serious!” I say, rolling away from him defensively. But he snags my wrist with one hand, tugging me back into him and wrapping both his arms around me.
“I’m sorry,” he says, still laughing as he kisses my hair. “It’s just, it’s so ridiculous that you think I have even done so much as think about another woman since the day I met you.”
The stiffness I held against his hold melts in an instant, my entire body molding to fit his as I let out a sigh of relief. My cheeks flush, and Brandon pulls back, returning my smile.
“Are you saying you want to be my girlfriend?”
I shrug, keeping my eyes on the fingertip I run over his chest again. “Do you want me to be your girlfriend?”
“Honestly,” he says, thumb brushing my cheek until I look at him again. “I kind of thought you already were.”
That earns him a wide smile, and the corner of his mouth pulls to the side before he leans down, pressing that smirk to meet my smile in a perfect kiss.
And just like that, I have a boyfriend.
One who actually cares about me, who wouldn’t hurt me, who wouldn’t use me. And, most importantly…
One I don’t have to hide.
“WHAT A SHIT SHOW.”
I shake my head, taking another sip of my old fashioned, rolling the amber liquid around in the glass as I watch Kip on the dance floor.
To say I was shocked when he showed up at our formal tonight would be an understatement. For reasons I still don’t understand, even after Ashlei explained her plan to me, she invited Kip to be her date. Of course, in her mind, it was a way for Kip to be able to talk to Skyler, for them to work out whatever has been going on between them.
But I know better.
I know my girl Sky, and she’s on a mission tonight. Mission Forget Kip Ever Existed. These types of missions are dangerous, and usually consist of large volumes of alcohol, kissing random guys who aren’t Kip, and blacking out by the end of the night.
So, I can’t help but sigh in pity as Kip watches Skyler walk away from him. She had just been dancing with him, but from where I’m standing, it looked more like she was chewing his ass and reminding him that his chances to be with her are long gone.
Poor sap.
As if it isn’t already bad enough, Erin slides up, asking Kip to dance next. I can’t even watch that disaster.
Waving a hand like I can’t be bothered, I turn toward our table, ready to make my way to a chair so I can kick off my high heels for a bit. But instead, I’m met with a goofy smile and two full shot glasses.
“Well, if it isn’t Venus herself.”
I flatten my lips, blinking twice at Kade before I answer. “What does that even mean.”
“It means you’re the goddess of sex, of course,” he says. “And love and fertility and some other shit, too, but that’s not the point.”
I shove past him, rolling my eyes and draining the last of my old fashioned. I drop it on the first table I pass as he jogs to catch up to me, spilling a little of the two shots he’s balancing.
“Come on, look at you. That gold dress, the vine headband. You do look like Venus.”
“Stop talking.”
“Fine,” he grinds, stepping in front of me so I can’t keep walking away. “How about we drink, instead.”
Kade holds a shot toward me, and I eye it suspiciously before taking notice of how good he looks in his tuxedo tonight. All his tattoos are covered, which I actually hate, but how tall, dark, and handsome he looks somewhat makes up for it. His usually unruly hair is gelled and styled, curling a bit at the top. He’s sporting an all-black suit, his beige dress shirt and gold pocket square matching me a little too much.
He looks down at the shots again, waggling his brows in an annoyingly adorable manner. “Eh? Come on.”
“Ugh, fine,” I say, but when I got to snag a shot glass from his hand, he pulls bot
h away.
“First, a toast.” His brows furrow. “Or, rather, a proposition.”
I groan, slapping one hand against my forehead and dragging it down dramatically.
“Just, hear me out,” he says. “You’re here this summer, right?”
“I am… creeper, how did you know that?”
He ignores my question. “I’ve been thinking about what you said on the cruise… about my game. And as much as it pains me to say this… you’re right.”
At that, I stand a little straighter, folding my arms over my chest. “Okay, you said the magic words. I’m listening.”
“I am eager, and I spit a bunch of cheesy lines because, frankly, it’s all I know. I was raised by two older, bonehead brothers who treat girls like absolute garbage. I learned how to flirt from them, how to land a date, how to hold a relationship. And, as you can see, that’s working out just peachy for me.”
“Please tell me they didn’t also give you advice on how to fuck.”
He cringes.
“Jesus Christ.”
“I know,” he says quickly. “I know. It’s bad. Which is why, I was thinking…” He steps closer, a stupid smirk on his face. “What if you helped me? What if you were my teacher of sorts.”
I balk, jaw flopping open as my eyes double in size. “You’re kidding,” I say, but Kade just stares, biting his lip and bouncing on his toes a little. “Wow, you’re actually not.”
“Look, I know it sounds…”
“Stupid? Crazy? Like there’s absolutely nothing in it for me and it’s never going to happen?”
“Out of the ordinary,” he finishes. “But, you’re wrong about there not being anything in it for you. First of all, you get the satisfaction of taking an over-eager puppy under your wing and turning him into a panty-melting beast of a dog.”
I roll my eyes.
“And, you get free, no-strings-attached sex whenever you want it.”
At that, I laugh. “Because that’s so hard to find.”
“I’m clean, there’s no danger in banging me. And we’re friends.”
“News to me.”
Kade narrows his eyes. “Fine. What do you want in exchange. What will it take for you to say yes?”
I’m tempted to just tell him to get lost, but something about his little proposal piques my interest. Here’s this massively built, incredibly sexy, young kid asking for me to help him get better at flirting. And dating. And fucking. He may be annoying as hell, but I saw the bulge in his swim trunks on Spring Break, and I know that equipment is more than enough to help a girl get by.
And there’s something about his eyes, about his tattoos, about his bulging biceps that remind me of Jarrett, and I wonder if he could fuck me like him, too. With a little training, of course.
My thighs clench at the thought. I need to get laid, bad, but that’s not reason enough to say yes to these kinds of shenanigans.
… Is it?
“Do you have a car?” I finally ask.
“I do.”
“What kind?”
He quirks a brow. “A Camaro.”
“Convertible?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Good, it’s mine now,” I say. “You can drop the keys off tomorrow. I had to sell mine to help a friend out, and I need wheels going into the summer and my last semester.”
I wait for him to argue, sure my request is too steep. But, to my surprise, he grits his teeth and nods with a somewhat genuine smile.
“Fine. Car’s yours. Anything else?”
“You have to actually listen,” I say, holding up one manicured finger. “And at least try not to completely annoy me every time we’re together.”
“I’ll do my best. So, we have a deal?”
I narrow my eyes, but finally sigh, snatching the shot glass out of his left hand. “We have a deal. Here’s to your helpless game, and my sanity in trying to fix it.”
Kade chuckles, clinking his glass to mine before we both throw them back and seal the deal.
Lord help me.
I’M GOOD AT THIS game.
The “ignore him, get wasted, dance with every other guy and make him want to crawl out of his skin with jealousy” game.
It’s the most natural, comfortable thing, slipping into that role tonight. I didn’t expect to see Kip at my formal, the one place where I was supposed to be able to let loose with my sisters and Clinton and just forget about Kip for a while.
But of course, he showed up.
At first, I tried ignoring him. Then, I got so annoyed by his presence that I pulled him into a dance and demanded to know why he was there.
“I wanted to see you, to talk to you. I feel like I owe you an explanation.”
Oh, you fucking think?
Just remembering his stupid, sad eyes when he tried to explain himself makes me throw back another shot angrily. Then, I’m grabbing another guy and dragging him to the dance floor. I have no idea who he is. It doesn’t matter. All that does matter is that he’s got his hands on my hips, his crotch pressed against my ass, and Kip has to watch it and know there’s nothing he can do about it.
Take that, asshole.
It’s petty, and childish, but I can’t help it. All semester long, Kip preached to me to stop caring what other people think of me, to stand up for myself and be who I want to be — regardless of what anyone else has to say about it. So, to find out he’s letting his father play him like a puppet because he’s afraid of disappointing him?
He’s a hypocrite, and now I’m determined to drink and dance until I forget he ever existed.
My head rushes, vision fuzzy and legs heavy as I try to keep up with the swaying rhythm set by the guy behind me. His hands crawl up my ribs, grabbing the silk of my dress as I lean more of my weight on him. I kind of feel like throwing up, kind of feel like taking someone home — and in the back of my mind, I hear my dignity begging me to come to my senses.
“‘Scuse me,” I slur to the guy, shoving off him and stumbling toward the stage. The DJ claps his hands and changes up the beat when I make my way up to stand next to him, and there’s a crowd of guys below me, hooting and hollering, my own little fan show.
In my mind, I try to convince myself that they want me because I’m such a catch, because I’m such a great dancer and my dress looks amazing. But I know the truth. Somewhere deep down, I know they just see a drunk girl who they can easily get in their bed.
But no one is getting in my bed. Not for a long time. Maybe not ever.
Not after Kip Jackson.
I let him in, let him obliterate my walls like they were made of paper instead of stone. I trusted him, confessed all my lies, thought we were starting over with a clean slate. But all this time, he was playing me.
All this time, I was just a game.
The sting of that drives me as I dance, the cheers from below fueling my pettiness. And when I look up past the crowd and see Kip’s back, see him walking away, I know I’ve won. He can’t take anymore. He’s leaving.
Why do I suddenly want him to stay?
I shove that thought down, throwing my hands up and closing my eyes as I dance. I sway my hips, spinning slowly to the beat. But my foot slips, and then there’s no floor beneath it, and the next thing I know, I’m falling.
For a moment, it’s almost as I I’m suspended in time, as if my body is floating down to the hard ground below the stage like a feather. I watch the faces twist around me, the eyes growing wide, the mouths closing into tight o’s as they watch in horror.
But I feel nothing.
Not when my body hits the floor.
Not when my vision goes dark.
And not when I come to again, however many minutes later, and see Kip’s ocean blue eyes staring down at me.
“Fuck, Skyler,” he says, pulling me to his chest. I’m still on the floor, but he’s holding me in his arms, my head on his shoulder as he wipes my hair from my face. “You scared the shit out of me.”
My heart skips a bea
t, warmth crashing over me as my traitorous body clings to Kip like he’s my only lifeline.
“Ouch,” I manage, and there’s a little ring of laughter around me. I can’t even focus my vision enough to see who’s there. Someone presses a cool washcloth to the back of my neck and I sigh, head spinning, body aching.
“Let’s get you home,” Kip whispers in my ear, and all I can do is nod, holding onto him tighter as he lifts me.
I hear my sisters telling him to let them know we made it home safely, but I just curl into him more. I feel hands touching my back, but I just curl into him more. Clinton tells me to call him in the morning and I nod, but then, I curl into Kip more. And when we’re in a cab, the engine humming me to sleep as we make our way across town, I hold onto him, wishing I never had to let go.
Wishing he was still the boy who loved me, instead of the one who caused me pain.
I don’t know how far we are from the venue when I lift my head, my eyes struggling to focus on his as he stares back at me. And I don’t know what I’m thinking when I lean into him again, this time pressing my lips to his, my entire body buzzing to life with the electric charge that’s always existed between us. Kip inhales a breath, and I do, too, holding it in my burning chest as I try to deepen the kiss.
But he breaks it.
“Skyler,” he says when he pulls back, and just the way he says my name is the worst rejection I’ve ever felt.
I swallow, waiting for him to take it back, to kiss me, too. But his brows pull together, his eyes searching mine.
“You’re drunk,” he finally says, shaking his head. “You don’t want to kiss me.”
And I wish he was right. I wish that were true.
But no matter how he’s hurt me, no matter what I should feel, I can’t help it.
I still want him.
“Yes, I do,” I whisper, eyes blurring from tears instead of alcohol as I push off his lap and slide across the back seat to the opposite window. I stare at the car lights passing on the other side of the road, rolling my lips together to keep from crying.
How did I get here?
I can’t wrap my head around it, how I started the semester with only one thing on my mind — the tournament — and yet ended it with a boy somehow ruling more of me than poker ever has. I just want him to take it all back, to tell me he’s not entering the tournament, that he loves me more than he loves playing me for his father’s entertainment. I don’t even understand it all, what his dad wants from him, why it means so much.
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