“Your hair is so long,” I acknowledge as I drag the comb through it. It’s almost hitting his shoulders.
“You didn’t cut it last time, and I don’t trust anyone else to do it.”
He’d rather spend his money shooting shit in his veins than spend it on a haircut, he means, but I bite my tongue, keeping those thoughts to myself.
I cut his hair, keeping it tight to the nape of his neck and along the sides, and then I shave off his beard, using the electric razor I keep here for him.
He wolfs down two servings of lasagna, and then we watch TV for a couple hours before he falls asleep on the couch. I drape a blanket over him, tucking a pillow under his head, before switching off the lights and creeping out of the living room.
Usually when he shows up, I let him sleep in my bed for the few nights he stays, because God knows where he sleeps most nights, but not this time.
Kent and I are at the start of something good, and it doesn’t feel right to let another man into my bed, even if there’s nothing remotely sexual about it.
I drift off to sleep with thoughts of Kent swirling through my mind, wondering when I’ll see him next.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Kent
“Who pissed in your cornflakes?” Topher asks as I slam my tray down on the table in the cafeteria Friday at lunch.
“Is it anything to do with that photo of you online?” Lance inquires, shoveling pizza into his mouth as I claim the seat beside him.
I want to go back to Tuesday night and beat the shit out of that paparazzo and break his camera into a million pieces so that pic of Presley and me ceases to exist. At least I know why Whitney has been blowing up my phone again. I haven’t answered or listened to the hundreds of messages she’s left me, deleting them the second they land in my inbox. Going cold turkey with her is the only way I’ll get through to her. She needs to understand we are done for good this time.
Perhaps the pic of me and Presley will convince her once and for all. Looking at my lovesick mug in the photo pisses me off now I know I’m being played, but Whitney can be in no doubt this girl means something to me. The way we’re pressed against each other, and the look in both our eyes, conveys she is no casual hookup.
“Who’s the hottie?” Mitch asks, pulling up the picture on his cell. “You bang her yet?”
“Fuck off with the twenty questions,” I snarl, in no mood for an interrogation. I’ve been severely pissed since I showed up at Presley’s place, early yesterday morning, and spotted a guy leaving her apartment.
Fate led me to you.
Blech. I cringe as I recall my words from Tuesday night. What the fuck was I thinking? Sending her flowers and notes and obsessing over a goodnight kiss that was hotter than any kiss ever in the history of time.
I was basically turning into Kyler, so I should probably thank the mystery dude for forcing me to wake the fuck up.
Presley is probably laughing her ass off at how stupidly naïve I am. To think I believed her. I believed all of it. But it was obviously a lie, and I’m a fool because I fell for it. And do you know what’s worse? I still can’t get the bitch out of my head. It’s like she’s taken up permanent residence, and now she’s invoking squatter’s rights. There’s only one way to deal with it, and there’s little time to delay. “We hitting one of the frat parties this weekend?” I ask, stabbing a piece of chicken with my fork, imagining it’s the mystery dude’s head.
“Hell yeah.” Toph blatantly eye fucks a curvy redhead as she saunters past our table, swaying her hips and making her interest known.
“Good. I need to get trashed.”
Mission accomplished, I think, the following night as I’m sprawled across a couch in the basement of the frat house, my body soaring someplace above me. We were here last night too, and I got totally wasted, spending most of today sleeping before dusting myself off and putting my party hat back on. My limbs sink into the cushions underneath me, and I’m blissfully numbed out.
Presley who?
Fuck that bitch.
“Hey, babe.” A girl crawls up my body from the end of the couch, and I can scarcely summon the energy to tilt my head in her direction.
She straddles my lap, grinding on top of me as she leans down, thrusting her ginormous fake tits in my face. “Want me to suck you off?”
“Does a bear shit in the woods?” I joke, rolling my eyes to the ceiling as I pull on my blunt, inhaling the heady fumes, sucking them deep into my lungs.
She wastes no time unbuckling my belt, shimmying my jeans and my boxers down my legs, and lowering her mouth to my cock. She goes to town on me, slobbering and sucking, and…nothing happens. I look down at my limp dick in her mouth, and she stares at me with a frown. “Your technique could use some work,” I deadpan, pushing her off. “Go practice on some other poor sucker.”
“Asshole,” she spits, climbing off me. “Not my problem your cock’s dysfunctional. You should get that checked out.”
I yank my boxers and jeans back up, shooting daggers at her back. “You should demand a refund from your plastic surgeon,” I yell after her. “Those tits made my cock shrivel up and die.” Take that, slut.
I puff on my blunt, closing my eyes, willing that bitch Presley Barlow to take a hike.
This is all her fault.
She broke me.
Broke my cock.
I can’t even get it up now. Unless I’m in the shower, hand wrapped around my dick, imagining she’s on her knees, worshiping my cock like it’s the best thing she’s ever had in her mouth. And just like that, life returns to my lower regions, and my cock thickens behind the zipper of my jeans.
Fuck. My. Life.
I pop a couple benzos, washing them down with a few tequila shots, and join my buddies at beer pong before I decide it’d be a great idea to pay Presley a visit, to tell her exactly what I think about her cheating skanky ass.
Ramshackle is packed to the rafters when I arrive an hour later. Pushing my way through the crowd, I make it to the counter, edging a couple of girls aside so I can plant myself directly in front of the woman who has taken a machete to my heart.
Presley hasn’t noticed me yet because she has her back to me as she makes a couple of cocktails. A “Happy Birthday” banner hangs over the top of the bar, confirming tonight is a special occasion. Glancing over my shoulder, I notice a bunch of balloons and banners spread across a few booths. Someone is celebrating a twenty-first. Music blares from the wall-mounted speakers, and a group of chicks dances in the middle of the room, whooping and hollering, holding beer bottles aloft as they butcher the song, screaming out the lyrics.
I turn back around, my eyes hungrily roaming Presley’s tempting form. She’s wearing ripped black jeans and a fitted red and black corset top that ties at the back. A tantalizing strip of skin is exposed where the top ends and her low-rise jeans start, and I long to flatten my tongue to her flesh and press a row of kisses along her silky-soft skin. She shakes her hips in tune to the music as she fixes a line of cocktails, and my gaze is glued to the sexy motion. When she turns around, my eyes almost bug out of their sockets. Her gorgeous tits are molded perfectly in the low-cut top, and layers of her thick, dark hair kiss her shoulders in seductive waves.
“Kent. I didn’t know you were dropping by.” Her face lights up, like I’m her favorite person in the world, and I almost fall for it. Almost.
“Where’s your fuck buddy?” I snarl, looking around the bar.
Her brows pucker as she sets the drinks on a tray. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Sure, you don’t,” I slur, grabbing the bar when I feel myself swaying. “If you needed a dicking, I would’ve gladly volunteered. That skinny dude didn’t look like he had it in him.” Word vomit pours from my mouth. “For one second, I believed what we had was real, but you fucking played me.”
She slides the tray to her blue-haired friend before turning to Ford. “I need five.” She told me they alternate shifts, so I’ve no clue why h
e’s working as well. Unless they knew it would be busy with the party and it was an all-hands-on-deck scenario.
Presley disappears, and rage boils underneath the surface of my skin. Grabbing the nearest drink, I down it in one go.
“Hey! What the fuck, asshole?” A whiny female voice protests at my side. I swing my gaze on her, and the change in her demeanor is comical. “It’s you,” she rasps. She wiggles her fingers at me, even though I’m standing right in front of her. “Hi, Kent.” She giggles, and the sound is like a dagger slicing through my brain.
Behind her, I spot Presley making her way toward me. I sling my arm around the girl’s shoulders, tugging her into my side. “Hey, babe. How about you and me ditch this joint?”
“How about I give you three seconds to get your drunk ass in the back room before I kick you permanently to the curb,” Presley snaps, glaring at me.
As if I’m the one in the wrong.
The girl leans in closer to my side, sliding her hand around my back, her palm landing on my ass. I push her away so fast she loses her balance, wobbling on her skyscraper heels before falling. Presley catches her at the last second. “Watch it, Luanne. And stay away from him.” She jabs her finger in my direction, and her blatant possessiveness is hot.
Maybe I got it wrong?
I don’t know. I’m confused.
Presley grabs my hand, tugging me forward, past the bar, through a door, and into a back room. She roughly shoves me down on a small, lumpy couch before slamming the door shut behind us.
“What the fuck is your problem?” she yells, standing in front of me with her hands on her shapely hips.
“You cheated on me,” I hiss. “You fucking bitch,” I add because I’m seething again and the drugs and alcohol in my system are messing with my thought process.
She sighs, sitting down beside me, clasping my face in her hands. “You saw Chris. When were you at my place?
“Yesterday morning. I drove there before classes started because I was hoping to buy you breakfast.” Wait, that name rings a bell. I remember her mentioning Chris. “You’re sleeping with your ex? How fucking cliché.” I slap her hands away.
Her features soften as she shakes her head. “You’re such a dumbass.” She presses her forehead to mine. “Is this why I haven’t seen you since Tuesday night?”
“I know I’m no dating expert, but I didn’t think I had to specify we were exclusive. I won’t fucking share you.”
I’ve shared fuck buddies in the past, and I’m not unaccustomed to threesomes, foursomes, and moresomes, but none of those chicks meant anything to me. Presley is different, and different rules apply. Even the thought of any man putting his hands on her sends me into a jealous rage.
She lifts her head, drilling me with a serious look. “Firstly, we went on one date, Kent, and we never discussed dating exclusively or dating at all, and secondly, I didn’t have sex with him. Chris is just a friend. It’s strictly platonic between us these days. It has been for years.”
I bark out a laugh. “You expect me to believe that?” The rooms spins, and I slump to the side of the couch. “Woah.”
She straightens me up, staring into my eyes, cursing under her breath. “Are you high right now?”
“As a fucking kite.” I grin, and she exhales heavily, not looking pleased at all by my admission.
The door opens, elevating the noise levels to ear-deafening, and Ford pokes his head in, eyeballing Pres as he shouts, “Sorry to break this up, but we’re hammered out here. I need you.”
“I’ll be right there,” Presley shouts over her shoulder before returning her focus to me. “You’ve got this all wrong, Kent, and we need to talk, but now isn’t the time.”
“I’ll wait,” I blurt, like a total pussy, because I don’t want to go. I lean back along the length of the couch. “I’ll just crash until your shift is over.”
She chews on the corner of her mouth, looking undecided. “Okay, but don’t touch anything. We’re not supposed to bring non-staff members back here.”
I roll my eyes, looking around at the shithole that is their staff room. “Trust me, I won’t touch a thing.”
She stares at me for a minute before her shoulders relax. “Fine. Did you have anything to eat?”
I shake my head. “I was passed out for breakfast and lunch, and I had a liquid dinner.” I flash her one of my panty-melting grins, but she does not look impressed. Two strikes in a row. Not a good result. Three and I might be out. I fix her with my most sincere puppy-dog-eyed expression, hoping to reclaim some ground.
She mutters something under her breath before leaving the room, the noise of the party blasting through my ears when she opens the door.
Presley returns a few minutes later with a plate stacked with chicken tenders, mini burgers, and potato wedges. She places it on the coffee table along with two bottles of water and some silverware. Wrapping my hand around the fork, she pins me with a no-nonsense look. “Eat and drink and then sleep. I’ll wake you when it’s time to leave.”
***
My body shakes and my stomach lurches as I come to. Nausea churns in my gut, and sweat sticks my shirt to my back. I don’t feel so hot. The room swims, and my vision blurs in and out. I can just detect Presley’s gorgeous face through the haze. “Hey.” My mouth feels like smelly socks married soiled boxer briefs and made a baby in there.
“Thank fuck,” Presley says as her features come into clearer focus. “I’ve been trying to wake you for twenty minutes. It’s time to go.” She’s lucky she was able to wake me at all. Usually when I mix booze with benzos I’m out for the count and nothing or no one can rouse me.
I move to stand, promptly falling back on my butt on the couch. My stomach lurches again, and I wrap an arm around myself, willing the food I devoured earlier to stay the fuck down. I do not want to hurl in front of my woman.
My woman.
What the actual fuck?
“I need to get home.” I attempt to stand a second time, thrusting my hand out against the wall to steady myself when I sway on my feet.
Presley thrusts a bottle of water at me. “Drink that and give me your cell. I’ll call you an Uber.”
“I’m not a baby. I can call my own fucking Uber,” I snap, removing my cell from the pocket of my jeans, willing my eyes to focus on the screen.
Presley whips the cell from my hand, pressing my thumb down on the screen to unlock it before swiping her fingers across the keypad. “You are so fucking stubborn.”
“You’re so damn bossy.”
“Done.” She lifts her head, her troubled eyes examining my face. “I added my number too. Come on. Ford is waiting to lock up. We’ll wait for the car outside. The fresh air might do you some good.”
She grabs her bag and jacket from a hook by the wall, sliding her arms into the vibrant leather sleeves and crossing her bag around her upper torso. I let her take my hand and lead me outside.
Ford smirks at me, and I flip him the bird. “You still owe me, Kennedy.” He points a knowing finger in my face.
“I haven’t forgotten, pussy.”
He laughs before his expression sobers. “You need a hand, Pres?”
“Nah. This isn’t my first rodeo. I’ve got this.”
“What the fuck does that mean?” I ask as she guides me outside.
“That I’m used to babying assholes who insist on abusing their bodies with shit that’s no good for them.” She glares at me, and I cower a little. “We won’t last long if I discover you’re addicted to that poison, Kennedy. I won’t go through this again.”
“I’m not addicted.” I scoff at the very thought. “I work hard all week and keep my nose clean, so I let loose on the weekend. It’s not a big deal.” I wrench my hand from hers. “I don’t need a babysitter or a lecture. I get enough of those from my family.”
“Don’t get your panties in a bunch. I care. Is that so bad?”
“You’re really not fucking your ex?” I ask because I need to know the
truth.
She moves in closer, hooking her pinkie in mine. “I’m not fucking my ex. For as long as we’re dating, I won’t fuck anyone else.”
“Come home with me,” I ask. Her lips purse. “Not for sex,” I rush to add though I can’t believe those words just left my lips. “Just to sleep. I want to hold you.” Grabbing her hips, I pull her in close to me. “I make a mean scrambled eggs, so I’ll even throw in breakfast.”
“I should really go home,” she murmurs.
“Please, Pres.” I lose all trace of humor, shielding nothing from her. “You said we need to talk, so let’s go back to my place, and we can talk in the morning. I promise I won’t lay a finger on you. Scout’s honor.”
She narrows her eyes. “You were never a boy scout.”
“Actually, I was,” I correct her. “For one month—until we had our first camping trip and I was caught pissing in the scout leader’s bag.”
“I think you came out of the womb with a capital T for trouble stamped on your chest.”
“I think you’re probably right.” I circle my hands around her waist as a car pulls up to the sidewalk. “So maybe I do need a chaperone after all? Wanna escort me home?”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Presley
I must need my head examined, I think as I grab the key from Kent’s hand, fitting it easily in the lock. What in the world possessed me to agree to spend the night? I’m not worried about him putting the moves on me because the guy can barely keep his eyes open. He nodded off in the Uber, and he practically sleepwalked his way into the building. But I am worried about getting invested in another guy who has controlling addictions.
Opening the door, I try not to gawk as we step foot inside the plush apartment Kent calls home. This room is a massive open-plan living room with kitchen and dining area at the back. Wall-to-wall windows are covered with luxurious silver-and-blue-striped curtains, and all the furniture is sleek and modern and clearly very expensive. Stairs lead off the right side of the room, and there are a couple of closed doors behind it, leading to other rooms.
Reforming Kent: A Stand-Alone Angsty Bad Boy Romance (The Kennedy Boys Book 10) Page 9