I shrug. “Don’t be. It is what it is, and while I don’t talk about my childhood much, I have nothing to hide either.”
“How did your parents die?”
“Car crash. We were coming home from the movies, and a truck plowed into our car. Mom was killed instantly, and Dad died on the way to the hospital. I was in the back seat, and I escaped with cuts and bruises and a broken left arm.”
“That must’ve been tough to deal with as a kid.”
I take a healthy glug of my wine. “It was. I didn’t speak for a full year after they died. My social worker sent me to a therapist, and she said I had PTSD.”
“How did you overcome that?” he asks, looking genuinely interested.
“Therapy and time and meeting a couple guys in my new home. Connecting with Clay and Chris was a turning point for me.”
“They’re friends or…”
“Clay is my de facto big brother, and he’s looked out for me from the minute I met him. Chris is the same age as me. We were friends for a long time before we became more.”
The waiter arrives with our pasta then, and the timing is perfect. I’m not sure I want to talk about my ex on a first date. Especially with the complicated history Chris and I share and the fact I still talk to him, still see him.
Lync hated Chris. Hated he was still a part of my life.
No one understands the bond between us, or how what we went through means we will always share a connection. Even Clay doesn’t understand it. He’s washed his hands of Chris, and he wants me to do the same, but I can never turn my back on him. Anyone in my life will just have to find a way to deal with it.
“What about you?” I ask, in between bites of mouthwatering creamy fettuccine. “I know what I’ve read about your family, but what are they really like?”
He chews his food before speaking. “Loud. Nosy. Annoying. Suffocating.”
My eyes pop wide. I wasn’t expecting him to say that.
“That probably sounds terrible,” he adds, tossing his steak and pasta around his plate. “And they’re not just that. My family is close, and they’re good people, but I’ve always been on the fringes. I’ve always felt like I don’t fit in.”
“That sounds lonely.”
“You’ve no idea,” he murmurs, swallowing a mouthful of food.
“Aren’t you close with your triplets? There are lots of pictures of you with Keaton and Keanu online.”
“We were close growing up, but it’s different now.” His tense body language suggests there is more to the story, but I don’t push him further. “And you really shouldn’t believe half the shit you read online.”
“I know the media can twist things. I can’t imagine how invasive it must be to have outsiders so interested in your family.” I pop the last mouthful of fettuccine in my mouth, chewing carefully. “What happened back at the other restaurant happens a lot, I’m guessing?”
He nods. “It’s why I usually hang around campus, or attend house parties, or avoid downtown Boston. I fucking hate judgmental assholes and bottom-feeders who try to latch on to me for what they can get.” He pushes his empty plate away, angling his body so he’s facing me head-on. Our knees are pressed together, and his fingers toy with the ends of my hair as he stares at me. “I should warn you if you continue to be seen with me you will get papped, and they’ll want to know about you. They’ll dig into your background and—”
I press my fingers to his lips, stalling him. “We’ll be careful, and I never see any reporters or paparazzi around Mattapan.”
“That’s actually how I ended up drinking at Ramshackle,” he says, his fingers winding through my hair, eliciting the most pleasurable sensations. I’m fixated on him as he explains. “I was fed up with cameras going off in my face, and I wanted to find someplace where the paps would never even think of going. I was watching the news, and there was a report about a drug-related shooting outside the bar, and it piqued my interest. I conducted some research and ended up in Ramshackle the next night. Haven’t looked back since.”
“That is the most fucked-up logic I’ve ever heard,” I admit, and my voice betrays my disbelief. “Do you have a death wish or something?”
His hand moves to the nape of my neck, and he draws me in close, pressing his forehead against mine. “Not anymore,” he whispers over my mouth, his warm, spicy breath fanning over my lips. “And I think it was fate, because that news report led me to you, and I have zero regrets about that.”
CHAPTER TEN
Presley
“Thank you for a wonderful date,” I tell him when we reach my front door. “I enjoyed spending time with you.” Butterflies scatter in my chest as I turn to face him, my spine flat against the wooden door.
“I had a good time too,” he says, planting his hands on either side of my head and leaning in. “I’d like to do it again.” He moves his head closer, his eyes lowering to my mouth for a split second before he rubs his nose playfully against mine. “When is your next night off?”
I don’t admit it’s tomorrow as that would come across as equal parts desperate and overly enthusiastic. “Sunday,” I say in a breathy tone, my body humming at the heat rolling off Kent in waves.
“That’s so far away,” he murmurs, planting a soft kiss on my cheek.
“You know where to find me in the meantime.” I attempt to quell my heaving chest as he trails a line of feather-soft kisses along my face. I’m close to hyperventilating, and he hasn’t even gone near my mouth.
“Classes are back this week,” he admits, nuzzling his face into my neck. He inhales sharply, and a jolt of liquid lust pulses low in my body. “And exams start next month, so I’ve got a full schedule. But I’ll try to stop by.”
He straightens up, pushing off the door, and I instantly miss his closeness. His perplexed eyes probe mine, and he rocks back on his heels. “I don’t know what I’m doing here except I like it.”
“I like it too.” I fist a hand in his shirt, reeling him back in. “Don’t first dates usually end with a goodnight kiss?” I arch a brow, attempting to drown out the stampeding butterflies careening around my chest, praying he doesn’t notice how my entire body is trembling at having him this near.
“I wouldn’t know.” His gaze fixes on my mouth. “This is the first date I’ve ever gone on.”
I blink repeatedly, staring at him in shock, trying to find the lie behind those words but only finding truth. “Are you seriously telling me that I’m your first date at age twenty-three?”
“That shocks you?” He places his hands on my hips.
“Yes,” I truthfully reply. “How does that even happen?” He is gorgeous and charming and I know he’s had girls crawling all over him.
“Never met a girl I wanted to ask out on a date.”
My heart swells behind my rib cage. “I’m honored you chose me, and I hope it lived up to your expectation.”
He clasps one side of my face in his large palm. “I didn’t know what to expect, beyond getting to know you a little more, and it more than lived up to that.” His eyes lower to my mouth, and his pupils darken with blatant desire. “I’m giving you that goodnight kiss now,” he adds, his voice thick with lust, before his mouth descends upon mine.
Time stops. The world around us no longer exists. There is only the touch of his hand on my face, the feel of his erection pushing against my stomach, and the hypnotic taste of his lips as his mouth moves skillfully against mine.
I drown in him. Opening my mouth willingly for his tongue and grabbing his hips, pulling his body in flush against mine. Holding my face in both his hands, he angles my head, deepening the kiss as his lips and tongue worship my mouth.
Stars explode behind my shuttered eyes, and I’m awash in heavenly sensation, my entire body putty in his expert hands. I run my fingers through his hair, gently rocking my hips against his as his pelvis moves sensually against mine. There is no denying our mutual arousal, but his thrusts aren’t forceful. His body moves languidly agai
nst mine while he focuses his attention on making love to my mouth.
I am lost in Kent Kennedy, and I never want him to stop doing this.
No man has ever kissed me like this.
Like I’m his world and he’ll die if he can’t keep tasting me.
I don’t know how long we kiss for, but it feels like forever before we finally pull apart, to draw a breath.
His lips are swollen, his hair is messy from my fingers, and his skin is flushed. “Damn.” He rubs his thumb along my lower lip. “If all goodnight kisses are like that, I’ve seriously been missing out.”
“You and me both,” I croak, my voice heavy with desire.
He kisses me again. Just once. It’s infinitely tender, and I swoon beneath him.
“Good night, Presley baby,” he whispers into my ear. “Sweet dreams.”
I stand at my door for way longer than necessary, touching my lips with a cheesy grin on my face, just staring at the hallway, wondering how I got to this point in my life. Because there’s no denying I am attracted to this man. More than that, I need to understand what makes him tick, and there is zero point trying to deny I want him badly because it’s the truth. No man has ever claimed my attention so wholeheartedly, and though it’s risky, because he doesn’t date and I’m not sure he even knows what he wants beyond getting me into his bed, I’m invested now, and I’m not walking away.
***
I’m floating on a cloud the next day, especially when I receive another delivery of infinity roses. This time, there is a whole bunch of them in a beautiful white and silver box. My giddy grin expands as I read his new note. It simply says, “Welcome to my World,” and there’s a YouTube link underneath it. I type the link into the browser on my phone, and my heart melts as I listen to Elvis sing. The song is about a man inviting a woman into his heart and how he’ll be waiting with open arms.
The hidden message thrills me.
Who knew the bad boy could be such a romantic underneath that cocky exterior?
After a workout in the gym, I spend the rest of the day pressing flowers into my drawing, setting it aside when it’s finished. I’ll bring it to the custom framing shop on my way to class tomorrow.
Imogen and Kady are coming over for dinner, and I’m in the middle of prepping the lasagna when the doorbell rings. Rubbing my hands on the front of my apron, I head to the door, checking the peephole before I open it.
Chris falls through the door, and I barely catch him in time. Cigarette smoke mixes with alcohol fumes and stale sweat as I hold my ex in my arms. “Jesus, Chris.” I grip his upper arms, holding him up off me as I use my foot to close the front door. Tucking his arm around my shoulder, I half-carry, half-drag, him over to my couch, throwing him down flat on his back.
His eyes roll in the back of his head, and he groans as he shifts onto his side. I snatch the trash can in the nick of time, shoving it under his face before he heaves into it. His entire body is shaking, and sweat beads on his brow, plastering strands of his stringy dark hair to his face.
A familiar ache lances across my chest as I watch him puke his guts up. It’s mixed with the usual disgust and frustration and anger.
My feelings when it comes to Chris are a complicated mix, and it doesn’t get any easier.
He looks worse this time. Thinner than I’ve ever seen him and so fucking washed-up.
“Sorry, babe,” he groans, flopping back down on the couch when he’s expelled the liquid contents of his stomach.
“Don’t move,” I instruct, putting the trash can to one side while I go to the fridge and remove a bottle of water. I hand it to him. “Drink that. I’ll be back in a sec.”
Taking the trash can into the bathroom, I rinse it out in the sink before running the bath. I grab the box of supplies from the cabinet, placing it in the sink, before setting a large fluffy towel down on top of the closed toilet seat. Then I remove sweats, boxers, and a clean T-shirt from the drawer in my dresser where I keep Chris’s things, adding them on top of the towel. I check the temperature of the water before switching the faucets off and moving out into the living room.
Chris is slouched awkwardly against the corner of the couch, drinking the water. I sit beside him, clasping his face in both my hands. “You look like death warmed over.”
“Hello to you too.” He flashes me a smile, and my heart hurts all over again. That smile used to warm every part of me on lonely nights, and it reminds me of the sweet boy I used to know before his addictions took control, transforming him before my very eyes.
“Where have you been?” I ask, hating how his pupils dilate and roll around his eyes. I’m not surprised. I doubt Chris has many lucid moments these days.
“Around.” He shrugs, and I don’t push it.
“You scared me,” I truthfully admit. It’s been eleven weeks since I’ve seen or heard from him. He usually shows up here more frequently, and this time, I thought it had happened.
That I’d get a knock on the door telling me he was dead.
Relief mixes with frustration and anger in my veins, but I put a leash on it. I know from past experience there is no point even attempting to talk to him when he’s high and drunk. The times I’ve gone there have ended up in an almighty argument, with horrible words spewed on both sides, and I’ve finally learned my lesson. I’ll wait till I’ve sobered him up and he’s eaten and slept, and then I’m going to try to get through to him.
Again.
“Come on.” I stand, extending my arm. “Let’s get you into the bath.”
I help him into the bathroom, putting toothpaste on his toothbrush before curling his hand around it. I add some scented bubble bath to the water in the tub, swirling it with my hand, while he haphazardly cleans his teeth.
I suck in a breath, shutting my nostrils off so I don’t ingest the noxious odors bleeding off him in pungent waves. The scent of weed clings to his filthy clothes, and he looks like he hasn’t showered in weeks. Dirt clings to his skin as he sheds his outer layers, and I frown at the fading bruises on his chest, wondering what other trouble he’s gotten himself into.
“Call me if you need me,” I say, keeping my back to him as he gets into the tub.
“Thanks, Pres. I owe you.”
I gulp over the lump in my throat, hating how things have turned out for him. That this is what it has come down to. There was a time I thought Chris and I would last the whole distance, and remembering how it all fell apart still guts me every time. Ignoring the tight pain in my chest, I force thoughts of the past aside and focus on the here and now.
Pulling on a pair of latex gloves, I scoop up his clothes and head out to the kitchen. I shove them into a trash bag because there’s no way they are salvageable. I’ll just pick him up some things from the secondhand store tomorrow.
“I’m really sorry to do this to you, babe, but Chris has just shown up,” I tell my bestie, as I fling the trash bag in the dumpster at the back of our triple-decker, with my cell pressed between my ear and my shoulder.
Silence greets me, and I inwardly groan. “Mo.”
“It’s fine,” she says, resignation clear in her tone.
“Order pizza for Kady, and I’ll give you the cash tomorrow,” I offer, because I hate letting my godchild down.
“You don’t have to do that. That’s not why I’m upset.”
I push through the door, stepping inside the building, taking the steps two at a time. “I know why you’re upset.” She tells me enough, and I know it comes from a place of concern.
“How long are you going to keep doing this, Pres? He’s not your responsibility.”
“He has no one, Mo. And I’ve got to try.” Tears prick my eyes as I step out into the hallway that leads to my apartment. “If he dies, and I did nothing, I could never live with myself.”
“Have you ever considered you could be part of the problem?” she softly inquires. “Maybe if you weren’t there, he’d stop and take a long hard look at himself.”
“If I wa
sn’t here, he’d probably be dead already.” My tone is clipped, anger seeping through.
Not at her. More for the situation.
I know Mo speaks a lot of truth, but she doesn’t get it. She doesn’t understand all the ways in which Chris helped me. How inextricably we’re connected. She doesn’t understand I can’t walk away because turning my back on him would be like turning my back on myself.
“Look, I don’t want to fight with you. And fuck, you’ve got the biggest heart, Presley. I just don’t want to see you hurt, and you’re always so sad after each visit.”
“Because it hurts me to see him like this, Mo.” I press my forehead into the wall beside my apartment, not wanting to go inside in case Chris overhears this conversation. “For years, he was my salvation. He kept me going at times when I wanted to die. Ignoring him when he needs me would be a shitty way to repay him, and I won’t do it. I know you’re only concerned, but you’ve got to drop this before we both say something we regret.”
“I’m sorry,” she whispers.
“Don’t be. I appreciate that you’re looking out for me. Order pizza, and tell Kady I’ll pick her up after school next Wednesday. We can go to the park. Maybe catch a movie.”
“She’ll love that. Thanks, Pres.” A pregnant pause filters down the line before she says, “Love you.”
“Love you, too.”
I hang up and enter my apartment, pleased to find Chris dressed, sitting up on the couch, and drying his hair with a towel.
I plaster on a fake smile, dropping down beside him. “You look a little more human now.” I tilt his face from side to side. “You could use a shave and a haircut though.”
“Could you?” he asks, arching a brow. The wildness in his eyes has calmed a little, but I know whatever he has taken is still lingering in his system.
“Of course.” I pat his knee. “Just let me get the lasagna in the oven, and then I’ll take care of you.” I hand him the remote. “Knock yourself out.”
Chris watches TV, sprawled across the couch, while I finish the lasagna, popping it in the oven before fixing a salad and cutting slices of fresh, crusty bread. Then I retrieve the box with his stuff from the bathroom and pull a chair into the middle of the living room, forcing him to sit down.
Reforming Kent: A Stand-Alone Angsty Bad Boy Romance (The Kennedy Boys Book 10) Page 8